By Sarah Mitchell, Guest Contributor
I’ve been teaching special ed for twenty years, and I still hate saying it: “Your child is reading two years below grade level.” The room gets quiet. Parents nod like they understand, but I can see the panic behind their eyes. Sometimes a mum will ask, very carefully, “So… what does that actually mean for homework tonight?”
That’s the question that matters. Not the number on the report card. Not where they “should” be. But what happens on Tuesday night when your 9-year-old opens their reading assignment and you both know it’s going to be a fight.
What Those Numbers Actually Tell You (And What They Don’t)
When I say a Year 4 child is reading at a Year 2 level, here’s what I actually mean: They’re comfortable with books that have shorter sentences and simpler vocabulary. Maybe 5-7 words per sentence instead of 10-12. They know common sight words like “said,” “because,” and “people,” but longer words make them pause. They can sound out “cat” and “jump,” but “butterfly” or “important” requires real effort.
That’s it. That’s what the number means.
What it doesn’t tell you: How much they understand when someone reads to them. How creative they are. How they problem-solve. Whether they’re funny, kind, or brilliant at noticing things other kids miss. I’ve taught children who read at a Year 2 level and could explain black holes, design complex Minecraft structures, or remember every dinosaur that ever existed.
The number measures decoding, not intelligence. But parents hear “two years behind” and think their child is two years behind in everything. That’s not how it works.
Here’s What It Looks Like at Home
Picture this: Your Year 4 child brings home a chapter book for homework. The school says it’s “age-appropriate.” The sentences are long and dense, the vocabulary is academic (words like “reluctantly” and “compassionate”), and there’s maybe one small illustration per chapter.
Your child opens to page one. They read the first sentence. Then they read it again. Then they ask you what “reluctantly” means. By the third sentence, they’ve forgotten what the first sentence said. Five minutes in, they’re exhausted. You’ve got 15 more minutes of this to go.
Now imagine doing that every single night. For years.
That’s what reading two years below grade level actually feels like. Not lazy. Not careless. Just relentlessly, exhaustingly hard.
The Bit That Breaks My Heart
The worst part isn’t the reading itself. It’s what happens to children when they’re stuck reading material that’s too hard, every day, for years.
They start avoiding books. They say they “hate reading” when really they hate feeling stupid. They develop elaborate strategies to hide their struggles – asking to go to the toilet during reading time, “forgetting” their book, rushing through and guessing rather than trying to decode properly.
By Year 6, I meet children who’ve been “behind” for so long they’ve stopped trying. Not because they can’t learn. Because they’re tired of feeling like they’re failing.
That’s what happens when we obsess over grade levels instead of meeting children where they are.
What Actually Matters More Than the Number
I don’t care much about grade levels anymore. Twenty years of teaching has taught me to look at different things:
Can they read something – anything – without a fight? Some of my students will happily read football stats, Minecraft guides, or graphic novels. They’re “below level” according to the chart, but they’re reading willingly. That matters more.
Are they making progress, even if it’s slow? A child who moves from sounding out every single word to reading simple sentences fluently has made enormous progress. The fact that they’re still “behind” doesn’t erase that achievement.
Do they still think they can learn to read? This is the one that keeps me up at night. I can teach a child to decode. I cannot unteach shame. Once they’ve decided they’re “bad at reading,” everything gets harder.
Can they access information in other ways? Your Year 5 child reads at a Year 3 level but listens to audiobooks about Ancient Egypt? They’re learning. The delivery method is different, but the learning is happening.
The Interest-Skill Gap (Or: Why Your Clever Child Struggles)
This is the thing that baffles parents most. “He’s so smart! He can tell you everything about the solar system! Why can’t he read?”
Because reading is a separate skill. Completely separate.
I taught a Year 6 boy last year who could explain quantum physics concepts from YouTube but couldn’t decode the word “said.” His mum was beside herself. But it makes perfect sense – listening and reading use completely different brain pathways. You can have a brilliant, curious mind and still struggle to connect sounds to letters.
This is especially true for neurodivergent children. I’ve worked with autistic students who can memorize entire conversations but find phonics baffling. ADHD kids who can hyperfocus on their special interest for hours but can’t sustain attention for a single paragraph. Dyslexic children who think in complex, visual ways but letters just… won’t stay still.
They’re not behind intellectually. Their brains are literally wired differently for reading.
What to Do on Tuesday Night
Right. So your child is “two years behind” and they’ve got homework. Here’s what actually helps:
Stop fighting with grade-level books. I mean it. If the school sends home a book that’s too hard, find a different one. Your child needs to practice reading, not practice failing. A book they can actually read – even if it’s “too easy” – does more good than struggling through one that’s “appropriate.”
Match the material to their actual skill, not their age. This is hard because most books aimed at struggling readers are written for younger children. Your 11-year-old needs phonics practice, but they don’t want to read about cats and mats. They want to read about things 11-year-olds care about – gaming, mystery, survival, tech.
(This is exactly why we built Vedyx Leap – materials that respect their age while meeting them at their skill level. But that’s not the point of this article.)
Check their capacity, not just the calendar. Some days your child can handle 15 minutes of reading practice. Some days they’ve got nothing left. Pushing when they’re maxed out doesn’t build skill. It builds resentment.
Let them read in different ways. Audiobooks count. Reading the subtitles while watching their favourite show counts. Reading the same book over and over until they’ve memorized it counts. We’re trying to build a relationship with reading, not win a prize for variety.
Stop timing them. I don’t care if the school says “20 minutes a night.” If your child can do 8 minutes before they hit their limit, that’s what they can do. Eight focused minutes beats 20 minutes of agony.
When to Worry (And When to Breathe)
I get asked this constantly: “Should I be worried?”
Here’s when I worry:
- When a child stops trying entirely
- When reading causes such anxiety they have physical symptoms
- When shame is building faster than skill
- When they’re in Year 4 or above and still struggling with basic phonics patterns
Here’s when I don’t worry:
- When progress is slow but steady
- When they’re engaged with books in other ways (audiobooks, being read to)
- When they’re happy, curious, and learning – just not through traditional reading
- When they’re willing to try, even if they’re frustrated
The difference between those two lists? In the first, something is actively getting worse. In the second, they’re okay. Not “on track” by school standards, but okay as humans.
What I Wish Every Parent Knew
Your child isn’t broken nor are they lazy. They’re not “behind” in the ways that matter most.
They’re a person who processes information differently, needs different materials than what schools typically offer, and deserves to learn without shame.
The number on the report card? It’s just data. It tells you what materials to use for practice. It doesn’t tell you who your child is, what they’re capable of, or whether they’ll be okay.
I’ve taught hundreds of struggling readers. You know what happens to most of them? They learn to read. Maybe not on the school’s timeline. Maybe not the way their classmates do. But they get there.
And in the meantime? They’re still smart, still capable, still worth every bit of effort it takes to find the right support.
The number doesn’t define them. Please don’t let it define how you see them either.
About the Author
Sarah Mitchell has taught special educational needs in UK primary schools for over 20 years, specializing in literacy support for neurodivergent learners. She’s worked across mainstream inclusion, specialist provisions, and one-to-one interventions with children aged 5-13. Sarah is particularly passionate about finding age-respectful literacy materials for older struggling readers – the students she calls “the invisible middle” who are too old for phonics readers about cats but still need systematic decoding practice. When she’s not in the classroom, she consults with edtech companies developing tools for diverse learners and writes about practical, shame-free approaches to literacy intervention. Sarah lives in Brighton with her partner, two teenagers, and an elderly rescue cat who enjoys sitting on her marking.
