When a child’s teacher reaches out for a conversation, the news is rarely positive. Occasionally, you might hear, “Your child is a prodigy, and we’re preparing him for his first TED Talk.” More often, though, it’s a different story.
I found myself sitting in my office when my son’s kindergarten teacher reached out to discuss his struggles. She confirmed my fears: he was having difficulty with learning and writing letters, and he wasn’t grasping the various consonant sounds. Frustration was evident on his face.
I knew that his transition to school had not been smooth. The early months were filled with reluctance, tantrums aimed at his sister, outbursts with the babysitter, and self-deprecating remarks. With each troubling episode, my anxiety grew. Had we pushed him into this too soon?
Born in November, my son barely meets the December 1 cutoff for school enrollment. As the youngest in his class, he entered kindergarten at just four years old. It was disheartening to take him to birthday celebrations for classmates turning six while he was still counting down to five. Just weeks before, he was immersed in a preschool environment, playing with toys, and now he was expected to identify letter sounds and write them down. No wonder he was lagging behind.
We had debated holding him back—what’s commonly referred to as “redshirting”—to give him additional time to develop socially and academically before facing the rigors of kindergarten. We weighed the pros and cons, finding a significant list of reasons to move him forward. Most importantly, his preschool teacher insisted he was ready. We were also concerned about the potential boredom of another year in preschool, especially as his friends advanced. Plus, the financial strain of preschool tuition with two incomes was a factor. Moving him to kindergarten seemed logical, both academically and economically.
The only downside? He’d be younger than his peers.
Our list heavily favored sending him to kindergarten, but I underestimated the weight of that single con. I believed I had considered all factors, but I overlooked the true implications of him being the youngest. My daughter, born in April, was comfortably situated age-wise in her class, so I didn’t fully appreciate the significance of those extra months.
Observing my kindergartner struggle was heart-wrenching. It was painful to see him come home disheartened, his enthusiasm for school dwindling, and his self-worth taking a hit. Hearing a four-year-old criticize himself for not accomplishing tasks that perhaps he wasn’t ready for was difficult. Maybe he would have been better off playing with trucks after all.
During that fateful call, his teacher outlined a plan: he would receive extra support in class a few times weekly and occupational therapy to help with his pencil grip. She assured me she would follow up at the next parent-teacher conference to assess progress. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It didn’t seem so dire, and I appreciated her proactive approach.
Fortunately, things have improved since then. In our meeting, I noticed that while his schoolwork still resembled a Kandinsky painting, his teacher was optimistic about his progress. My now-five-year-old seemed to regain his excitement about learning, eagerly sharing what he had discovered. He could identify sounds and letters, and his math skills were blossoming—leading me to believe he might even tackle our taxes in the future. Although getting him to focus on homework remains a challenge, I recognize the strides he has made.
Did we make the right decision? It’s still uncertain as we watch to see if he continues to catch up or falls further behind. A part of me feels we might have robbed him of a carefree early childhood experience. Then there’s the guilt about exposing him to stress and self-doubt at such a tender age. Was it all necessary?
I suppose I’ll never know how things could have been different—the potential boredom and frustration of him being the oldest in preschool while his friends moved on. But children are resilient. He’s back to being our cheerful, goofy little boy who can now negotiate his allowance. He’s even starting to mature, emulating those older kids in his class.
Perhaps, for now, that’s the true loss.
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Summary
The author reflects on the decision not to redshirt her son for kindergarten, detailing the struggles he faced as the youngest in his class. Despite initial challenges, he has shown improvement and regained his enthusiasm for learning. The piece contemplates the weight of age-related decisions in early education and the resilience of children.