Two years ago, my bright young son, Ethan, decided to create handmade Valentine’s cards for his first-grade classmates. I was thrilled when he opted for creativity over store-bought options, so we gathered construction paper and got to work. With a printed class list in front of him, he diligently copied their names in his large, enthusiastic handwriting. Each card was a labor of love.
As a parent volunteer for the class party, I was excited to see the kids buzzing with energy while distributing their cards. However, Ethan tugged at my shirt, looking nervous. Leaning down, he whispered, “Mom, can you help me pass out my cards?”
I encouraged him, “You can do it yourself! Everyone else is.” He shook his head, replying softly, “I can’t, Mom. I don’t know how to read their names.” In that moment, I felt an overwhelming wave of heartbreak and helplessness.
Ethan is exceptionally intelligent; he ranked in the 99th percentile for gifted programs after just one year of pre-K. I had high hopes for his elementary school experience, especially since I had loved school and found learning easy. But when he struggled with “sight words” in kindergarten, I was taken aback. I had read to him daily since birth—he adored books, and I thought we were well-prepared for reading.
Frustrated during meetings with school officials, I wanted to scream, “We’ve done everything! Stop blaming us and teach my child to read!” We sought help outside our school district. Our pediatrician referred us to a specialist, and after thorough evaluation, we discovered the reason behind Ethan’s struggles: he has dyslexia, a condition affecting about one in five children.
The solution from the specialist was structured literacy, emphasizing systematic phonics instruction. Simply reading daily was not enough; Ethan needed explicit teaching to connect letters and sounds. I realized that during our reading sessions, I often stumbled upon words that didn’t follow basic rules. I thought some words were just exceptions, not understanding that I lacked the knowledge of all the rules.
As Ethan’s reading skills improved, I began questioning why systematic phonics wasn’t a standard teaching method for all children. After conducting my own research on the science of reading, I learned that while approximately 40% of kids can learn to “decode” independently, 60% cannot, including those like Ethan who face significant challenges.
Reflecting on this, it’s alarming that around 65% of children in the U.S. do not read proficiently, according to the National Assessment on Educational Progress (NAEP), a trend mirrored in Tennessee. For many children, the inability to grasp reading hinders their entire educational journey and potential in life. This is a pressing national issue, not a failure of parents or teachers, but rather a systemic problem requiring change—from how teachers are educated to the reading curricula used in schools.
Recently, our state initiated positive changes by proposing legislation to ensure early elementary teachers receive training in the science of reading and adopt appropriate curricula. I hope this legislation is enacted, and that school districts embrace it for the sake of all children’s success.
If your child struggles with reading, inquire about the methods your school employs. If they’re not based on systematic phonics, advocate for what your child truly needs. All kids deserve this foundational skill.
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In summary, my son’s dyslexia journey has opened my eyes to the urgent need for systemic changes in how we teach reading in schools. It’s crucial for all children, regardless of their learning challenges, to receive the education they deserve.