When I eased closer to that back room, I could hear my daughter’s voice. She wasn’t crying. She was reading. The daycare worker sat beside her with a stack of picture books spread across a little table, listening while my daughter carefully sounded out words. The door wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even fully closed. It had just been pulled mostly shut to cut down on the noise from the main classroom.
I stood there feeling ridiculous and relieved at the same time. Then I heard the worker say something that made me stop. “Remember, this is your special reading time. The other kids don’t get this yet, so let’s keep it our little secret for now.” My stomach dropped all over again. Not because anything dangerous was happening, but because I suddenly understood exactly what my daughter had been trying to tell me. A five-year-old hears “our little secret” and takes it literally.
The director sat down with me that afternoon and pulled out my daughter’s assessments. Apparently she’d started reading far ahead of her age group and was getting bored during some activities. The worker had been spending fifteen or twenty minutes a day helping her with books that were meant for older children. It was supposed to feel special and encouraging. Nobody had realized how uncomfortable the word “secret” would sound when repeated at home. The minute they understood, they agreed it should never have been phrased that way.
That evening I gave my daughter a bath and asked if she liked her reading time. She nodded and started excitedly telling me about a chapter book with a horse on the cover. Then she asked, “So I’m allowed to tell you now?” I laughed so hard I almost cried.
A week later I picked her up and found her at the craft table with the other kids, proudly reading a page out loud while they listened. When she saw me, she waved the book over her head and yelled, “Mommy, this one’s not a secret anymore!”