My son, Lucas, is nearly five, and he’s one of the brightest children I’ve encountered. He can read numerous words and simple books, knows basic multiplication, and can confidently spell his name. Under regular circumstances, I would assume he is more than ready for kindergarten.
However, there’s one small detail—Lucas is autistic. While he doesn’t need extensive support, he certainly has his quirks. He prefers exploration over sitting still and loves to talk, though not in the typical way you’d expect from a child his age. He enjoys learning, but writing? Not so much.
Last year, Lucas attended a small private preschool that we adored. Since he will be transitioning to public elementary school, I felt he would benefit from a year in full-time public preschool to prepare him. The smaller preschool didn’t emphasize kindergarten readiness, which was important to me. So, we enrolled him in our local elementary school’s program this fall.
From all observations, Lucas is thriving. The other children greet him in the drop-off line, his teachers are fantastic, and his therapists keep in touch. Yet, I can’t pinpoint exactly when my panic began to escalate.
At some point, my anxiety took control. I realized we only had a single school year before he would need to be in a typical kindergarten setting, and in my untrained opinion, he wasn’t ready—not even close. He couldn’t write, and his speech was delayed; did they even recognize his potential brilliance?
I began to view preschool as the crucial year for Lucas. I spent the first few months of school sending anxious emails to his teachers and therapists, becoming increasingly fixated on his “progress” and readiness for kindergarten. I hoped for reassurance that he was on track to be ready for kindergarten by next fall, but I hesitated to ask directly until just before winter break.
My email must have conveyed my heightened anxiety because one of the therapists reached out to me, and her reassurance was invaluable. She urged me to take a step back, breathe, and listen to her perspective.
I’m so grateful I did. She helped me understand that Lucas doesn’t need to cram every possible bit of knowledge into his preschool year. Contrary to what my worried heart believed, preschool isn’t an extended exam where my unique son must prove his ability to fit into a standard classroom. Kindergarten readiness isn’t the main goal for Lucas, and I essentially needed to relax.
She clarified that the Pre-K program has limited resources compared to what he will have access to at the elementary level, and it’s okay for both him and me to enjoy his remaining time in this class. Initially, I wanted to argue that he needed more assistance. My thoughts raced: “If only he had additional occupational therapy this year, maybe he would be able to write by kindergarten. Can I send you a video of him reading? I assure you he can do math! Please don’t underestimate him! My son is smart and capable; he may not communicate like other kids, but I know he can be a great student and a happy member of the class if his teacher recognizes his strengths.”
She reassured me that everyone on his team sees his potential. It’s their role to observe him, understand his needs, and support his learning in the best way possible. They became educators because they care deeply about children and their success, just as I do. Their professional pride is tied to watching children like Lucas flourish.
In their communications, they describe him as sweet, eager, and intelligent. They celebrate his successes and strategize on how to assist with his challenges. His teachers guide him without the pressure I wished for, recognizing that he is only four and deserves to learn at his own pace while enjoying preschool. He isn’t falling behind; he’s simply learning different things than I anticipated.
My obsession with kindergarten readiness stemmed from viewing preschool as his only chance to demonstrate his abilities so that the school system wouldn’t overlook him. As his mother, I’ve always felt the need to showcase how capable he is. I worry he’ll be underestimated and slip through the cracks. I want to protect him from that fate because he deserves the world.
I admit that at times, I enter meetings ready to advocate fiercely for him. It’s tough to lower my defenses and trust that others also want the best for Lucas. I’m still learning to believe that I’m not the only one who sees and cherishes my son.
I think many parents of children like mine can relate to my feelings. When your child doesn’t conform to the norm, it can be frustrating and disheartening that the standard even exists. Who decided that all children should achieve the same milestones simply because they were born around the same time? Raising a child who dances to their own rhythm really highlights the need for a broader spectrum of learning opportunities for all kids. (But that’s a discussion for another time.)
Unfortunately, we can’t always reshape the system to fit our children, so we often have to help them succeed in an environment not designed for them. The worry begins early, and I know there will be greater challenges as he grows.
If you can relate and have a little one with special considerations who isn’t yet school-age, and you find yourself consumed by thoughts of kindergarten readiness like I once was, take a deep breath.
Revising my expectations has been the most beneficial step for Lucas, his teachers, and my own anxiety. For children with special needs, preschool is a precious opportunity to learn how to adapt to a classroom, receive necessary services, and, if needed, lay the groundwork for an individualized education plan (IEP). It’s not a test to prove their worthiness for proper education.
All children with special needs are entitled to a free and appropriate education, just like every other child in this country. Some will thrive in mainstream classrooms, while others will excel in specialized settings. Regardless of the support required, our atypical kids don’t have to prove they deserve it. They can enter kindergarten feeling unprepared, just like any other child, and learn at their own pace.
Lucas has an IEP for a reason, and he will receive extra support as long as he needs it. The first day of kindergarten isn’t a deadline for him; it’s a fresh start filled with potential.
Admitting that I needed to adjust my expectations for Lucas during preschool wasn’t easy, but it has significantly reduced my anxiety and filled me with hope. Kindergarten readiness doesn’t have to be an obsession. He doesn’t need to check every box on some arbitrary list. My intelligent, wonderful son is legally entitled to an education, and as long as I advocate for him, he will receive it without needing to earn it. It’s a relief to let go of some of my perfectionist tendencies.
For further insights on similar topics, check out this post on our other blog, which addresses the nuances of parenting special needs children.
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In summary, recognizing that preschool is a time for growth and exploration, rather than a test of readiness, has been transformative. By letting go of my obsession with kindergarten readiness, I have found peace and clarity, allowing my son to learn at his own pace.
Keyphrase: Kindergarten readiness for special needs children
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