I sat next to my friend, Mike, at our staff party on the evening of our school’s last day. We were reveling in the lightness of being that sweeps through teachers when all the responsibilities and burdens of teaching over a hundred students is at last lifted. We’d been laughing at shared memories of the crazy moments in our middle school world. At a break in the laughter, Mike leaned in to talk just to me and asked, “So Chris, are you completely healed from your stroke now? You seem so much better; it’s like you’re back at 100%.”
I won’t lie. The question threw me for a moment, but I tried to mask it. I told Mike how I still have a little trouble with my left side when I’m tired. I told him how my foot gets heavy and I have to be more careful with my walking. Then I tentatively asked, “Did I not seem 100% when I first returned?” It was the question that begged to be asked, yet I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer. He carefully explained that when I first returned after a massive stroke that required months of rehabilitation, including learning to walk again, I seemed frail and my speech was slower, more deliberate. I let this sink in–how strange it was for me to hear this. Funny, I’d imagined myself so strong and so ready to get back to my role as teacher. At that time, I envisioned myself as strong, unbeatable, a warrior. Little did I know, my fellow teachers worried and whispered about me, wondering how in the world I was going to manage.
I’m glad I didn’t know. I’m glad they talked about it behind my back and let me move forward without the burden of their worries and misgivings. I did struggle during that first year back. Remembering all the student names, which had always been my special super power, was especially challenging and my walking was tentative, slow in those bustling hallways. Fortunately, I got stronger physically as the four years passed and my brain continued to heal as well, making it easier to remember all the names, to manage all the paperwork, and to instill confidence in my colleagues that I was truly back and able.
My cognitive progression from that first year back in the classroom to now pushes me to consider the impact of constant reporting out to students in regards to their cognitive progress as learners. Our culture’s obsession with data seems to have driven us to overshare results–results that are continually reported to the children while their brains are still developing and cognitive skills are mid-process. If my memory of adolescent development serves me, Piaget charted the onset of formal operational thought at adolescence through adulthood. This is a wide time age range for young people to reach a stage at which they can grasp abstract concepts like symbolism and the development of a hypothesis.
My experience leads me to believe it may be better for the whole child and his/her self-concept to recognize and celebrate when he/she reaches the milestone of higher level thinking versus reporting his/her failed attempts all along the way. How discouraged I would have been, early in my recovery, if all my cognitive shortcomings had been pointed out again and again. “Oh, Mrs. Laaksonen, you confused Emily with a student from years ago named Jessica. Your accuracy rate has now dropped.” Thank goodness, I was allowed to make mistakes, heal, and recover all in the time I needed. Maybe we should show school children the same grace.
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