Abby's first C and my subsequent breakdown

Oh, the horror!

My 9-year-old came home with a ‘C’ on her second quarter report card. I’m hyperventilating as I write this. Really. I am. My type A personality can hardly bear it and now I’m sharing it. Oh my. I have to walk away and get some air before I continue.

I’m back and still upset. Sorry. This may come off as a whiny rant.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that her teacher didn’t have time to send home the report cards on report card day (does she get a ‘C’ for that?) and I had to sit on pins and needles all weekend blaming Abby for leaving her report card at school, which she honestly thought she did because that’s where her winter outerwear wardrobe is and several uneaten lunches. 

Pardon this rambling side note, but shouldn’t teachers be held accountable, too? She could have at least sent a note that she wasn’t done with grades, as I personally know of at least one class parent who called the office that day questioning the existence of their child’s said report card. Not in our case, because we simply assumed our ADHD child forgot/misplaced/exchanged/ate her report card and no longer had a recollection of it. In retrospect, I feel kinda bad for that because the poor soul was racking her brain about the report card she thought she left behind. And this time, for once darnit, it wasn’t her fault!

So three days later than I expected to I had to be read this news over the phone by my husband. Who first ran down a list of all the A’s and V’s (I cannot remember if that stands for victory or very good but only that it’s the best of the non-ABC grades you can get) and then realized there was a – GULP – back page. He flipped it over to see two more classes listed, and there it was, THERE WAS A ‘C.’ And said husband who was reading this could be heard through phone shrugging shoulders because in his experience, ‘C’ means ‘good job’ and isn’t worth discussing further. 

Um. NO. It means you’re average. Probably below average. A C IS HORRIBLE NEWS!! I never got one in my entire existence, although my mom may lovingly point out the ‘U’ for the lowest possible grade of ‘unsatisfactory’ I got in scissor cutting in kindergarten. Which, by the way, was totally her fault because her obsessive-compulsive nature couldn’t handle a 5-year-old in the house with scissors, especially since there was a 2-year-old also living there. I cannot be expected to take responsibility for her cautious ways. I may have gotten a ‘C’ once in Physical Education, too, but upon negotiation was able to convince the teacher to lift it back up to a ‘B’ due to obscure questions about badminton on the exam. All this after living in a home where good grades weren’t really the expectation. Well, they probably were after I made such good ones, but nobody ever told me I needed good grades. I just NEEDED good grades. That’s how I operate, you see.

“Put Abby on the phone,” I said.

And Dan did.

Which shocked me, because he had to have known I might go ballistic about the ‘C.’ Really I had no business doing it, and good for him for trusting me so because as I took a deep breath, I regained internal composure and this is how our conversation went:

“Abby, you got almost all A’s on your report card, honey. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom. Today at recess….”

“Um, that’s nice. I know you’re not a ‘C’ writer Abby, but you got a ‘C’ in creative writing,” I said in the most pleasant June Cleaver voice I could muster. “What’s that about? Did you forget to turn something in or lose a test again?” (Yes, Abby actually lost a test – during the test. It was never found in her classroom again. She does amazing feats of magic apparently but can’t seem to make her broccoli disappear.”)

A pause. Uncomfortably long. I thought an explanation was coming. “No, mom. I didn’t. I gotta go……..”

Dan was back on the phone, and I demanded he search for an explanation before I came home to dig deeper into this mystery.

Abby. Yes, she’s got major focus/attention/hyperactive/behavioral issues. But she’s also still my child, my firstborn who must achieve and please. It runs thick in her blood. And she’s so darn smart and totally undeserving of a ‘C.’

My commute home is 30 minutes. I obsessed over this for 26.5 and listened to NPR news the other 3.5.

My June Cleaver conversation was much more genuine when I got home. More gentle prying. No answers.

I should also note that Abby lies – often. I don’t know if it’s an ADHD thing or a first-born thing in which she doesn’t want to disappoint. (Although I’m firstborn and I never lied. I tried a few times, and my mom could read me like an open book. I don’t even bother anymore. Please don’t ask me something unless you want an honest answer, ‘cause it could be uncomfortable for both of us!) Maybe it’s the impulsiveness of her ADHD or the forgetfulness. We try not to dwell on it too much, but we have to keep asking when we know there’s more to the story. Often it’s just a matter of time before she spills all.

More than four hours after Dan first read Abby’s grades, I’m done fighting with her. The truth is, she’s an AMAZING writer! When she was 5, she started writing these great books with her Mema. They’d write them together, and she’d illustrate them. She writes the best notes for Dan in the wee hours of the morning when she can’t sleep and decides to make her lunch for school the next day. She craves her own blog where she can have not only an unlimited space to document her ideas but also an audience to read them. Abby is one of the very best readers in her class. I KNOW she can write. I KNOW she’s a successful creative writer. I KNOW the ‘C’ doesn’t mean she can’t or won’t or struggles. It’s just a letter, the third letter of the alphabet darn it, and I’m OK with that!

“Mom, you know how you asked if I forgot to turn something in?” she asks as we’re driving home after soccer practice.

“Yes, Abby,” I say and then smile because I feel the relief already.

“I couldn’t find my journal. I looked everywhere, and it’s not in the classroom. And I never brought it home.”

“That’s OK, honey. Just because you got a ‘C’ doesn’t mean you’re an average writer. We all know you are the BEST creative writer. Grades don’t determine success anyway.”

I said that last part through gritted teeth. It was SO hard, even though deep down it’s what I truly believe. Then I added:

“But grades can determine scholarships, Abby, so when you get to high school, please don’t lose your journal.”