Matthew was a trial to his parents, there was no doubt about it. Both his mom and dad came for a meeting in advance of his arrival at preschool to apologize for … I’m not sure what. But they definitely knew he was different, and were concerned that he might not fit in.
I received my most important formal training in child behavioral issues from the psychologist at Fair Oaks Elementary School as a result of a five dollar bet [LINK]. Additionally, I base most of my responses on observing and responding logically to situations. So when I saw that both parents had dark circles under their eyes and seemed distressed, I listened up. Carefully.
Matthew was four years old and was an only child. His parents felt that they needed to take unique measures to restrict him to his room at night “for everyone’s safety.” They explained further, “He takes things apart. Mostly clocks and electronics.” They had secured mostly everything that still remained in one piece under lock and key. But somehow, Matthew had acquired a collection of screwdrivers and was caught closing in on the refrigerator. They feared that the stove was next.
So Matthew was under house arrest from 10 pm until 6 am, and everyone was exhausted. Everyone except Matthew, it seemed, who hopped out of the car with his grandma as perky as a jaybird. He then walked up to me fearlessly, reached out to shake my hand and said simply, “Hello.” Really, what four-year-old do you know who does that?
We all toured the facility together. Matthew didn’t say much, except to wonder aloud where the other children were (it was after hours). He expressed some interest when he saw that each child had their own notebook filled with worksheets. But basically, he completed his inspection and left with his family (who spent more time watching Matthew than looking around). Since his mom and dad had not managed to scare me and I didn’t see any reason to refuse him, he started the next day.
It was only a few decades ago that most of us lived in a technological desert. Never having experienced anything else, we didn’t know what we were missing. But life without a copier, printer, or computer in the early 1980’s was interesting, to say the least. There might have been a mimeograph machine at the church. Anyone here remember those? Damp papers with purple text, dipped in chemicals? No matter, we didn’t have one of those either!
So every evening, I sat with a stack of notebooks and a handful of markers and laboriously completed—by hand—the matchup worksheets for the next day, beginning with the next logical step for that child. I needed to get 10 to 20 minutes worth of work into each notebook. Our schedule was, 10 minutes workbook pages, 10 minutes coloring book pages, then 20 minutes recess (running, jumping, yelling, spinning around, jumping up and down free play, with a swing set, sandbox, and giant Tinker Toys for backup).
I needed to get at least 10 minutes worth of work into a notebook for Matthew, and I needed to do it fast! So I took a wild guess and decided that I couldn’t go wrong with ABC’s. I quickly wrote out the entire alphabet in matchup format, congratulating myself for getting ahead of the game with Matthew.
The next day dawned sunny and optimistic. Right on time, Matthew arrived and took his place in the circle for show and tell. Matthew chose to take off one shoe and show us an exciting new feature he called Velcro, that allowed him to be dressed and ready for action at top speed. No need for dealing with pesky shoe laces! He joined all of the activities without complaint, and did an unusual amount of watching and listening.
When time came for “seat work,” I gave Matthew his notebook first. I thought that would allow him time to look it over and get his bearings. But by the time I had distributed the notebooks to the other kids and passed out the markers, he was sitting quietly with all of his pages completed. And then he said, “More, please?”
I admit, I was surprised. But—being the parent of early learners myself—I was not jaw-dropping astounded. Not yet. That came later.
I quickly pulled an early reader off the bookshelf and handed it to him. I asked sweetly, “Do you know any of these words, Matthew?” Matthew proceeded to read the entire book aloud. All coloring activities stopped around the little table. All righty, then.
So then began what I like to think of as “the Matthew years”. Just get him pointed in the right direction, and the rest of the kids would follow. Just prompt him to say what I wanted the other kids to learn, and and it was done, much more easily than if I had demonstrated it myself. And, over time, I began to discover what made Matthew tick.
It turned out that Matthew had a particular goal. Being an unusually wakeful child, he had previously fallen into mischief when trying to entertain himself at night. There was nothing to do in his room—he had already taken everything apart!
And his parents were not well-to-do people. They were just trying to get by in their lives. They loved their son dearly, but they just didn’t know what to do with him. Matthew was a complete mystery.
The day I showed them how Matthew could read our little books and complete all the matchup pages I had yet come up with, they were astonished. But that still didn’t help them manage the hours at home. They asked me for advice. I mulled for a few minutes and finally said, “Why don’t we just ask Matthew what he wants?”
Matthew’s family had one treasured item among their household of basics. It was a bookcase filled with volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia, and they guarded it with a passion. The volumes had bright red covers that looked and smelled like leather. I know this, because my aunt and uncle had the same set for my cousin Charlie when I was a kid, and I coveted it fiercely. The covers were embossed with gold print. “Real gold,” Matthew told me reverently one day. I too was impressed, since we did not have a World Book Encyclopedia. Too pricey. We had the no-name encyclopedia purchased from the grocery store with green stamps and gifted to us from our parents. What Matthew wanted was to get his hands on that World Book Encyclopedia.
Much later, I found out about the negotation that had finally happened at home. Matthew would agree to stay in his room if the bookcase with the encyclopedia was moved in. If he left his room (other than to use the bathroom), the encyclopedia would go back into the livingroom. I did not hear of any more midnight shenanigans at his household. But I’m sure that there must have been some, because he was four years old. Right? Well, that’s still a mystery.
So I had to approach Matthew’s learning program differently. Instead of doing matchup pages, Matthew would ask me to say “The longest word in the world,” and he would try to write it down. Or, conversely, I would write down really long words that I found in the dictionary, and he would try to sound them out. Wait. What am I saying? He would READ them to me, and then go home and somehow find them in his cherished encyclopedia.
I have often wondered what became of Matthew and his family. Did they become rich and famous? Were they happy in their lives? I still remember how he fearlessly led his little cohorts in various activities around the preschool and then paused to tell me something interesting that he had read in his precious encyclopedia the night before. What a fine time Matthew would have with the internet! But I have to tell you—it doesn’t smell the same as World Book Encyclopedia! No gold embossing, either.
TIP:
You might wonder why some of our Fun2Read books have a few “big words” mixed in with the high frequency words and decodable words. If there is another Matthew out there, we want to know about this so he can tell his parents, teachers or caregivers—or show them—the best way to lead him to the next step in his learning journey.
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