Counting Cats

Meow!

When Sean and I talk about the values we want to impart in our children, a couple of things always come up, one being respect for yourself and others,  and the other being the importance of hard work and perseverance in the face of difficulty and obstacles.  Working in the field of education, I have seen more than a couple of students who, after years of having things come easy for them, come to a subject or period of time that is difficult or that they don't understand right away and breakdown.  Oftentimes those students, because they never learned how to trudge through, give up or mistakenly believe they are no longer smart because they need help.  This is why I sincerely hope that things in school and in life in general don't universally come easy for our kids.  It sounds counterintuitive but I  hope they meet with struggle early on and if genetics have anything to say about (mine at least) they will.  

I have never had an intelligence test but I'm guessing if I did, either currently or in the past, it would probably be a pretty average score.  I do not consider myself highly intelligent.  And although it would be nice to have a photographic memory or be able to pick up any new concept or language easily, I have learned that there are more important strengths and characteristics to have.  

I struggled across the board in elementary school.  Not only was every academic subject a puzzle to me (and I have never been into puzzles) but making friends and reaching out to new people brought me great anxiety as well.  At home I was a vivacious and creative kiddo but coming out of my shell at school felt scary and unsettling.  If you didn't know me then (and most of you didn't), this information probably surprises you.  In the past several years that I have been a school counselor, I have told many of my students about my early struggles.  Kids are almost always surprised to hear that school was difficult for me academically and are even more shocked to hear that I was very shy and insecure.  After all, I have no problem wearing pajamas to school, making up silly songs and belting them out to a large audience, and leading silly classroom role plays.

The highlights of my early school years go something like this.  I remember distinctly the color of my kindergarten reading folder.  The folder was red, a color that didn't take me long to figure out meant struggle, meant fewer words and a slower pace, meant watching kids go up to blue or yellow while I stayed behind, stuck in red.  I can't think of first grade without the image of a big blue and white cat coming to mind.  By then I wasn't even in the classroom for math and reading.  And because the concepts of addition and subtraction were difficult for me to process, my math teacher used large plastic kittens to make things more tangible.  While I was counting cats in the resource room, the girl I most admired in the 1st grade was doing multiplication tables, which I mistakenly believed could only be done on the wooden table where these elite students worked.  In 2nd grade I remember trying desperately to escape to the nurses office to save myself from the torture that was mad minutes (where each student had to do as many math problems as possible in 60 seconds time).  

While these memories are a little painful, they also always make me think of the years that followed.  They make me think of the librarian turned 3rd grade teacher that I was lucky enough to have two years in a row, a teacher that realized my love for books and writing.  She helped me grow academically and as a learner by focusing on my strengths (which I did have), and in the process bolstered my confidence too.  I also think about middle school.  I no longer needed help outside the classroom but I remember telling one of the popular boys to shut-up, and some other things too, when he made a rude comment about one of our classmates who did frequent the resource room.  I'm proud of that little first grader for counting those cats day after day, even as her favorite friend got the pretty table in the center of the classroom for her fancy math.  And I'm really proud of that skinny 12 year old for telling that jerk where he could stick it because she remembered how it felt to be different and worried that everyone thought you were stupid.  I wouldn't change a thing about how my academic career started because it created a foundation that allowed me to succeed in-spite of my weaknesses.  I am now not only the proud owner of an undergraduate degree but a masters degree as well, with aspirations to one day get my doctorate.  I do not give my intelligence credit for these achievements.  All the glory goes to my motivation and perseverance, things I learned way back in my days of counting cats.   

It is a little ironic that I now happily and confidently stroll down the hallways and sit in the classrooms of a school not that different from one that 25 years ago made me want to run home and back into the arms of my mother.  But I believe this gives me a huge advantage as an educator and counselor of our little people, especially the ones that struggle.  When I peel a first grader out of his mother's arms and listen to him come up with every excuse in the book as to why he has to go home, I get it.  When a forth grader starts to cry everyday at the mention of math class, I get it.  When a student suddenly comes down with a headache or stomach bug every-time the words test, assessment, or quiz are mentioned, I get it.  I'm a stronger person because I didn't easily come by what I have.  My hope for my children, the ones that came from my womb and the ones I counsel, is that they learn perseverance and the value of working hard even if it doesn't in that moment get them to the head of the class.  

So for anyone out there that is struggling, finding that things aren't coming easily, looking around and feeling like you are falling behind.  I say to you, just keep counting those cats, keep working hard, keep showing up.  I truly believe it  will pay off for you twofold someday.