When you start something new, people have a lot of advice. There were many pearls of wisdom from entrepreneurs I carry with me; there were also many respected experts who said, “You can’t possibly do it like that.”
“You can’t do X thing in Y way” was a phrase I had heard many times throughout my own journey, both as a student as well as an educator, teacher trainer, and leader.
My mind has always functioned unlike others, and I got my first taste of that in second grade from a teacher. Mrs. Nugent inadvertently helped carve out my purpose in life, but this may not be the story you expect.
The Torch that Burned the Forest
I sat in the left corner of my U-shaped, second-grade classroom. I had just opened my spelling book on the vanilla-colored desk and was studying diligently to learn words that ended with “-able” while everyone worked on the math quiz I had already finished.
All of a sudden, Mrs. Nugent stopped the class from working by saying, “Jamie, can you come up to the front of the room?”
Proudly, I began to walk around the U and up her massive, metallic desk, ready to recei
ve a prize or some kind of accolade for my math quiz, which I was almost 100% I had aced. As I started pondering in my seven-year-old mind how she had graded it that fast, she immediately snapped me back into the present with her harsh voice. Pencils ceased scratching, and silence fell on the room like a fire blanket.
“Jamie, (everyone’s eyes lifted from their subtraction quiz), I have tried to teach you how to read, and you’re just not learning fast enough, the way your classmates are. (My heart sank into the floor.) I think you need to go to a special school because you may be “cognitively impaired.” Mrs. Nugent used a very different word with an “r” in reality. “Go sit down,” she motioned me away with her left hand.
As I walked back to my desk in utter shock from the verbal grenade that had just been launched at me, 27 pairs of eyes traced my movements with mixed looks of horror, sadness, empathy, and nervous laughter.
Charred Ground
I didn’t read anything from age seven to seventeen, and there was a chaotic, winding path—equal parts inspiring and frustrating—to move through the ripple effects of the boulder that had been plopped into my everyday life and subconscious in the second grade. My mother had me removed from Mrs. Nugent’s clutches to try to avoid further damage, but the seed of inadequacy, failure, and public humiliation had been planted. In my seven-year-old mind, I was running uphill on a mountain of syrup, and I had no idea how to gain my footing.
Some teachers tried; some just wrote grades in the gradebook and were impervious to the effects they had, hardened by too many years doing a job they weren’t meant to do. But there was one key problem: no one knew WHAT to address because no one ever asked me a question, thought to have me assessed, wondered why I was a math and science whiz but had horrendous reading comprehension and an inability to express myself verbally at grade level.
Through my own painful learning challenges and undiagnosed neurodiversities, I had been forced to adapt to survive. My mind was always in motion devising methods to make education and other people’s systems more understandable for myself. I read bold words, learned how to take excellent notes with symbols and highlighters for different categories. I mastered my own mind along the way with how to study.
I was getting by until junior year in high school, when my academic world went on a chaotic Six Flags ride.
The Roots Get Pulled Up & Out
Part 1: The Hatchet
The first of two events was the ACT. I still vividly remember my dad sitting at the dining room table, papers strewn about as he paid bills with our cat Taffy crawling along the edges of the documents.
He asked me if I wanted to take the prep class with my two best friends. Without even thinking, I told him I didn’t need it; it was a gut reaction to the impending trauma of knowing everyone would see I couldn’t understand anything I was reading, that I read at the pace of a snail and had no idea what to look for when I read – that I would fail, and I would have to fail publicly, so I denied it.
I showed up on test day, and I took it cold having no idea what the sections even were. English was confusing, and math was great, but then I got to reading.
I got through 1.5 of the 4 passages and maybe 15 of the 40 questions, and of those I answered, I probably knew about 4. I saw how much I had left with 7 minutes to go, and I started to have a panic attack and to cry. Everything from second grade flooded back through me like I had just been pulled underwater in a rip current of self-doubt, trauma, and failure. I lost the present moment and was sucked in by a life-size vacuum cleaner of anxiety.
When the scores came back, I was devastated. I had a 29 in math, and a 14 in reading. To be real, I am not sure how I even achieved that. I must have guessed well on some of the passages I didn’t even read. Then, I had another hit; this one was the most unexpected of all. My vice principal walked into my math class and asked to see me privately.
I followed her out into the resource area where she sat down with a manilla folder and with a serious tone asked me to take a seat. My mind raced with excuses for being a class clown, justifications for my horrible ACT scores, and everything else I could think of for why the VP, who I had never spoken with, wanted to chat with me. As she perused the contents of the folder without expressing anything to me, my soul fell into the abyss as her eyes held the same look at Mrs. Nugent, concerned yet coldly matter-of-fact.
Part 2: The Bulldozer Becomes The Landscaping Rake
“Jamie, do you remember the standardized exam you took a couple months ago?” Her eyes shifted up and down unknown contents blocked by what might as well have been a military installment separating us.
“No, not really.” I stated plainly as my palms began to sweat and the adrenalin pumped through my body. Where was she going with this?
“Well, (she peered up at me) it looks like we have been doing you quite the disservice.”
Oh god. No. They were going to remove me from my high school and make me go to a special school because my scores are so low. My mind spun in a thousand different directions, and the tears welled in my eyes. My legs began to shake under the cheap, wooden table.
“Your test scores…”
I interrupted immediately out of sheer self-preservation, “I am sure if I take it again, I can do better. Can I do that?” Ok, now the tears just flowed freely; I had no control.
“I think you’re misunderstanding me. Your test scores are off the charts. That exam wasn’t a state exam to see progress; it was an IQ test. You’re in the top 1-2% of the school.”
I sat across from her dumbfounded like a deer who is in the middle of the road, watches the headlights approaching, senses danger, and just stands there motionless.
“We will need to change all of your classes for your senior year to advanced and honors.”
Immediately, I told her I didn’t belong there. I practically begged her to let me remain in my regular courses. It was all I knew. She wanted me to be in English classes with juniors who were smarter than me and had been in the high-track since they had been in 7th grade! The scenario of kids a year younger than me laughing at me when I tried to read aloud, sounding like a 5th grader when we peer edited, when I tried to answer a question in class.
“No! I don’t think so!” exploded out of me with such force that she literally jolted backwards in her chair.
The Awkward and Uneven Regrowth
Well, long story short, she forced me to take Honors English, and despite my fears, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. For the first time, I had a teacher who expected something from me, who held me to the standard of being intelligent. Because some test said I could do it, now, I was expected to reach that bar.
I was treated completely differently (although in my imposter syndrome, I was absolutely convinced they had gotten my name mixed up with a smart kid and inverted the data). I learned how to research, write effective sentences, how to write a thesis, analyze; I had virtually no experience with these skills in my “circle the noun and write in your journal for 10 minutes while I read my supermarket celebrity gossip magazine” class.
It was the beginning of my journey towards wanting more, knowing I was capable of more, and finally having someone expect, well, more from me. Shockingly, I grew to love writing, to love analytical thinking, creating organizational structures, everything I had despised and avoided my entire life.
I realized that while the information that gets passed from year to year is helpful for teachers, it also biases them tremendously. What we tell teachers about their incoming students sets expectations for what they have and can achieve.
What if their earlier teachers got it wrong? What if we aren’t looking at the entire and current picture? What if we don’t always look for the right characteristics, aptitudes, and qualities in a student? I had been hoisted up and shoved through the meat grinder of labels: cognitively impaired and unable to learn—the “r” word, average and not deserving of any attention, and a genius who was suddenly worthy of being nurtured and guided to become someone.
Now, I was on a mission. Going through the mandatory SPED class in college to be a teacher was like looking through a lens I had never seen. You know that moment when you’re adjusting the microscope in and out until you can see the contents of the slide? My microscope was in focus for the first time in my entire life, and it was exhilarating!
I got tested, and I learned I had scotopic sensitivity syndrome, ADHD, and a reading comprehension disorder. Not ONE teacher in 15 years of school had ever even thought to have me assessed. I was determined on self-actualizing and helping everyone I could do the same.
I was going to see every single kid as a person, understand who he/she was and what lit them up, inspire, and hold every student to high standards, and over time, as I gained experience and expertise, I was going to help train teachers in some capacity. I worked in every type of environment I could expose myself to; I went back for advanced degrees; I worked myself up to Harvard University, anything I could do to keep growing professionally, so I had more to offer to education.
Innovating within the confines of well-defined educational systems proved to be challenging, however. Budgets, egos, regulations, and mediocrity thwarted my vision to some degree, but like a boxer, I kept shifting my feet, my weight, and my stance in order to have an impact where I was, but the barriers against progress proved to be a formidable foe.
Creating a New Ecosystem
When Covid hit, I decided it was my time to create the system. So, I streamlined everything. Here were the seeds of my vision I scrawled on the yellow legal pad that summer day in 2020:
- 1-1 education which would provide a consistent tutor that was matched specifically for every child not just by subject and availability but by teaching and learning style and personality…by the requests of what type of person the STUDENT wanted to work with
- Talking with every student before they entered our program, so I could get to know the student as a learner and a person – NOT just what that student may struggle with at the moment
- Creating an individualized plan like an IEP or 504 for EVERY student – regardless of whether they are neurodiverse or not – based on how they learn
- Building a quality team that were true professionals, not high school or college kids trying to make a few extra bucks on their way to another destination, professionals who had passion, pedigrees, and were interested in best practices, professionals who were a true TEAM
- Keeping the price the same for everyone and everything. Second grade reading and AP Calc require equal expertise just in vastly different skillsets
The Forest for the Trees
As of November of 2024, we are a team of 20 plus and growing! We have three regional consultants creating the infrastructure of Jamie the Scholar in other states, and most importantly, we have served families, increased skills and confidence, and in many cases, helped students strive for and live out futures they never anticipated they could reach for.
While Jamie the Scholar was my vision, it is the shoulders of the tutors upon which I stand; while I may have created the circulatory system in which the lifeblood of our company flows, they are its heart and soul. As a team, we are all truly honored to have helped so many families, and we are excited to meet your family and see what the future holds!
Photosynthesis
We hope you will enjoy this resource from our teachers and partners that will bring the latest research, helpful study advice, and expert information in many related fields.
Please let us know what you love and find helpful, what you want to see, and what we can do better to serve you! Just like Jamie the Scholar, our blog is a new adventure, and we won’t nail everything 100% of the time, but as long as we keep the conversation going, we can grow together, which is the exact vision of Jamie the Scholar.