scribblechic

Writing allows me to capture snapshots of my life filtered through a uniquely intimate perspective. I endeavor to share my stories with genuineness and honesty, without remorse or regret. Occasionally I will retrieve a thought, tucking it tenderly aside for my eyes only; keeping my words rather than erasing an experience. This morning, feelings of gratitude for a successful school week mocked undercurrents of frustration with my son’s education in a recent post.

This past week has been a more joyful adventure in learning. My son has come out of his shell, the hallmarks of anger and sadness replaced with an easy smile and willingness to learn. His teachers are experiencing similar success during the school day. Gone is the chasm between my son’s needs and adults’ expectations, we have bridged the void with resources. Rather than retract an expression of genuine unhappiness and concerns for my son’s educational experiences, I thought I would take a moment to reflect on my words and emotions; charting our journey, sharing our story.

Let me begin at the middle of the beginning, a page out of a chapter of my son’s educational experience. A couple of weeks ago, on a day weighted with uncertainty, I gave voice to an internal conflict over my son’s education. For several months I have struggled watching my son curl into himself, sad and angry over frustrations within the boundaries of his school day;  moments of unkindness from peers and difficulties processing his world independently. Each school day I felt like we were moving against a current too powerful to overcome and I sought calmer waters. I toyed with the notion of keeping my son home and personally assuming the responsibility of providing an individualized education. There was an immediate sense of peace in this possibility. Others could not say and do hurtful things that chipped away at my son’s spirit. I could work around my son’s needs rather than forcing him to navigate other’s needs. Coulds, maybes, and possibility built a wistful expectation of something better.

Even as I embraced the utopia of my mind’s eye, I was humbly aware of potential challenges. Academically my son would require similarly structured lessons and mandatory testing to demonstrate he was receiving an education that properly prepared him for a continuing education. Personally, I would have to restructure our family experience and overcome my organizational weaknesses to provide the education my son deserves. I would also need to supplement the social and speech therapies my son requires. The question remained, how do I ensure my son receives the education he deserves?

It is in this place of frustration and uncertainty that I explored a new, old possibility. Rather than move my son from the mainstream classroom whose work he can handle into a modified classroom or keeping him home and sacrificing the social lessons of a classroom, I revisited a resource we had hoped to have outgrown, the utilization of an aide. Every council warned against an aide at the middle school level, but my son was not processing his environment independently; academics were slipping and his increased anxiety had led to exaggerated episodes of socially awkward behavior deteriorating his relationship with peers.

With doubt and hope this past week we welcomed an aide to my son’s days, someone to help my son navigate the halls of middle school until he can read the unwritten social cues that would properly prompt him to an individual understanding of other’s expectations. We are fortunate in that the aide is a teacher that is familiar with my son from another classroom setting; someone who embraces my son as is while endeavoring to teach him that which he does not know. He is a translator, lending comprehension and modeling expectations.

My son’s anxiety has leveled; he has begun to interact more appropriately with peers and perform academic exercises with greater productivity. Our goal of independence remains, but for now I am grateful for the peace of mind that comes from knowing my son is not withdrawing from his education. Rather than delete expressions of frustration or uncertainty, I am sharing my hopes and doubts; documenting our experiences rather than editing our lives. Holding myself accountable to my son’s education by evaluating challenges with the same enthusiasm I celebrate moments of success.