Bluebirds

Of all my years in school, fourth grade was the most tragic.

It all started, like many tragedies do, with a standardized test. What Mrs. Shook was thinking when she decided, on the basis of one crummy reading comprehension test, to put me in the dumb reading group, I still cannot imagine.

Even then, I conducted informal surveys to boost my own morale, and I've never met a kid who scored high on reading comprehension. When the test administrator gives the instructions and says, "You must read the entire story before answering the questions," are the good readers the only ones who obey? Are our obvious language abilities undermined by not finishing on time?

Is it a not-so-subtle plot to equalize the masses and dumb down the populace?

Mrs. Shook called me to her massive oak desk one fateful morning in October to deliver the news. She was eight months pregnant, and beautiful, and kind, and she loved me more than the other kids in the class, maybe even more than the baby in her womb. I would have done anything for her--except this.

"I'm afraid you're going to be reading with the Bluebirds now," she said. The whole class must have heard her: Biff Carlew and David Schwartz and Mary Louise Hill and Patty Turgeon. Kathy Ramm and Shannon Casey didn't hear, at least. The lids of their desks were all the way open, hiding their upper bodies as they giggled and passed notes.

I was mortified.

"Maybe," Mrs. Shook continued, "if you work really hard, you'll be able to join the Redbirds again someday."

Thus began the lengthy season of my intellectual humiliation. Every day that fall, I was self-conscious when the Bluebirds circled up to stumble over simple words and miss meanings altogether. I still loved Mrs. Shook with everything in me, but it broke my heart to think she didn't recognize that Katy McKenna was a natural born reader.

I forgave her one day in late November, when the Bluebirds were told to go back to their desks, and a black-and-white TV on a rolling cart was wheeled into the room.

I didn't think it was time for the lady who taught us Spanish on educational television, and the Kansas City A's weren't playing the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series anymore, I was pretty sure. When I saw Mrs. Shook's huge brown eyes fill with tears, I knew I was right.

The TV was turned on in time to hear it when they first announced our president was dead--not just hurt very badly, but finally and completely dead. Mrs. Shook's enormous belly convulsed with her uncontrollable sobs, and I hoped the baby would be OK, and I loved her more than ever.

"I don't understand," she kept saying, over and over, in a kind of stupor. "But I don't understand..."

We got sent home early that day. I walked the three blocks alone, leaving a grieving teacher behind, knowing a weeping mother was waiting.

On the path from one woman to the next, I grew up enough to realize that everyone stuggles to comprehend life, to understand tragedy.

Standardized tests or not, graded or ungraded, we stumble, we fumble to find the words, to read and write our stories.

When I opened my book to read aloud with those sad little Bluebirds a few days later, the circle of desks felt more like a nest than I remembered.

Posted by Katy on 06/17/03 at 09:04 AM

Fallible Comments...

This could be St PEter's or any school - brings back some real memories or BIff and Mary Ramm.

I need tolocate Biff if possible. THanks.
Posted by COL JAMIE HOUSTON on 12/06/12 at 02:29 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Bluebirds Of all my years in school, fourth grade was the most tragic. It all started, like many tragedies do, with a standardized test. What Mrs. Shook was thinking when she decided, on the basis of one crummy reading comprehension test, to put me in the dumb reading group, I still cannot imagine. Even then, I conducted informal surveys to boost my own morale, and I've never met a kid who scored high on reading comprehension. When the test administrator gives the instructions and says, "You must read the entire story before answering the questions," are the good readers the only ones who obey? Are our obvious language abilities undermined by not finishing on time? Is it a not-so-subtle plot to equalize the masses and dumb down the populace? Mrs. Shook called me to her massive oak desk one fateful morning in October to deliver the news. She was eight months pregnant, and beautiful, and kind, and she loved me more than the other kids in the class, maybe even more than the baby in her womb. I would have done anything for her--except this. "I'm afraid you're going to be reading with the Bluebirds now," she said. The whole class must have heard her: Biff Carlew and David Schwartz and Mary Louise Hill and Patty Turgeon. Kathy Ramm and Shannon Casey didn't hear, at least. The lids of their desks were all the way open, hiding their upper bodies as they giggled and passed notes. I was mortified. "Maybe," Mrs. Shook continued, "if you work really hard, you'll be able to join the Redbirds again someday." Thus began the lengthy season of my intellectual humiliation. Every day that fall, I was self-conscious when the Bluebirds circled up to stumble over simple words and miss meanings altogether. I still loved Mrs. Shook with everything in me, but it broke my heart to think she didn't recognize that Katy McKenna was a natural born reader. I forgave her one day in late November, when the Bluebirds were told to go back to their desks, and a black-and-white TV on a rolling cart was wheeled into the room. I didn't think it was time for the lady who taught us Spanish on educational television, and the Kansas City A's weren't playing the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series anymore, I was pretty sure. When I saw Mrs. Shook's huge brown eyes fill with tears, I knew I was right. The TV was turned on in time to hear it when they first announced our president was dead--not just hurt very badly, but finally and completely dead. Mrs. Shook's enormous belly convulsed with her uncontrollable sobs, and I hoped the baby would be OK, and I loved her more than ever. "I don't understand," she kept saying, over and over, in a kind of stupor. "But I don't understand..." We got sent home early that day. I walked the three blocks alone, leaving a grieving teacher behind, knowing a weeping mother was waiting. On the path from one woman to the next, I grew up enough to realize that everyone stuggles to comprehend life, to understand tragedy. Standardized tests or not, graded or ungraded, we stumble, we fumble to find the words, to read and write our stories. When I opened my book to read aloud with those sad little Bluebirds a few days later, the circle of desks felt more like a nest than I remembered. Posted by Katy on 06/17/03 at 09:04 AM Fallible Comments... This could be St PEter's or any school - brings back some real memories or BIff and Mary Ramm. I need tolocate Biff if possible. THanks. Posted by COL JAMIE HOUSTON on 12/06/12 at 02:29 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Delete Previous entry: Motivation << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Bluebirds

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri