Reimagining Pullout Support

How Eagle Hill School Redefines Learning Support Without Sacrificing What Kids Need Most.

Here’s the conundrum. Some kids need more, but does it always have to be at the cost of getting less?

When I pulled up to the playground as a young mom, as the other kids shyly emerged from the cars, if not clinging to their parents' legs, mine was already across the field, on top of the slide, and likely had already scraped a knee or had face planted in the gravel. (Why was there always gravel?) Recognize that kid? Maybe you were “that kid.” And it wasn’t story hour my active child looked forward to at elementary school, the highlight of the day, recess. But sometimes that needed to “go” as a stopgap for the extra support she needed. For speech. For math remediation.  Less recess.

To get up. To move around. To get a breath of fresh air in the face. Can't that help with learning?

Is there anything more antithetical to the success of a student with ADHD than cutting down recess time? This can be a common practice for students who need learning support. I get it. There are only so many hours in a day, and many good schools operate with minimal resources. It’s likely a teacher is giving up part of their well-earned lunch break to work with that student who turned in unfinished homework or failed another quiz by answering the wrong page.  But recess? To get up. To move around. To feel a breath of fresh air in the face. Can't that help with learning? (Don’t get me started on the biblical unfairness of a school system with limited resources that might not have recess at all.)

So, for a student who struggles to sit still, let’s suggest reduced recess time. For a student who finds success and solace in music, in a way he doesn’t feel about himself in the classroom, let’s cut him off from his chief source of confidence during the academic day for extra reading.  For a student who needs “more,” let’s pull them out. Many of you, parents, know the dreaded “pullout.”  A reading tutorial instead of learning a world language. A “resource” room to head to while my classmates are at band practice.

And after school, instead of hijinks outside or, I’m sure, some screentime inside, how about a little tutoring?

(No shaming of the tutors. My daughter’s tutor not only helped her get through ELA in sixth grade but also made her feel seen, understood, and loved. (Hats off, Mrs. W.)

To quote Stephen Soundheim, children listen and learn. They know when they are removed to a small room for standardized testing that they are different. They know when they miss out on choir practice to get extra help with fractions that they are separate. How many more “pull-outs” before a student begins to feel simply less?

A reading tutorial or reading fluency class is just another class in a student’s day, next to chemistry, literature, metal smithing, and art.

At Eagle Hill School, students who receive extra reading support do so during the academic day. There is no separate reading building. A reading tutorial or reading fluency class is just another class in a student’s day, next to chemistry, literature, metal smithing, and art. Our day begins and ends with the bookends of extra help sessions. Our class size, averaging six, remain so small that our students with attention needs and executive function challenges can have their needs addressed in the classroom, with their teachers available in the morning and afternoon before and after classes.

Study hall isn’t a period where students are left to themselves. Teachers are on campus, circulating and available. Activities are structured around the study hall and do not conflict with athletics practice or play rehearsals. And as for recess, our students climb ropes, play pickleball, and practice mindfulness through meditation, all during the academic day.

Removal and separation, however well-intended, can backfire.

Sometimes I wonder if one of the most common accommodations, the removal of students for assessments, unwittingly created the foundation of the dreaded “pull-out.” Specifically, student X takes her quiz in a “separate room.”  That assumes that all the student Xs are the same—that there needs to be a way to meet these needs in a small room, often with an unfamiliar teacher, to check off a box on an IEP. For my fellow parents of neurodivergent students, that could mean a quieter, calmer space, or a large room with several student Xs, many of whom might not be so quiet. In the end, one size does not fit all. Removal and separation, however well-intended, can backfire. (I know, I know that it’s not practical, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if the classroom could instead adapt to the student who learns differently?)

If only wishes were horses. My child met so many wonderful, smart, caring adults working in special education in public schools. It’s a very fortunate perspective to consider what a private school can accomplish with simply more resources. It isn’t, of course, fair.

But even within the realm of independent schools, I sometimes wonder about the efficacy and philosophical implications of academic support as an “add-on” for the neurodivergent learner. Don’t get me wrong: for the right student, a steady adult presence, extra support, and help getting organized and tracking assignments—that’s a fine fit for many. But why is this service so often located in a separate building and maybe taking up space in a student's schedule that could be used for an art or music class?

Schools that fully include students, like Eagle Hill, instead of habitually removing, separating, or reducing, might be the best antidote to the dreaded “pull out” that so many of us parents have come to question.