Installment VII: The Reading Test

At the start of the second grade Mikey had to go to the Board of Education for special testing. His first grade teacher worried he was developmentally delayed and wanted him to get help if he needed it. His father drove him to the facility and made sure he was in the right place. Then his dad told him he would be in the car and Mikey should come out when the test was done.

The lady conducting the test was very nice and very pretty. Mikey was too young to confuse “pretty” and “nice” the way so many men do—she really was a very nice lady. She kept asking him if he wanted to take a break or get a drink, but Mikey declined. His dad always said if you have a job to do, do it. You can rest later. So Mikey stayed at it until the nice lady said she had to take a break. The tests involved her reading stories to him and then asking him questions about them. Then he read stories, some aloud and some to himself. She asked questions after each one. When they were done, Mikey thanked her and went to find his dad in the parking lot. It took weeks for the results to appear.

In the meantime, Mikey went about his business—going to school and helping his mother and grandmother, depending on where he was living. One day a special reading teacher came into his classroom and collected a group that seemed to include all of his friends, but not him. As they were getting ready to head out, Mikey asked if he should go too. His teacher was no-nonsense, but a good teacher. She gave Mikey a stern look and asked “Why?” He reminded her about the testing and she allowed him to go.

It was great! The special reading room was lined with books, all his friends were there, and it was air-conditioned!!! Heaven! They read stories, answered questions, and had fun three afternoons a week. Then one day Mikey’s parents got a letter from the Board of Education. He went into his mom’s room to give her the mail. She looked it over the letter and then handed it back to him. If he read it correctly, the test results showed that he was reading on a mid-fifth-grade level—a higher level than Don, who was three years older. It was amazing. How many times had his brothers and sisters told him he didn’t go to kindergarten because he was too stupid? How many times had his father told him he was retarded? He pretended it didn’t bother him, but it did. And at times it worried him. But now he had proof none it was true. He was kind of smart, in a way! He didn’t share the results with his teachers. He wanted to stay in the reading group with his friends—in the air-conditioning.