My adult daughter with disabilities tells me she’s frustrated this morning. And most mornings.
In all fairness, life isn’t working out for her the way she’d hoped. And with her paralyzed way of thinking – a mix of realism with an inflexible planning mechanism – she can’t see how it could ever get better. She’s about to graduate from college with honors, but knows her lack of social skills will probably land her in menial labor.
For all the flak I’ve given modern education over the years, I have to admit, they’ve got something. My children attend a Christian school where the academic content is traditional, but the methods are shaped by “best practices” and a gentle respect for human development. And I’m so glad.
I went to my fifth grade daughter’s parent-teacher conference yesterday, and her teacher’s approach to educating was so refreshing, I had to pinch myself.
Her teacher shows me her most recent math test. There are lots of marks on the page, but I know what a struggle math is for my daughter, and I know she’s making progress….
But he quickly tells me not to worry, saying, “She actually made the same mistake over and over, and so I’m going to reteach the concept to her and let her redo it. But you’ll see she did a lot right.” Earlier this year he told me that a bad test result was not a mark against the student, but was information for the teacher. It showed the teacher where he needed to explain more or better.
Really? Since when? When I was growing up, a test was the final evaluation. A strike on the paper was a strike against the student. It shouted out, This is who you are. Too bad.
a walk in my welly boots 