I am a glass half full kind of person. That's why I'm still relatively sane even though I have an adult child on the autism spectrum who has attended school for 19 years (so far) if you include university and college. Gotta tell you, school was not an easy place for him to be. The speed and the volume of the curriculum, the sensory and social demands...they were all just too much for him to face every day.
I cringe at the memories, but I have to be frank: there were a few stellar moments in the raising of this awesome kid where I was less than mature in my approach with teaching staff. Downright difficult, I would say.
I felt totally within my rights, of course, because if someone was not giving my child what he needed and was entitled to receive, well, they had to fix that. Now.
Here is the truth, though: great educators and support staff have saved my son, figuratively for sure and literally, perhaps.
Michelle, Jim, Don, Helen, Donna and Charlene and oh! So many shared not only their first names, but extra hours after school, personal email addresses and kindness in abundance.
Teachers. CYWs. EAs. They helped my Daniel to believe in himself, gave him opportunities to be great, and worked hard to increase his social currency when he could not do it alone.
Let me tell you a true story. A vice-principal pulled my son Daniel back from the brink one crisp fall day in Grade 10.
He sat in her office, knees drawn up to his chest, chewing on the neckline of the t-shirt he had stretched down over his legs. His face was flushed. He told her he just could not go on any longer. Life was too hard. School was too hard every single day. He didn't feel like he belonged.
Kelly Redpath was her name. Kelly held her hand up in front of her, inches from her face , and said something like this:
"Daniel, you look at this situation and you see only one option..to give up. Now, imagine my hand is a STOP sign.
From where you are sitting, you only see the word STOP.
From where I sit, I see options.
On this side of the sign, I see that if you are having a rough day, you can come to the office and use the meeting room to relax or to do your work. I see that if you are having such a bad morning that you can't get to school, you can stay home. You're a great student--we'll get you your homework and you can take care of yourself."
As she spoke, my son slowly unfurled. He stopped chewing. Stopped rocking. He looked at me with something other than fear in his eyes for the first time in a long time. Was it ...hope? I could see anxiety melting away.
"How does that sound, Daniel?' she asked him.
That meeting was a game-changer. It gave him a semblance of control over his anxiety: if it got the better of him, he had choices.
Such a great kid. In the two-and-a-half years he had left in high school, he only stayed home with anxiety only once—though in truth, he continued to suffer with it every single day. He didn’t want anxiety to be the boss of him.
Somehow, knowing he could choose to leave his class and go to the office--or stay home if needed--was enough to get him through.
Kelly wasn’t done with him, though.
A month later, that wonderful woman helped him get funding to start a video game club. In short order, Daniel felt like he belonged in his high school. His club became a social group for many of the quirky, disenfranchised boys who were neither jocks, musicians, or too cool to be brainy.
I could fill a month’s worth of posts with stories of wonderful things teachers have done for my child. They come easier than the stories of supports not given or dignity denied because in my case, they outweigh the latter. That may be because I am an advocate, but really, in my heart I know it is because of my child. He is a really sweet, engaging nice young man who works very hard and people just want to help him.
As I write this, Daniel is applying to return to university. In addition to his honours degree in communication, and post grad certificates in both Children's Media and positive psychology, he's thinking either social work or social justice. He wants to be part of the change to improve the lives of children on the spectrum. Thank you, Kelly, and all of the other gifted educators. You really never know where your influence will end.