What good news for a struggling student taught me about small, consistent support
I’m wiping down whiteboards after school last Wednesday, crumbs of cheddar goldfish from my advisory snack bin stuck to my jeans, when my email pings. It’s a note from the regional state college 45 minutes outside town, subject line: Admissions Update for Marcus Hale. I text Marcus immediately – he’s been stopping by my room after school every day this month to check on applications, and he’s been working a closing shift at the grocery store this week, so I knew he’d check his phone between restocks. Ten minutes later he’s leaning in my doorway, still in his blue work polo, name tag askew, hands stuffed in his pockets.
We click the link together, leaning over my cluttered desk. The first line says Congratulations on your acceptance to the Bachelor of Science in Engineering Technology program. Marcus sits down hard on the empty student desk next to me, blinks three times, and says, “No shit, really?” I laugh and pull the printed copy of the acceptance letter up to read again, and yeah, that’s what it says. That’s the greatest news I’ve gotten all school year, and it’s the greatest news Marcus has gotten in as long as I’ve known him.
I first met Marcus two years ago, when he was in my 11th grade English class. Back then, he turned in more blank essays than completed ones. I knew he got the material – he’d stop by after class to talk about the nonfiction we read about car design, or argue with me about why Steinbeck didn’t get working people right – but put a clock in front of him and ask him to write it down, and his brain would lock up. His mom emailed me halfway through first semester, frustrated, said he’d been this way since third grade, when he froze up during a state standardized test and the teacher sent him to the office for “misbehaving.” He’d refused to get formal accommodations for anxiety ever since, hated the idea of being pulled out of class or labeled as the kid with problems.
Most advice you read about test anxiety says you need to get formal testing, start therapy, overhaul your study schedule, all that. That works for a lot of kids, don’t get me wrong. But Marcus didn’t want any of that, so we started small, with changes no one else even had to know about. I told him he could take any in-class essay or quiz in my room after school, whenever he had time, no ticking clock overhead, I’d leave him alone with a water and whatever snack he brought. I talked to our guidance counselor to let him take practice SATs in my room instead of the gym with everyone else, extra time no questions asked. When he started working on college apps, I pointed him to the test-optional programs at regional schools that let you submit a portfolio of work instead of test scores. He had a whole album of photos of the 1998 Ford F-150 he’d restored in his dad’s garage, piece by piece, over three years. I told him to add that album to his application, and write his personal essay about the truck, not some generic story about volunteering that he thought colleges wanted to read.
That’s the thing I wish more parents and new teachers understood: you don’t have to fix a kid’s struggle before you help them go after what they want. A lot of people looked at Marcus, saw his low test scores, saw him leave tests early because he was panicking, and wrote him off as someone who needed to “get himself together” before he could aim for an engineering program. But we didn’t wait until his anxiety was gone to work with him. We worked around it, one small step at a time.
If you’re a parent or teacher dealing with a kid who freezes up during tests or big assignments, here’s what works that doesn’t require a ton of extra time or money: First, ask the kid what they need, not what you think they need. Marcus didn’t want to announce his anxiety to the whole class, so we kept our after-school sessions quiet. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings every time he had a bad test, so we’d talk about his truck instead for 10 minutes before getting back to work. Second, you can make small adjustments even without formal approval. I’ve had at least a dozen kids over the years who needed extra time or a quiet room before their accommodations went through, and my admin has never once said no when I explained it was to help a kid show what they actually know. If you’re a parent, you can ask your child’s teacher for that same flexibility, most educators are willing to work with you. Third, remind them that the thing they love and do well outside of class counts just as much as a test score. Marcus knows more about engine rebuilds and diagnostics than most part-time lecturers I know, and that’s what got him this acceptance, not a random multiple choice score.
Marcus still hasn’t heard back from the big flagship school his mom originally wanted him to go to. He’s still not sure how he’ll cover tuition, and he’s waiting to hear back about a scholarship from the local auto mechanics association. He still gets stomach cramps the night before big presentations, and he still leaves my class sometimes when he feels a panic attack coming on. This isn’t a perfect story where all his problems get solved with one acceptance letter.
But that crumpled acceptance note is taped to my fridge next to my lesson plans now, next to the donut receipt Marcus signed and left there the day he got in. It’s a reminder that the greatest wins in education aren’t the ones that come from big interventions or perfect test scores. They come from showing up, making one small adjustment at a time, and letting a kid prove what they can do, on their own terms. Right now, that’s more than enough good news for all of us.
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