Executive Decision-Making

Hi. I know, I know, you thought I didn't do this anymore. But a lot of you have asked me if I was ever going to write again -- and believe it or not, NOT just my mom -- and the truth is, I've wanted to. A lot has happened in the last few months, lots of great, post-worthy kid stuff, and I've meant to blog it all...I just didn't. Time ran away...I've been busy...yada yada yada.

But I feel like starting again, so I'm going to try. The boys give me a lot of material, stuff I don't want to forget later on.

So without further ado, if anyone is still out there...
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I'll catch you up on Ariel first. Both boys have been doing well in school, and Y and I are very happy with the place so far. I was particularly pleased when Ariel's teacher told me that she'd mentioned to the Early Childhood administrator that she thought he should probably skip a grade, go directly into Kindergarten next year. His birthday falls two weeks after the deadline, and as a result he's markedly older in several ways than his classmates.

I'd been planning to try and say something about it myself, since otherwise he'll have another year of nursery after this (re: an extra year's tuition), but I'd been discouraged from making the attempt by other parents at the school.

"Oh, this school is notorious - don't you know? They almost NEVER skip a child."
"They won't go for it. I mean, every parent thinks their kid is advanced, but in reality it's not necessarily the case. I've only heard of one kid who was moved up, ever, and she was seriously an obvious genius. Is Ariel really a genius? Because otherwise..."

Ahem.

"Yeah," I'd interject. "But his birthday is right after the deadline. He just missed it, you know? If he'd stayed at the old school, this wouldn't even be a discussion since they're deadline is November, not September..."

"Are you kidding?" said the woman at the birthday party, amid Dora the Explorer paraphenalia. "I've planned every one of my pregnancies around this school's deadlines."

I stuff some cake in my mouth to hide the gape.

"Well for the tuition we pay, I would certainly hope that the school really considers what's best for each child," I manage with sincerity. But I was certain I'd have to fight to make my case.

Surprisingly, not so. The principle, who is wonderful, called me at work one day to discuss.

"We think Ariel might benefit from trying the grade older. He's clearly ready to learn more, and more formally. But please be forewarned that most educational studies have proven that it's better for boys emotionally to be the oldest in the class than the youngest."

"Oh, but he plays so well with the older kids already," I began. He already spent the last two hours of the day in their class, so I could extend his hours in order to work.

"I know. And he fits right in. But the discrepancy might not show for a couple of years. And while the decision is up to you - we definitely think he's up for the academic challenge - I want you to know the potential ramifications. It can be hard on boys later, when they're a little socially developmentally behind. It's different for girls, somehow. But I'll tell you what - why don't we try it for a few days and reassess at the end of the week?"

Y and I agreed. Ariel seemed excited. And indeed, he seemed fine in his new class, too. He didn't complain, and the teacher told he fit in like a missing puzzle piece.

But I worried about this whole "boys do better as the oldest" thing. I really had no idea what the right move was in this case, and felt like it was one of those Very Big Parenting Decisions. So I asked around.

"I was the youngest in my class," Y claimed. "I did well both socially and academically. In fact, if anything, I was a little bored academically."
"Yeah, but you were tall. And athletic."
"So?"
"It makes a difference."
"Ariel is tall."
"So was I, until ninth grade."
"Duly noted."

"There is kind of a narrow window at which children's brains are staged for optimal learning and absorption," said my mom. "He's so precocious, it might be good to take advantage of that by making sure he's challenged during those important peak years."
"Maybe, but studies say that boys are better off gaining confidence as the oldest than by being challenged intellectually."
"Hmm. Yeah, I really don't know any cases where the boy skipped a grade and wasn't a social outcast."
"Thanks, Mom."

"Your uncle skipped a grade and he just never quite fit in with the other kids," said my grandmother. "Mind you, he was brilliant, but he never really had friends until college."

"Why would you risk it?" asked my brother, who himself had skipped the (fourth? Fifth?) grade. "You want him to be happy, to have friends. School work is less important."
This, coming from the most competitive academic I know. Thanks, so much.

And so the conversations went. I asked and probed and researched and the answers were all...highly variable. Depends on the kid, bottom line.

How to know?

Meanwhile, Ariel, unbeknownst to me, had been telling his old, original teachers and classmates, when he'd meet them on the playground, in hushed tones, "Don't worry. I'll be back in your class soon." They laughed and felt missed, thought it was very sweet.

But Ariel likes to be taken seriously. On Day 5 of the switch, at 9 AM, I received a call from his old teacher on my cell phone:

"Hi, everything's okay, but we have a situation."
"Oh?"
"Well Ariel came to our room this morning and announced that he was back. He's so cute and we love him so much and he won't leave. What should we do?"

And there you have it. He made the call.

While I fretted and tore my hair out, he simply took over the decision-making and did what HE felt was right. Didn't complain, gave it a fair shot...and then chose to end the trial period.

And what can I say? I respect that. I'm certainly not going to stress a happy three-year-old about his potential for Harvard when he finds his comfort zone, well, pretty comfortable. His academic future can wait.

At least until the fall.