Well Below the Mean

The summer between kinder 2.0 and first grade for Eli felt like standing in the eye of a hurricane. On the surface, there was quiet—Eli could identify some letters now, name a few colors without hesitation, and his smile came easier with glasses perched on his nose. But underneath, I knew the storm wasn’t over.

First and foremost, that was the summer that started with a spring that literally never ended. The COVID-19 pandemic hit the U.S. and shut our school district down while the boys were out of school on spring break that year. Aiden was about to celebrate his 10th birthday COVID style, Eli was celebrating that school was closed for the foreseeable future, and I was internally freaking the EFFFF out.

Obviously, for the same reasons everyone else was—but add the fact that I am not a teacher, and Eli had only just started to recognize letters. How the heck-fire was I supposed to teach my dyslexic child how to read?!

By the time first grade began (masked and socially distanced), the questions I carried weren’t whispers anymore. They were flashing red, screaming sirens.

What if it is always this exhausting for him to gain new skills—only for them to slip away as though they’d never been learned?

What if there isn’t enough time and energy left for him to make up for all the time he hasn’t been in the classroom because of the pandemic?

What if he’s fallen too far behind to ever close the gap?

Just like before, I asked his teachers. “He’ll get there,” they said. Nickel.
I asked the school team. “Let’s give the IEP more time to work.” Nickel.

But I knew to my core that time wasn’t all that he needed. He needed answers.

So, once again, we looked beyond the public school system.

We added Eli to the first of several months-long waitlists he’d land on over the next four years. This one, specifically, was for a full psycho-educational evaluation that we needed to begin the application process for a small private school in our area dedicated to serving dyslexic learners. 

The school maintains class sizes of fewer than ten students per teacher and focuses on early reading intervention for students in grades 1–5 who were diagnosed with dyslexia. Overall, the school had fewer than 100 total students during the time Eli attended.

We submitted all the required documentation and set an appointment to visit the school on March 4, 2021. That day, we saw the sweetest little school and met the kindest teachers and administrators while Eli sat through yet another evaluation.

We left that meeting hopeful. We were told that, pending the results of his evaluation and a review by the school’s admissions board, we’d learn whether he’d be accepted for the following school year in about a week.When my phone rang that same afternoon, I figured they just had a couple of follow-up questions. (Side note: I really wanted to quote this conversation here, but I couldn’t find a follow-up email or text I might’ve sent anyone with her exact words, so I’m paraphrasing how I remember it)

Since I was driving at the time, had I any inclination what the school administrator on the other end of the line was about to tell me, I would’ve let it roll to voicemail. However, assuming quick follow up, I answered – and she proceeded to tell me things I was not nearly prepared to hear.

“Mrs. Walker, we wanted to let you know as soon as possible that we have a spot for Eli for next school year. The reason we wanted to inform you now is because of Eli’s test scores from his admissions evaluation today. You see, Eli scored much lower than our current first-grade class averages. Since he’ll be joining that same class as a rising second grader next year, we feel it’s important to start remediation as soon as possible to prevent any further divide. We have a list of certified tutors I can provide to help get you started. We also have a summer reading program required of our students to ensure we avoid as much regression as possible—we’d like to have him attend that as well…”

Cue the tears and intrusive thoughts. 

I actually didn’t know what to think. I had no words (which is never a problem for me!). A carousel of questions started spinning in my brain:
Did I hear her correctly?
Did she just tell me that Eli is well below average even among like-diagnosed peers?
I knew he was behind—but WELL below the mean??
How had I let it go this long?

Why didn’t I push harder, advocate louder, do more sooner?

What I didn’t know at the time was that this would not be the last time that someone would tell me that Eli was “well below the mean.”

This phrase would travel with him, just like his school backpack – through his years at this tiny little school, through his transition back into the public school system in 5th grade, and into middle school (present day). 

I remember feeling like such a failure that day. Where had I gone wrong? What should I have seen sooner? Why had I blindly trusted so many people even when my gut told me not to? Could I have done anything different and had a different outcome? 

If I could go back I would give that version of me a big ole hug and tell her that this label, and any label to come in the future, they do not and will not define who Eli is as a person, but they will define who you become as a mom. 

With each one, you’ll grow stronger, more resilient, more educated, and more determined than ever before. You’ll become the advocate you never imagined you’d need to be. You’ll learn to question, to push, to research, to fight — and to rest when you can – and yes, this became a learned (& medicated) out of necessity. A none sleeping mom is no good for anyone.

You’ll slowly start to gain and then carry a quiet kind of courage that doesn’t always look brave on the outside but runs deep, steady, and fierce beneath the surface. You’ll learn that “different” doesn’t mean “less,” that progress can’t always be measured in charts or test scores, and that love — the gritty, protective, never-back-down kind — really can move mountains.

And one day, you’ll look at him, doing things that once felt impossible, and realize that every tear, every meeting, every sleepless night are shaping both of you into exactly who you are meant to become.

Susan