The assignment-a short paragraph about something they’d done that summer-was a way for Sarah to quickly gauge how well the children could write. Most of the pieces had the usual assortment of misspelled words, incomplete thoughts, and sloppy handwriting, but Jonah’s had stood out, simply because he hadn’t done what she’d asked. He’d written his name in the top corner, but instead of writing a paragraph, he’d drawn a picture of himself fishing from a small boat. When she’d questioned him about why he hadn’t done what she’d asked, Jonah had explained that Mrs. Hayes had always let him draw, because “my writing isn’t too good.”

Alarm bells immediately went off in her head. She’d smiled and bent down, in order to be closer to him. “Can you show me?” she’d asked. After a long moment, Jonah had nodded, reluctantly.

While the other students went on to another activity, Sarah sat with Jonah as he tried his best. She quickly realized it was pointless; Jonah didn’t know how to write. Later that day, she found out he could barely read as well. In arithmetic, he wasn’t any better. If she’d been forced to guess his grade, having never met him, she would have thought Jonah was just beginning kindergarten.

Her first thought was that Jonah had a learning disability, something like dyslexia. But after spending a week with him, she didn’t believe that was the case. He didn’t mix up letters or words, he understood everything she was telling him. Once she showed him something, he tended to do it correctly from that point on. His problem, she believed, stemmed from the fact that he’d simply never had to do his schoolwork before, because his teachers hadn’t required it.