For the most part, we have been incredibly lucky. Throughout every step of our journey, there have been countless therapists, teachers, staff members and others who have taken so much time and effort to help us on this journey. They love our boys, they take the extra time and make the extra effort to reach them, to push them and move them forward. We simply could not do it without them. The boys have come as far as they have not because of us, but because of every single person who walks with them on their journey. It's a group effort.
For the first time, an issue came up this week at school. It was actually two different things, both symptomatic of something that has been going on for a little while. The first I probably would have overlooked. The second I simply could not.
And before I go on, I have to add a disclaimer. We love the school. We love the teachers and the teams in place to work with the boys. I think everyone truly cares about our boys and has their best interest at heart. But sometimes it's easier to let something small go on because you are not sure how to address it. I am as guilty as those at school when it comes to that. Part of the issue should have been addressed earlier, but this incident simply brought it to a breaking point.
This week was Valentine's Day, a made-up holiday if ever there was one. But it's still a holiday, and in elementary school it one that you celebrate with a party. All three of my boys were going to have Valentine's Day parties in their class. I only knew about two of them. All three classes were supposed to exchange Valentines with their classmates. Only two of them really did.
This was my breaking point.
Look closely. Do you see the difference? Three boys, three bags of Valentines. Two are overflowing with cards and candy. One is not. One had only four Valentines, and two of them were from his teachers.
I could not stop the tears. Or the anger. And I could not stop thinking about it. Not knowing about the class party was one thing, perhaps a simple oversight, further evidence that the communication between one of his classrooms was a little lacking. The fact that only two classmates gave Sawyer a Valentine was more than that. It meant that his name was not on the list sent home to his classmates, a list we also never received. The only reason Sawyer had Valentines to deliver was that I had sent them in, because I could not bring myself to do something for two of my boys and not for the other.
That omission meant so much more. It was no longer just about communication, but also about inclusion. Was this classroom receptive to him, did they treat him as a member of the classroom? Or was he merely tolerated.
I thought about the issue long and hard. I tried to be rational about it, to be objective and fair. But when someone does something that excludes one of your children, whether intentional or not, it hurts. And it makes you angry.
The following day I drafted an email. I must have rewritten it five or six times. I tried to be objective, I tried not to let the emotion take over. But I couldn't. In the end, I simply asked several teachers and administrators to put themselves in my place. How would it make them feel? Three boys at one school. Two with more than 25 Valentines, one with only four. How would they respond?
My tears were not the only ones. I immediately had a phone call and several responses from the people involved in the situation. It never should have happened and they were incredibly sorry. More importantly, they were taking immediate steps to address the issue.
This came home the very next day.
It's a Valentine for Sawyer signed by every single classmate. As you can see, it's hanging up on the wall in his bedroom.
And we also received a new folder in his backpack, one that included a weekly newsletter and a daily activity and behavior chart. Ironically enough, this lists the Valentine party we did not know about as well as a reminder to send in your Valentines. Again, just a reminder that communication has not been what it should be.
Of our two boys, Sawyer is more severely affected by autism. His ability to stay in the regular classroom is limited right now. His sensory issues and his communication level require a different educational setting than the regular classroom can provide. We all agree that he does better spending most of his day in the resource classroom. And because of that agreement, I think that all of us - myself included - have settled for less communication from the regular classroom, because Sawyer does not spend a great deal of time in that classroom.
But this issue made it clear to me, and to the school, that communication from all of the classrooms is important. It is even more important for children like Sawyer and even Xander, who have limited verbal communication skills. I cannot ask them how their day went, whether they were happy or sad at school. I cannot ask if their classmates are nice to them, or if they feel welcome in their classrooms. My boys cannot tell me. Which makes communication from school even more important. For classrooms to be truly inclusive, we all have to know what is going on, regardless of whether they spend five minutes or five hours in that classroom.
Today I drafted another email. This time I wanted to thank everyone, for their quick and compassionate response, for the immediate actions taken to improve communications. Like I said, we love the school. We think everyone there wants what's best for our boys. Sometimes we all need reminders that our actions (or lack of them) have consequences, or that our words (or lack of them) have meaning.
No, this journey is not always easy. Every decision you make, every action you decide to take or not take, has far-reaching consequences for our boys. Sometimes it's incredibly hard to make those decisions, to figure out when and how to act, to know how best to help them and advocate for them. But you do what you have to do. You love your children, you do the best you can, and you just keep moving forward.