My first couple of years as an elementary student were a breeze. I entered kindergarten already comfortably reading, quickly finding favor with my teachers.
My memories of first grade include easily winning games of “Around the World,” and sitting in the hallway working on an accelerated curriculum while my classmates learned to read.
Suddenly, in second grade, my schoolwork drastically declined. My parents and teachers grew concerned, unsure of what factors were contributing to my lack of motivation and diminished attitude. I was taken to the school counselor, where I eventually revealed the problem: “I got dumb.”
As a second grader, I was experiencing the phenomenon of being challenged in the classroom for the first time, and I was undone. My identity was completely shaken, fully constructed on the ideal that school was a place where I simply demonstrated what I already knew, not a place to learn new things.
At age six, my daughter Eloise couldn’t be more similar. An especially bright child, academic pursuits to this point have been painless for her. While I’d love to take credit for her early reading prowess, her brain simply awoke to reading naturally with very little intervention from us.
Luckily for Eloise, her teacher has an exceptional skill for differentiation, so her experience in the classroom is unlike my own early years of elementary school. Her schoolwork is individualized to her skill level, and she’s able to work alongside her classmates, not pitted against them in competition or excluded to the hallway.
Colleen Cook works full-time as the Director of Operations at Vinyl Marketing in Ashland, where she resides with her husband Mike and three young daughters. She’s an insatiable extrovert who enjoys finding reasons to gather people.
That said, so much comes easily for her at this age that when we’re up against something that truly challenges her, it’s tough. One particularly challenging hurdle has been learning to ride her bike.
For her 5th birthday, we purchased a shiny new bicycle for her. She’d mastered the balance bike and was ready for a two-wheeler, and we were especially excited to see her cross that next threshold into girlhood.
Eloise is small for her age, and while the bike was the appropriate size, it was cumbersome for her compared to the tiny balance bike. She wobbled, struggled to stop, wrestled to get started, and fell several times. Frustrated and heartbroken, she resisted riding it, begging to revert back to the balance bike. In that moment, I saw the flash of myself, just a bit older than her, convinced that I’d lost my ability, my identity in the face of a challenge.
Truthfully, I saw myself now, too. I still wrestle with my identity as I’m confronted with things I don’t know. I struggle to remind myself that my not knowing is not a sign of my complete inadequacy, nor an indicator that I’m not good enough to be wherever I am.
In those moments, the only way through is to put my head down, persevere, and affirm myself that with enough information and time, I can learn the thing I’m lacking. As I’m parenting this same vulnerability, I’m compelled to ingrain into my child that learning requires persistence and patience.
So, gently I insisted that Eloise get back on the bicycle. As she began to pedal forward, I required that she speak aloud, even through sobs, “I can ride this bike!”
This summer with great perseverance, as her body learned to obey and as her muscles began to coordinate, she gleefully shouted as she soared down the driveway: “I CAN RIDE THIS BIKE! I CAN RIDE THIS BIKE!”
