My mother-in-law remembers that Baby Sis was speaking simple sentences at less than one year of age. That did not amaze me; after all, she was the third child in a verbal family. At age two, she thumped my leg when I corrected her. “You not my boss,” she said.
I remember when we visited a museum in Santa Fe that displayed an unearthed home of early dwellers. A skeleton lay in the corner. At age four, Baby Sis pulled her brother into the room saying “Look, there’s a skelkonton over here,” and she got mad at us for laughing.
She also became angry when we laughed at her for correcting her brother who could not say the word chicken. He pronounced it schicken, and each time he said it wrong, she would get close to his face and say, “It’s not schicken, Brother, it’s schicken.”
As I mentioned earlier, the world of spelling posed a foreign concept to her, and even though she is an excellent speller today, those first spelling tests confounded her. Her natural sense of music and agility came to the rescue. Taking a cue from Walt Disney who used Jiminy Cricket to teach the world how to spell encyclopedia, we spelled the words to simple tunes and rhythm. During the spelling tests, Baby Sis sang the correct spelling silently. We also used sign language and spelled each word manually which helped to pattern the word in her head.
I share this because children with ADHD may also experience problems with learning, and one of those problems may begin with a teacher’s attitude toward the hyper or inattentive child.
My first-name friend Lori, from first grade, afforded us an oasis for my hyper child with an inquisitive mind. We needed it after the experiences in Kindergarten where Mrs. M. believed in principle over people.
Baby Sis insisted on wearing her dresses to school every day, and as she attempted to sit as still as possible in Kindergarten large group, she folded her long legs as best she could, and tucked her hands inside the elastic of her panties.
One morning when I picked her up from school, Mrs. M. asked me to step inside the room, so she could “speak with” me. Baby Sis stood next to her desk with shame and fear written all over her face. Mrs. M. began to explain that she was concerned my child was masturbating during large-group, and we should explain to Baby Sis how inappropriate it was, or we should take her to a doctor for examination.
Mrs. M. became my least favorite teacher of all time from then on.
In spite of my anger, I explained my child was attempting to curb her own inability to sit still, and then I turned to Baby Sis. “Keep your hands on the outside of your skirt. This woman thinks you are playing with yourself.” Mrs. M. turned bright red and struggled to backstroke; from then on, I made certain Baby Sis wore shorts under her dress at school.
Mrs. M. seemed to make Baby Sis her pet project from that day forward. Each afternoon my child came home from school with stories supporting the fact she “was not appropriate” at school. That phrase rang alarms in my head, causing me to see bright red globes.
I began standing outside the door of the school room at various times and days of the week. The door included a sidelight glass from which I could observe Baby Sis and her teacher’s interactions.
The day I opened the door without knocking with a powerful Mrs M! the teacher nearly bounced off the ceiling with surprise and alarm. I had caught her in the midst of ridiculing Baby Sis in front of the other children. I asked her to step into the hall and explain to me what Baby Sis was doing that was so “inappropriate.”
I also hid and observed playground activities, and one day took my daughter home early when Mrs. M. hounded Baby Sis for not getting into line quickly enough. “Mrs. M,” I said, “She got off the equipment when you called and was running to the line to please you.” I think the teacher peed herself.
Baby Sis graduated Kindergarten with a negative self-image because she felt she was inappropriate. Yet, soon after school was out, Mrs. M. showed up in my driveway with a request for Baby Sis to attend special and free sessions at our local state university.
Two hours per day for three weeks, she would be in class with a well-published author of children’s books who read stories, played games, and conducted other fun activities associated with her books.
“You don’t even like my daughter,” I said, “Why are you asking her? Are you short on quota?” Mrs. M. stammered that Baby Sis would make a perfect participant. To this day, Baby Sis remembers the stories and songs introduced during those weeks. Among many, one thing the author knew about children. They need to have fun when learning.
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