My son, Leo, is nearly five years old and is undoubtedly one of the brightest children I’ve encountered. He can read numerous words and simple books, knows basic multiplication, and can even spell his name with pride. Under normal circumstances, I would look at him and think he was more than ready for kindergarten.
However, there’s one small detail. Leo is autistic. While he doesn’t need extensive support, he has his quirks. He prefers exploring to sitting quietly, and his speech patterns differ from those of most kids his age. He loves to learn but has little interest in writing.
Last year, Leo attended a small private preschool, which we loved. With plans for him to enter public elementary school, I felt he would benefit from a year of full-time public preschool focused on kindergarten preparedness. The previous school didn’t emphasize this, which was a concern for me. So, we enrolled him in our local elementary school this fall.
Overall, Leo seems to be thriving. Other children greet him during drop-off, and his teachers and therapists are excellent and communicative. Despite this, I found myself spiraling into anxiety.
With only a single school year before he would need to transition to a mainstream kindergarten classroom, I was convinced he wasn’t ready—not even close. He couldn’t write, and his speech delay made me wonder if anyone else recognized his brilliance.
As the school year progressed, I became increasingly preoccupied with his “progress” and kindergarten readiness. I sent countless anxious emails to his teachers and therapists, hoping they would reassure me he was on the right track. However, it wasn’t until just before winter break that I finally asked outright.
My email must have conveyed my panic because one of Leo’s therapists called me, providing a much-needed perspective. She encouraged me to take a step back, breathe, and listen to her insights.
I’m grateful I did. She helped me understand that preschool is not a race to cram every possible skill into Leo’s mind. Contrary to what my worried mama heart had been telling me, preschool isn’t a rigorous test where my unique son must prove himself for a mainstream classroom. The goal of kindergarten readiness isn’t the primary focus for Leo; I needed to calm down.
She explained that the Pre-K program offers limited resources compared to what he will receive at the elementary level, and it’s perfectly acceptable for both him and me to relax and enjoy his time in preschool. Initially, I felt the urge to argue, convinced he needed more help. My thoughts raced: “What if he had extra OT this year? Maybe he would write by kindergarten. Can I send a video of him reading? He’s brilliant! Please don’t underestimate him!”
However, she reassured me that everyone on his team recognizes Leo’s potential. Their responsibility is to observe, understand, and assist him in learning in the most effective manner for him. They are passionate about children and education and want him to succeed just as much as I do.
In their communications, they describe him as eager, bright, and sweet. They celebrate his achievements and strategize on how best to support his challenges. His teachers guide him without pushing him too hard, allowing him to learn at his pace and enjoy preschool. He isn’t falling behind; he’s simply learning different things than I envisioned.
My obsession with kindergarten readiness stemmed from viewing preschool as Leo’s last chance to demonstrate his capabilities so the educational system wouldn’t overlook him. As his mother, I’ve long felt the need to validate his intelligence and capabilities, fearing he would slip through the cracks. To me, he deserves the world and all it has to offer.
I’ll admit that I sometimes attend his meetings prepared to defend him. It’s challenging to lower my guard and trust that others also want to see Leo thrive. I’m still working on believing that I’m not the only one who sees and loves my son.
I suspect many parents with children like mine resonate with these feelings. When your child doesn’t fit the mold, it can be frustrating and infuriating that the mold exists at all. Who determined that all children should achieve the same milestones simply because they were born around the same time? Raising a child who dances to their own rhythm reveals that we often don’t provide enough diversity in learning styles for kids.
Unfortunately, we cannot always reshape the system to better accommodate our children; sometimes we must help them flourish within it. The concern begins early, and I know we face greater challenges as he grows.
If you’re in a similar situation with a little one who has unique needs and you’re worried about kindergarten readiness, I encourage you to take a moment to breathe deeply.
Reframing my expectations has been the best decision for Leo, his teachers, and my own mental well-being. For children with special needs, preschool serves as an invaluable opportunity to acclimate to the classroom, receive necessary free services, and, if needed, develop an Individualized Education Plan (IEP). It’s not an assessment of their worthiness to be educated. Children with special needs are entitled to a free and proper education, just like any other child. Some will thrive in mainstream settings, while others may flourish in specialized education environments. Whatever support our unique kids require, they don’t need to prove their worthiness for it. They’re allowed to enter kindergarten feeling uncertain and unprepared, just like any other child, and learn as they go.
Leo has an IEP for a reason, and he will receive support for as long as he needs it. The first day of kindergarten is not a deadline for him; it’s merely a new beginning filled with opportunities.
Admitting that I needed to adjust my expectations for Leo’s preschool experience wasn’t easy, but doing so has alleviated my anxiety and filled me with hope. Kindergarten readiness is not something I must obsess over. He doesn’t need to meet every checkbox on a kindergarten checklist. My intelligent, wonderful boy is entitled to an education, and as long as I advocate for him, he will receive it. He doesn’t need to prove anything to earn it, and it’s a relief to let go of some of my perfectionist tendencies.
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Summary:
This article discusses the author’s journey of understanding her son Leo’s unique needs as he prepares for kindergarten. Initially obsessed with ensuring his readiness, she learns to reframe her expectations and recognize the value of preschool as a time for exploration and growth rather than a test. The piece emphasizes the importance of trusting educators and understanding that children with special needs are entitled to appropriate education without the pressure to prove themselves.
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