Although I grew to expect this ritual at the annual school ‘Pupil Evaluation Team’ meetings (events at which my daughter’s progress and problems were discussed in depth), such treatment always made me squirm. Inwardly. I suppose it was meant to. Meant to squelch those inner voices that couldn‘t help but protest, “She’s not odd. If anything, the rest of the children are odd. There‘s nothing ‘wrong‘ with her.”
Fourth Grade (nine years old), and it was time for her to be thoroughly tested. Again. Not only academic testing, mind you, but psychological testing, IQ testing, and observations. The results began to trickle in, tucked into envelopes addressed to Amy’s Parents. The results. The reports. The conclusions. She’s tantalizingly normal. But odd. Intelligent, yet easily distractible. Yeah, we knew that.
Again we were informed that she lacks the ‘executive function’ necessary to perform common classroom tasks. At first (many PET meetings ago) I was ignorant as to what ‘executive function’ was. It sounds like a trait that a CEO might be required to have, I thought at the time. But no. Basically, it’s the ability to organize one’s thoughts in order to get through a task that requires multiple steps. Stating that she lacked it was a technical way of saying that she’s scatterbrained.
After I reached the end of the umpteenth report, I knew had to write my own.
“No parent has ever done this before.” That’s what the glances said this time. One member of the ‘pupil evaluation team’ even gave voice to it, as we sat in the small meeting room of the portable school module that autumn day.
“Then I’ll be the first.” I thought, as I launched into my carefully prepared and rehearsed statement.
“Upon Amy's introduction to ‘Special Ed’ (kindergarten, 1997) we thought her learning disabilities were no doubt temporary, something she would grow out of in a few years at the most. After all, her teachers agreed that she was a bright and personable little girl, and everyone knows that kids go through "phases." At the dawn of this school year we had hopes that she would be able to overcome her deficits without Special Ed. intervention. After all, she has received passing, even good, grades in the past couple years.
When the reports of the "re-testing" began to arrive at home, it resulted in a great deal of re-thinking and reflection on the part of my husband and myself. We would like to share our reflections with you. We've talked a lot about how Amy is different. We both consider ourselves to be non-conformists, and so we rather like the fact that Amy is not like every other kid. Unfortunately, her differences also make it difficult for her to learn what she needs to know in this particular society, at this particular era of human history. Thus her differences (right here and now) are seen as impediments or as disabilities. One is tempted to think"too bad she's not like all the other kids."
Nonetheless, in wading through all the "bad news" contained in the various reports that we received, there were some observations that, while discounted as "reasons why this kid needs help," struck me as reflective of the beautiful and refreshing aspect of Amy's soul. I mean, in the whole scheme of the universe maybe it is more worthwhile to look for meanings and patterns in the symbols and numbers of a mundane "coding" test than it is to finish the test on time. And it actually warms my heart to know that Amy has enough peace within herself to wander in a contented solitary state on the playground at recess, perhaps clearing her head of (for her) the over-stimulation of the classroom where many have observed that she has trouble filtering out or ignoring the innumerable stimuli that exist there.
That said, we DO want Amy to succeed in, or at least get through, school- and we are glad that Special Ed. is there to help her accomplish this. We hope this can be done with the minimal squelching of her individuality. We realize that Amy needs extra help, especially when it comes to being able to focus on timed tests. We would, however, like to request that you provide a minimum of tutoring on the "social skills." Teaching her to maintain eye contact and ‘take turns’ is one thing, but telling her what she ought to be doing on the playground, as long as she is not being disruptive or nasty to other children, is another. In this type of social behavior we would like to, in effect, "home school" her, with less of an emphasis on conformity than may come from school instruction.”
I don’t remember much about the rest of the meeting. I recall that it was decided by the team that Amy still needed to receive Special Ed services. Since her disability did not have a name, they decided to continue to classify her need under the heading of “Other Health Concerns.”
A name. The following year would sweep our little family through crisis and revelation.... but that’s a different chapter.
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