direction
January 12, 2014 § 4 Comments
This year each day has felt tethered to a moment I could no more escape than I could ignore; the universal worries and intimate hopes that accompany a common childhood milestone exaggerated and informed by past experiences unique to our story.
Soon, on a day yet undetermined, we will gather as a family among educators, administrators, and support staff to begin our son’s formal transition from the familiar halls of middle school to the personal expectations that will manifest as an introduction to his high school experience. This occurs in a series of well choreographed routines as dictated by our son’s Individualized Education Program; a necessity of diagnoses that determine academic need.
I could note here the specifics of our son’s diagnoses, but each naming seems to undermine the complexity of his character. Instead I will introduce you to the process I engage each year to inform the language of his ability. Prior to each meeting I outline the resources that create success, the struggles that inform growth, and areas of risk alongside exceptional ability. My husband shares his perspective and our son outlines his goals so that we speak neither of or for our son, but rather to his well-being academically and emotionally.
Over the years I have come to seek counsel from experts whose experiences are both professional and personal in an effort to increase awareness and identify potential. Administrators and educators, parents and advocates, friends and strangers help me navigate choices whose weight is greater than my knowledge. This year I have drawn from these same voices until the collective din of contrasting counsel was deafening.
Yesterday, in the sleepless early morning hours, I let go of worries and wondering for a self-indulgent exercise in escapism. I closed my lap top and snuggled into my husband’s company to watch a movie. He had chosen a title unfamiliar to me, one that is completely irrelevant to this story, with the exception of one line in the movie’s dialogue that interrupted my distraction and sent me scurrying for a scrap of paper.
Just because you’re lost doesn’t mean you say your compass is broken. – Anthony Hopkins, “The Edge”
This language of direction could not have come at a more necessary moment. A gift of perspective guiding me to center myself in simple sureties and reminding me that we have the right to choose our own path. As others map possibilities by our son’s need, we have the burden and benefit of choosing a path that honors his potential.
I am no more certain of the days to come. This experience is one of humbling success and heartbreaking struggles; we grow into each moment uncovering rare souls who recognize the blessings within our challenges and walk with us in moments of adversity, learning more about ourselves as we evolve personally to cultivate resilience.
For today I am content in what I know and cannot predict, certain only of the love that guides me and the company of remarkable souls who accompany me on this journey. Instead I will gather my words and endeavor to breathe our son’s voice into the sterile language that occupies the dense pages of his Individualized Education Program least he is lost in assessments that cannot speak to the beautiful eccentricities of his gifts.
titles & meaning
March 10, 2013 § 2 Comments
I have become acutely aware of titles these past seven years. Medical diagnoses and academic interventions have created new ways of addressing my children’s needs through measurements and labels intended to create opportunities to better understand and appreciate their abilities. Recently, test scores created a lesson in honesty and humility as I learned a little about myself and the meaning I assign to titles.
For years I have endeavored to weigh that which my children know against gray areas of uncertainty. Often the standard for measurement rests in test scores as reflective of academic ability. While administrators and teachers compiled scores into potential, I thought I had shed my need for validation in numbers. I dismissed placement as irrelevant and abstract, in truth I was very much tied to the titles I professed to disdain.
I suppose I could trace my own experiences as a student, drawing meaning and assigning value to how I perceive my children’s labels as students. I could also chart my daughter’s journey, identifying contradictions between labels and ability. Instead I will share pieces of my son’s story beginning eight years ago, his kindergarten year. An early reader, I championed my son’s abilities and noisily celebrated his earliest accomplishments; aware of an otherness we had yet to comprehend. I substituted academic success for social failings, consciously drawing attention to my son’s abilities to obscure gray areas of doubt.
By first grade we were armed with diagnoses that helped create a new consciousness. I embraced uncertainties determined to gather information. I set aside previous expectations grateful for answers to explain behavior and struggles that did not align with ability. When the teacher informed me our son would be tested for a Challenge program, I saw an opportunity for him to find belonging for his strengths. He tested at the same time we explored a new treatment and I allowed his perceived failure to be blurred by the variables outside our control.
Rather than deem my son excluded from certain opportunities by inability, I dismissed my own desire to label him exceptional. I adopted self-depreciating humor to camouflage disappointment. Underneath carefully choreographed casual disinterest was a secret wish that others would see my son’s abilities in neatly compiled data.
This year test scores placed him in a new limelight. Teachers, administrators, and we as his parents were faced with information that suggested a place of belonging in an advanced academic setting. My son might never be an athlete or musician, but for a moment there is a chance to give him a sense of belonging among peers for a difference that is worthy of respect. After years of feigned indifference, the truth is I am emotionally invested in these titles that define how others see the young man I try to shield from judgment.
perspective & planning
February 4, 2013 § 8 Comments
In a little over a week my husband and I will gather among teachers, therapists, administrators, and support staff for our son’s annual IEP (Individualized Education Program) meeting to discuss his experiences this school year and create a new plan for the coming year. Each meeting over the past seven years has created new opportunities for our family to challenge ourselves to honor our son’s ever-changing needs, this year we are adding a new chair to our table of experts, requesting our son sit in on the process.
From the beginning I have honored our son’s unique perspective by bringing written representations of his experiences, created in his own hand, to these meetings. Drawings, lists, and letters have filled gaps in comprehension between observations. Conscious that each year our son grows more independent and that he will, one day, need to advocate as an adult for his education and eventually his career I have determined this step is essential to his journey. This decision comes one year after a difficult experience.
Last year we struggled as a team; teachers were without resources, the school was without strategy, and our son was lost to challenges that created an expectation of failure. My husband and I endeavored to create relationships with otherwise unfamiliar teachers and support staff without the reassurance of trust. No longer nestled in the familiar rhythm of our elementary school experiences we were overwhelmed. Every member of our son’s team reached for a lifeline that had to first be constructed with procedures that consumed time we didn’t have with mandatory requests, documentation, and extensive testing. Meanwhile our son showed up each day consciously drowning socially and academically in his educational experience. At the end of the struggle there was success, but the cost of lost time could not be regained.
This year I partnered more intentionally with teachers outside the neatly outlined expectations of formal documents, creating personal experiences that built confidence. We met with teachers before the school year began, exchanging introductions that allowed for questions and expectations while creating a relationship that lent itself to mutual trust; establishing an easy, fluid dialogue with teachers.
At all times our son carries with him the memory of failed experiences alongside success intimately, with a presence each of us as members of his team are second-hand witnesses to. Rather than plan around our son, I think it is time to invite him into the process.
Knowing our son is presently emotionally, intellectually, and verbally capable of expressing himself, but not yet mature enough to be in control of decisions concerning his supports I believe we are at a point where experiencing the formalities of the meeting will prepare him to engage in future meetings more confidently. This year he will make a verbal statement to personalize his experience and bring materials to take notes and record questions or concerns for a family conference after the formal meeting.
While we have always explained thoroughly each of our son’s supports, this year those decisions will be shared from the perspective of each individual team member rather than translated by us, after the fact, to the person central to our every discussion. I am eager and curious as we near the day, to see how this experience will inform our son’s understanding of his academic resources and for him to recognize the time and care invested by each individual that becomes a piece of a collective initiative.
It is a new step on a long journey and I am grateful for this opportunity to invite our son to walk beside us in preparation to move ahead more confidently into his future.
to my daughter
September 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday my phone buzzed with an early morning message from your teacher, eager to celebrate a classroom success. In an area where you often struggle, you had demonstrated mastery. Your accomplishment cast ripples of joy across the day connecting those of us who witness your determined efforts and discouraging challenges.
I want to capture this moment in a snapshot, saving this well-earned success for future reference; to unfold these lessons and write them on the walls of our home. We succeed not because of what we know, but by the way we approach learning. Our strengths are not measured by what comes easily, but how we face that which challenges us. Our accomplishments are a reflection of our choices, not chance.
You, my sweet girl, worked hard for this moment. Hold tightly to this knowledge, the sense of satisfaction and pride that accompany long evenings exercising new concepts. Be comfortable with the discomfort of working through confusion to find clarity. In life these lessons in resilience will bring you strength in the face of adversity. You will do well, not because life is easy, but because you move through your days consciously embracing opportunities to learn.
personally, impersonal
September 8, 2012 § Leave a comment
There are moments of injury, unintended, whose wounds create tiny cracks in a smooth facade. Sitting in my daughter’s classroom for curriculum night my heart swelled with tiny injustices. As the teachers outlined cleaver ways to incorporate writing, reading, and math facts into the home environment to nurture skills that create academic success my head spun with my daughter’s reality. Sitting nestled between her peers’ parents balanced on tiny chairs around neatly gathered desks I felt the discomfort my daughter has so often expressed experiencing in her classrooms. The sense of otherness that creates embarrassment and shame, suffocating joy and challenging confidence.
The teachers encouraged us to use math in practical settings and in moments of stillness. Similarly they invited us to have our children write letters and make lists to practice writing. I wanted to raise my hand and proudly site each instance of such practice in our home, to celebrate our love of learning. Instead anger and shame licked at my mood, it seems unfair that my daughter who is never without a book, a pencil, or a quick calculation stands just far enough behind her peers to feel the shadow of failure before the light of success.
I guide my daughter with words of encouragement and unwavering faith in her abilities, keeping my own frustration reserved for these moments of written reflection. Until curriculum night. Rather than tuck my emotions beneath polite conversation I drafted a letter to my daughter’s teacher outlining my daughter’s efforts and expressing honestly and openly our shared frustration in search of compassion and patience.
This year will march forward with new challenges and old frustrations, but I am making room for friendship in our partnership between home and school. Just as my daughter’s teachers outlined simple activities to nurture academics, I shared simple gestures of kindness to foster greater emotional support for the little girl hiding her fears behind a tiny desk. Making the impersonal, personal.
school days
August 12, 2012 § Leave a comment
School. One word weighted with hope and worry. There was a time both of my children longed for school. They reached for a place of belonging with eager hands and curious minds. Now I feel their hesitation as clearly as I remember their joy. As we near the first day of school I want to acknowledge my children’s feelings alongside my dreams.
To my children, traditional classrooms are a well-defined space of rules and repetition. My darling round pegs you do not fit comfortably in these tidy square spaces. This is okay. Difficult days, moments of misunderstanding and frustration, will challenge your confidence but each of you are blessed with talents and strengths that reaffirm your ability to succeed. Your greatest assets are your dreams, determination, and resilience.
To my son, I see the impossibility of absorbing academic materials while trying to deconstruct social expectations. You are perpetually performing, testing on two planes; endeavoring to model appropriate social behavior while reeling in your need to create sound and movement. Simultaneously you listen, gathering almost everything said in lectures, but lost to the monotonous work that accompanies repetition for mastery. Bottom line: you need the practice despite your intelligence. It is boring, so are many details of daily life. Manage the small details with the same energy you brush your teeth and make your bed. By the way, please brush your teeth and make your bed.
To my daughter, if only your work were graded on effort and heart; there could be no greater measure of worth and yet you align your value by your weaknesses. Spelling and reading, math facts and word problems taunt you while your creative skills and comprehension of life’s greater truths reassure me of your gifts. I cannot dismiss you of reading, writing, and arithmetic; these are skills you need to build. One day these very same building blocks will allow you to create your own story. It feels a long way off, the challenges unending, but there are always challenges when we live fully.
To my children’s teachers, I wish you could see the devotion that burns brightly behind words of encouragement. Challenge them to reach beyond their comfort zones but make certain you see the effort behind imperfect work. Sloppy handwriting and incorrect answers are evidence of effort unedited by their parents’ hands. Highlight where they have room to grow, but celebrate each improvement.
To my husband, meet me at the dinner table for homework. Remind me when I forget that learning begins with curiosity and ends with criticism so that I am patient. May our home be a safe haven for failure and dreams that our children are not intimidated to explore their world in search of possibility.
laundry day
August 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
Despite my wish to gather every moment of sunshine for moments of whim and wonder, today is a day for practical activities. The sun teases me from the other side of the glass, but I bury my head a little deeper and move intentionally from corner to corner attempting to create calm from the chaos of dirty linens and cluttered piles of items waiting to be sorted another day, before school begins. Today is Another Day.
My children are sulking as they drift from task to play.
We are all a little out of sorts as we near the end of summer. To cast aside our responsibilities for a dramatic gesture of freedom would reaffirm the end is near. Instead we are denying the unavoidable; our gray moods pushing away the people we will miss the most come the first day back to school. Knowing this I am giving my children room to process their emotions, taking advantage of an indoor day to prepare our home for the routines of Fall and our minds for the unescapable truth that the end is nigh.
Gently, with small familiar tasks, I am reminding my children of the predictable moments, consistency between adventures. Life’s laundry days nestled between vacations.
summertime
August 5, 2012 § 2 Comments
The first reminders of the school year ahead have created an elevated consciousness of our dwindling days of unscheduled adventure. The coming weeks are sprinkled with obligations, but the days and minutes surrounding our gradual return to the routine of our school year are filled with possibility. Rather than bemoan the structure of days ahead, I am trying to stand firmly in the twilight of our summer silliness. Day trips and weekend getaways tease away the tension as we itemize scavenged supplies stored safely in anticipation of this moment. A book in the shade, swimming in the sun, the company of friends, and a quiet moment to squander selfishly. I am gathering my minutes for memories.
gift of sight
May 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
This morning my husband and I sat with a group of teachers, therapists, and administrators listening to individual reports measuring my daughter’s abilities and weighing resources to best facilitate her academic needs. Throughout the meeting I felt my daughter’s toothless smile peeking between the endless pages of documentation.
As I make peace with uncomfortable labels I keep returning to the image of my daughter quietly asking me to look beyond the words and read this moment truthfully, wholeheartedly embracing her story authentically. To do this I must acknowledge my own truths. In a personal note to a close friend I shared dark words of shame: There is a part of me that wants to block this piece out, pretend it away.
The question is which part of my daughter would I wish away? There is no singular gift that is not, in part, tied to her challenges. Her sense of compassion for others fostered in an appreciation for challenges; her patience born of tolerance for differences; her creativity a lovely substitute for more conventional forms of expression. Which beautiful piece of her spirit would I trade for a simpler path?
Would I trade her ability to hear birds sing or see the sunset for the ability to memorize math facts? Could I trade the sight of her chasing fireflies or painting a daydream for a mastery of sight words? I cannot separate pieces of my daughter and still see her completely.
These challenges are part of her story and I am her witness. At the end of this journey I will know how difficult her path was and the effort it took to reach her goals. Instead of wishing away this moment, I am trying to honor my daughter.
chain reaction
April 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
Today I attended a presentation at my son’s school where students were challenged to actively nurture a school culture based in kindness, compassion, and respect. Challenges included looking for the good in others, setting goals, choosing positive role models, and embracing forgiveness.
The presentation was based on the life of Rachel Scott, a young girl whose life was cut short in the tragic school shooting at Columbine High School on April 20, 1999. Throughout the video presentation Rachel’s family members and peers paid tribute to a young girl whose words of wisdom and good deeds left a legacy of kindness in the wake of tragedy.
Rachel’s Challenge strives to replace acts of violence and bullying with interpersonal connections and goals. I celebrate any endeavor to inspire children to act in kindness and dream big. As a parent I believe we teach by example and I embraced this opportunity to identify ways in which I could model each challenge at home.
The first challenge asked the students to Eliminate Prejudice by looking for the best in one another; setting aside first impressions or unkind thoughts to actively look for the good in others. I tend to identify things I admire about others, friends and strangers, but the speaker cited an example I had not considered: people who bring out an instinctive negative response. I considered people whose company makes me feel negative and challenged myself to display kindness towards those individuals I tend to withdraw from.
The second challenge is to Dare to Dream by keeping a journal and setting goals. I honor the theory that we draw dreams into reality by visualizing them and mapping our journey to fruition. In this way I celebrate encouraging children to give voice to their dreams. Even I could substitute I will for I wish; using language to claim accountability for my goals.
The third challenge is to Choose Positive Influences, drawing on positive role models for success. I am fortunate in that I am surrounded by friends and family who inspire me. As my children’s role model I must consider how my choices and language communicate success. Where in my life do I set aside goals for comfort?
The fourth challenge asked students to use Kind Words and show Little Acts of Kindness. I am challenging myself to be mindful of overlooked opportunities to be kind, bad days when I sacrifice my best for good enough.
Before ending the presentation the speaker asked the audience to close their eyes and envision a time when they had acted unkindly, to own that moment, and move past it in forgiveness with intent to act in kindness. The speaker also asked those treated unkindly to let go of feelings of anger weighing their spirits in negative emotions. Then we were all called to leave old harm behind us and move forward.
The final challenge was to start a Chain Reaction, demonstrate kindness and pay it forward. With that in mind I am sharing these simple thoughts and challenging anyone reading this to consider how they might become a link in a universal chain of kindness in words and deeds.
scribblechic 