Tomorrow morning at 8:00 am, our 11 year-old son will report to the school cafeteria, calculator and middle school ID in hand. He’ll sit down next to students five or six years older than him and spend the next four hours with his number 2 pencil, filling in tiny dots that are supposed to assess his academic abilities. 

Somehow, we’ve been convinced that it’s a good idea to let our sixth grade son take the ACT.

Without going into the details of his academic career, let me just say he stood out from his peers at an early age.  He has always been one of those children you would describe as an old soul, wise beyond his years, feeling things at a depth many adults never attain.

His public school career got off to a bumpy start.  His kindergarten teacher would talk to us about her theories that he had Oppositional Defiance Disorder or ADHD.  He was regularly sent to the principal’s office, a typical case of a bored kid with a lot of energy and extra time on his hands. Despite the fact he had completed the sixth grade reading curriculum by the end of first grade, I would leave most parent-teacher conferences in tears after having heard only about his challenging behavior.

Thankfully, second grade brought with it a change of venue, a fresh start, and a school district with an Accelerated Learning Coordinator.  His classroom teachers talked to us about how normal our son’s behavior was for a gifted child, the first time anyone had ever called him that. His behavior improved almost immediately.

He’s not one of those awkwardly intelligent children, one who will graduate from college at age 12, but he is something special and adults who encounter him see it almost immediately.

For the past few years teachers have talked to us about IQ testing.  Some of them have made guesses at what his IQ might be; others just remark that they would love to know. I have to admit, part of me is really curious. Most of me says a big NO to the idea. I’m afraid of him being defined by a number.  I’m afraid that the already high expectations that are placed on him will increase.  I want to preserve his childhood and allow him to be 11, which is why we have never entertained the idea of skipping him a grade, though we know he could.

This year, the school suggested he take the ACT. 

Here’s the theory. Kids who regularly score within the 99th percentile on standardized tests represent a wide range of intelligence. By giving them an above grade level test, like the ACT, you can find out more specifically where their abilities lie.  Through a program at Northwestern University’s Center for Talent Development, they will compare our son’s scores against those of other sixth graders and come up with a list of suggestions for him to “best use his talents.”  Basically, you get a long range plan for academic development. It’s up to us what we do with it.

Last October, we took our son to a meeting where the test and the reasons for taking it were described.  We left the decision up to him.  He said he thought it sounded like fun.  He wanted to take it.  And so, we signed the forms, paid the fees, and went to Barnes and Noble to look at some of their ACT prep materials.  The Accelerated Learning teacher gave him a box of flashcards. 

As the months have passed and the count down to test day began in earnest, my son started taking the practice tests. I would sit down with him every once in awhile and go through some vocabulary words…Ossify, Sedulous, Nadir, Surfeit.  I watched him bounce back and forth between feeling confident and feeling overwhelmed.  I kept reminding him he wasn’t expected to know all of the answers, he was taking a test meant for students who were almost finished with high school not sixth grade.  Eventually, I stopped asking him if he wanted to practice with the flashcards, realizing we weren’t trying to see how well he could memorize, we were trying to understand what gifts he already possessed.

Last night, we went over the check list of what my son needs to bring to the test site, making sure he had it all in one place.  He went through his practice booklet again, reading the instructions for the different sections and working through some of the math problems.  Then, he brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas, and tucked himself into bed with his arms curled around his teddy bear.

An hour later, he stood in our bedroom door.  Couldn’t sleep.  As I looked into his eyes, I didn’t even need to ask what was worrying him.  What had once sounded like fun had now become something entirely different.  As much as we had tried to reinforce that the test was not something he could fail, that it really didn’t count for anything, he wasn’t buying it anymore.  I tucked him into his sister’s top bunk, stroked his worried forehead, and wished I knew the right thing to do.

Today, my son and my husband are spending the day together on a middle school ski trip.  I know they will spend a carefree day racing down the hills with friends.  Not thinking about taking four hour tests. Not worried about letting anybody down. But when he gets home tonight, I know my son well enough to know it will be a different story.  He will worry. He will talk non-stop.  He will ask so many questions, the same ones over and over, that it will test my patience.  He will fidget with nervous energy despite probable exhaustion after the ski trip. 

And I will want to tell him he doesn’t have to do it, that he can skip the test. 

But is that the right thing to do? 

Is this one of those defining moments where he will take a huge leap forward in confidence after the test is over? 

And what will change when we get the test results?  What if it shows he isn’t as “talented” as we all thought? Or what if it shows we are doing him a disservice by not moving him ahead a grade?

Tonight, I’ll do all that I know to do: make him some chamomile tea, snuggle him into my silent arms, tuck him into bed with the dog and his teddy bear, turn on a CD book, and leave the lava lamp on.

In the morning, when I drop him off at the test and watch him walk through the door with his number two pencils, I know I will be choking back tears.  That’s just the kind of sap I am.  These moments where you want to do it for them so they don’t have to feel any worry or pain, they are the hardest part of parenting.

photo courtesy of mytexasmag.com