By Lila Thompson
Every so often—perhaps daily for those of us prone to emotional reflection—you come across a story that resonates so deeply it leaves you breathless. Whether it’s a heart-wrenching tale or one that mirrors your own experiences, it can reduce you to tears while you type. For me, that moment came with the tragic account of Jacob Larkin, a teenager from Newport Beach, California, who recently took his own life.
As highlighted in a blog post on ParentingInsights.com, “Jacob was a seemingly carefree seventeen-year-old, engaging in sports and enjoying time with his friends.” Yet, behind that facade, he was grappling with overwhelming school-related pressures. Did he face the loss of a parent? Was he navigating the pains of young love? Had he fallen into drug use, a growing concern among teens today? Was he the target of bullying? None of these. Jacob’s suicide stemmed solely from the burdens of academic expectations. It’s both simple and profoundly tragic.
A few years ago, I would have found this hard to believe. As a child, I was someone who placed immense pressure on myself to excel academically—I would even say prayers before tests I had studied for extensively, starting in elementary school. However, my perspective changed when I became the parent of a child who is now ten.
Initially, we were informed that my son was lagging behind in kindergarten. My then-husband and I chuckled at the thought, questioning how a child could be behind at such an early stage. According to his well-meaning teacher, though, we resided in an affluent district where academic achievements were expected from the start. She informed us that parents here often prepare their children long before they step into kindergarten. “I thought it was about sharing and not eating Play-Doh,” I mused, realizing that expectations had dramatically shifted.
I casually mentioned my concerns to my son’s preschool teacher, who discreetly revealed, “You wouldn’t believe it, but we mainly used coloring books during his time here. I wished I could say something, but I was afraid of losing my job.”
“What on earth is happening?” I thought. “Has the world gone mad?” I assumed he would quickly catch up. But, he didn’t. Instead, he became aware of his perceived shortcomings, leading to a self-loathing that was alarming. He would often vomit or dry heave before school, crying and expressing feelings of worthlessness. The complexity of his homework, driven by common core principles, was overwhelming for all of us.
Navigating the testing system was equally frustrating. Despite meetings to discuss his academic struggles, no one suggested testing. By second grade, my frustration reached a boiling point. His teacher bluntly informed us, “You need to request testing; they won’t just offer it because it’s expensive.” If she hadn’t been decades older than me, I might have lost my temper.
By third grade, the situation escalated further with standardized testing. I was surprised when the principal suggested that participation might be too stressful for my son. “How considerate,” I thought. That was until another mother enlightened me about the school’s strategy—identifying weaker students to prevent lower test scores that could impact funding. If I weren’t so naïve, I would have scolded myself for not seeing it sooner.
Determined to help my son, I approached the principal to request that he be held back a year. To my astonishment, he agreed and even initiated the process. As I reached for the door, he cautioned, “Your ex-husband must consent as well.”
My former spouse—bless his heart—disagreed, fearing the embarrassment it might bring during our divorce. It felt unjust that his academic potential was overshadowed by our personal struggles.
This year, an Individualized Education Program (IEP) was finally established for my son, who is bright but struggles with common core methods. Hearing him utter phrases like, “I’m so stupid” was heart-wrenching for me as a parent.
One of the most heartwarming moments occurred when my son told me, “Hey, Mom, I get to take my tests in a different room now, and I can ask questions! Did you sign me up for this?” “Yes, sweetheart, I did,” I replied, tears welling in my eyes, grateful for this small victory.
While things are improving now, I worry about his sensitive nature and desire to excel. Observing the vast amounts of homework assigned to him in fourth grade, I fear for his emotional well-being. I see him frown over challenging material, and I can’t help but think about the potential for him to experience the same fate as Jacob. This thought makes me want to shield him from everything.
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In summary, the academic pressures on children today are alarming and can lead to devastating consequences. As parents, we must navigate these challenges, advocating for our children’s emotional and educational well-being, while recognizing the complexities of modern education.