At pickup one afternoon this week, my kindergartner’s teacher asked if I could stay and chat a few minutes. I turned my kids loose on the playground, and followed the teacher inside. She talked about how he has been acting out, how he is so easily angered, how he hits and pushes and yells and threatens. How he’s been sent to the principal’s office because his level of disruption was just plain unfair to the other students. She also talked about his sweet side – how he engages with the work, helps her with various things, asks interesting questions, cooperates in joint tasks.
It was clear to me that she really sees the whole child, and wants to work with me to be his advocate. He’s not a problem, she said, but he does have problems, and we are all going to help him. She’s already spoken with his private therapist, and arranged for him to have regular pull-out sessions with the school counselor. She reads books with the class about feelings. She told me she can see that I’m doing all the right things, that this isn’t my fault. And then she looked at me with such gentleness, such concern, and said, “You must be so worried.”
Of course I started crying. Mostly with gratitude – that she understands, that she really sees him, that she’s not writing him off or giving up on him. She suggested trying some approaches that she has used successfully with autistic kids (“not that I’m saying he’s autistic,” she quickly added), some activities that can be calming & therapeutic for kids with sensory issues. She loaned me a book. She described how she would modify some expectations for him in order to build his confidence and let him experience success. I felt so hopeful about the potential for helping him this year, that maybe, even, with love and understanding and help on all sides, he could become a “regular” happy and healthy kid.
And then at back to school night, several parents accosted me with tales of my son acting out. I couldn’t tell if they innocently thought whatever they witnessed was an isolated incident, just a quirky kid getting all up someone’s grill kindergarten-style, a fun and amusing little anecdote. Or if they truly see my kid as That Kid, the jerky, out of control one, and were uncertain how to tell me this directly so instead relied on a lame, jokey delivery. What was clear was that people were noticing he’s outside the bounds of expected, acceptable behavior, even for 5 year olds. I put my best Stepford smile on and thanked each one for letting me know. “Boys,” they all laughed. “What are you gonna do?”
Good question.
I came home and told my husband, and he reminded me that we have to have faith, that we’re doing everything we can, we have support and professionals on board, and most of all that we love him. He’s right, it’s all true. So why do I feel so sick?
You still feel sick because even with all of the help and support, there’s no way around it but straight through. It must be daunting, knowing you have to give that support and build that team of professionals and still have enough left over to get through the rest of your day. You feel sick because not everyone has to deal with this sort of thing, and it’s completely unfair that you do and even more unfair that he does.
But you are amazing, and you are strong, and you are doing everything you possibly can for that little boy.
I know it must be hard to not focus on what the other parents were saying, but it sounds like your son has seriously the most wonderful teacher ever. Between her, your guys and your love, and the therapist your son has everything going for him. You’re amazing, and I hope and believe with all my might that it’ll be okay, and you all will get through.
This is so stressful. And I hope everything goes very very well.
*hugs*
And I’m not really a hugging person. The whole thing sounds sucky, but also like your son is in the best hands possible, including yours.
My heart aches on a daily basis when I hear stories of my kid’s classmates doing wonderful happy family things and knowing that those things would not be wonderful and happy if we tried to do them–our kid isn’t like other kids and doesn’t respond the same way. That alone is enough to make me sad, so I definitely understand why you might get a sinking feeling sometimes.
Thinking about the bigger picture (he’s in good hands, we’re doing the right things, etc.) can sometimes make me feel better, but it’s hard not to get bogged down by TODAY’s worries. I’m wishing you all the best.
IT WILL GET BETTER! I PROMISE! If you keep doing what you’re doing, and he continues to be blessed with teachers like the one he has now, IT WILL GET BETTER!
And it does hurt….when people look at you with THAT LOOK that says, “Do you realize that your child is not quite like the other children?”, and you don’t dare go places for fear of how your child will react to any given situation. And it is SO discouraging when you are doing EVERY! THING! you can and your child still isn’t happy =(. Hang in there!!! Your love DOES make a difference in his life, even if he isn’t giving you any indication that it is! This is such a hard thing, and I am so sorry that your family has to go through it =(!
It sounds like this teacher is what all teachers are supposed to be, but so few are – a blessing.. Hang in there and keep reaching for the stars (even if that is “just to be normal”)!
It’s been ages since I’ve stopped by, but here I am, reminded of how many parallel cares you and I share. My kindergartner and yours sound VERY similar… the way you take everything the mister says so personally is EXACTLY what I do… and then the way you describe the mister’s response to your kids, well, I know I do that too. I also work and fight very hard against that impulse, because I know it comes from my own anxiety.
Anyway, I don’t have time to blog anymore, and I’ve never been as blog-eloquent as you, and this probably doesn’t mean much to you… but I feel you. I really do.