Despite the Less than Average Scores He Had, He Exceeded Expectations

He struggled with recognizing his letters, with understanding syllables, with connecting letters to their sounds.

He had other skills instead.

Despite the less than average scores he had, he exceeded expectations in other ways.

He knew the names of every kid in class, the teacher next door, the secretary, even the janitor. He greeted those people, every day, with a smile on his face. He worried about them when they weren’t in school. He asked them if they needed help when he saw them struggle. He made sure they were ok when they seemed like something was bothering them.

He got an A in kindness.

He had issues paying attention during storytime, in comprehending, in identifying character and setting.

He had other skills instead.

Despite the less than average scores he had, he exceeded expectations in other ways.

He blurted out questions and showed up to that story circle with excitement and enthusiasm to learn. He cared about the characters in the book. He wondered why their friends were mean or why they got hurt or who would help them when they had fallen down. He empathized with the pokey puppy, he believed in the little engine that could, he held on to hope for the brave little penguin.

He got an A in compassion.

He couldn’t point out the upper case “B” or the lower case “c,” couldn’t distinguish a number from a letter, and identifying his numbers at all was out of the question.

He had other skills instead.

Despite the less than average scores he had, he exceeded expectations in other ways.

He jumped up to help the teacher when she dropped her paper. He held the door for the people behind him. He said please and thank you. He stopped to help his friends tie their shoe even though he didn’t know how to tie a shoe himself. He hugged his neighbor when he saw her cry.

He got an A in respect.

When school was coming to an end and the report cards were distributed, his parents knew what to expect. Their son wouldn’t be at the top of his class. He would need further development in language arts. He would need extra help in motor development and speech. He would need more time to understand math.

His final report card wouldn’t be filled with A’s. His school-record wouldn’t tell the story of a stellar student if judged him by his grades.

But boy was he stellar.

He had other skills instead.

Despite the less than average scores he had, he exceeded expectations in other ways.

His brain often kept him from achieving the things that other kids his age could accomplish.  That’s because his brain was anything but standard.

But so was his heart.

His heart was extraordinary. His heart carried him to a different level of success.

As his mom opened his report card, he watched.

“What does it say,” he asked with anticipation.

The grades were what his parents had expected to see on a standard report card. Less than average here, approaching average there, just average everywhere else. But it was in the comments that they saw the true evaluation of how their son did in school that year.

The comments read:

He was a joy to have in the classroom.

He always comes to school wearing a smile and has a sensitive side for his friends.

He is eager to try.

He NEVER gives up.

He has taught his class about being respectful and caring.

He has been a great asset to the pre-k classroom. 

With tears in her eyes, his mom smiled at her anything but average, beautiful son.

“It says you did a great job in school this year! It says you tried your best, you were kind, and you were good to your friends. It says you kept going even when things got hard. It says you got up even though you had fallen down. It tells me that you are brave, you are strong, and you are smart. It says you’re a good boy. It says everything I already knew! But I’m still so proud of you. It says you had a successful school year,” his mom said.

Why do we judge our kids by their grades? Why do you put them into categories?

For some reason, we forget what’s important as we send off children to school. We set expectations that are far too high. They enter a system that forgets that we’re not all the same. We judge them by a standard set of goals or skills or talents that teaches them that they’re not good enough if they don’t stack up.

We teach them it’s not good to be different. We show them that giving their best isn’t good enough if others are simply better at things than they are.

Sometimes, we set them up to fail.

As they’re getting used to life away from their parents, surrounded by new people, thrown into a new environment, and juggling all the other new things they face throughout the year, we make things hard.

We make things SO hard.

Instead of giving them a place to learn, to grow, to discover who they are, we stick them in a place that forces them to feel stressed, anxious, inadequate. Then we pressure them.

We pressure them to be better, to be more, to be everything but what they are. We push them in places that even pushing won’t help. We fail them because we fail to see that they have their own unique talents…talents that don’t get a grade…talents that aren’t judged on a report card.

We focus on the grade, on what’s on the paper. We don’t focus on the kid, on what’s inside, on who they are.

I fell into that trap as he entered his second year of pre-school. I worried about the below-average grades and longed for him to learn and grow enough to at least get the average ones.

But those worries weren’t for me.

Despite coming from a background of educators where I was fully expected to make good grades, I didn’t care what his were.

I worried for his sake…for his future.

I worried for the day that he would come home and wonder why his grades didn’t reflect the effort he puts forth. I worried that he would look at his grades and think he wasn’t smart, he wasn’t talented, he didn’t succeed, he wasn’t enough.

But then I stopped. I stopped worrying about the grades because I knew I would teach him to worry about the grades too.

I focused on the comments. It was the comments that gave me the true picture of his success throughout the year.

Maybe he couldn’t point out every letter in the alphabet, maybe he couldn’t tell you where a story took place, maybe he couldn’t show you the number 5 or the number 9. But he could do other things that other kids couldn’t.

He could greet you with a smile to start your day. He could make the new kid feel welcome. He could love you even when it seemed others didn’t.

He could help you when your hands were too full. He could lighten your load when things got tough. He could pick you up when you were feeling down.

He could overcome the biggest struggles. He could stand strong as he faced adversity. He could be brave when he had every reason to be scared.

He could show you how to be respectful and caring and kind.

He could cheer you on despite knowing you wanted to see him fail. He could be your friend even if he just met you. He could still be kind to you when you were nothing but mean to him.

Most importantly, he could teach you.

He could teach you the skills that you can’t find in a book or on a test or in a standard lesson plan.

He could teach you about life. He could teach you a lot about life.

And he could do it so effortlessly as he simply leads by example.

He can show you so much as he lives every day without regret, proud to show up for life exactly as God made him to be.

I don’t expect my son to be valedictorian of his senior class when he graduates high school. Nor do I expect to be mailing off school transcripts with high honors when he applies for college. If those things happen, you will find me in the front row cheering my heart out with an ugly crying face.

But if they don’t, I’ll still be proud.

You’ll still find me in the front row cheering my heart out with an ugly crying face cheering for my son through every milestone of his life.

I don’t expect my son to get perfect grades. But I do expect some things.

I expect him to embrace himself for who he is. I expect him to be proud of the things he can accomplish, no matter how small or big. I expect him to understand that there’s no other him in this world. I hope he’ll never want to be anyone but himself.

Despite the fact that I don’t put expectations on his grades, I do expect him to succeed.

I expect him to succeed as he grows and uses all the amazing, above average skills he has already displayed in the school setting to make his way in this world.

Mostly, I expect him to love himself.

I expect him to worry less about the standardized grades and more about the more than standard ways he shows up every day for life.

I expect him to celebrate all the great things he accomplishes when he goes to school, like the times he helps someone who is sad or stands by his friend as they get bullied or sits with the kid who sits by himself.

I expect him to know that not only is what he does in the classroom enough, but it’s also far exceeded anything I could ever expect of him as a student and as my son.

I expect him to know that as long as he tries his best, I will be proud.

I expect him to know that even when he fails or makes a mistake, he is loved.

That small manila envelope that came home on the last day of school this year carried an important lesson.

It carried a BIG lesson.

It reminded me to celebrate his differences, to honor what makes him unique, and to cherish every failure as much as I cherish every success.

At the end of the day, it’s not how many times you fall that matters, it’s how many times you get up.

At the end of the day, it’s not what you have, but what you give.

At the end of the day, it’s not what you said, but it’s how you made people feel.

At the end of the school year, it’s not the grades he took away, but the mark he left that makes a difference.

It’s the mark he’s left and the difference he’s made that truly reports to me the level of success he’s had in school this year.

When I read the comments and stopped focusing on the grade, I saw that my son had a very successful year in school.

Clearly, the mark he left and the difference he made was the highest honor he could have achieved.

Congratulations to my talented, smart son!

Keep up the good work!