Today, I was reminded how truly lovely and uplifting it is
to hear positive words about T from the very professionals that work with him
or just know him. This happened today
quite unexpectedly and it has left me smiling inside since this afternoon. I went to pick up T from middle school, as I
do everyday. I go inside and hang out in
the entryway, waiting for T to arrive.
During that time, I usually enjoy a few moments to chat quickly with his
teacher - to hear how he’s doing, if there were any great or not-so-great
things that I needed to know about, etc.
Nine times out of ten, I am hearing about cool things that T did (or
tried to do), and little triumphs he had that day. I usually come away feeling pretty good about
where T is spending his days and his time.
Today his teacher wasn’t available to chat for long, so I
waited for T to pack up his backpack & put on his coat (completely
independently, by the way!). The
assistant principal, who was monitoring the hallways during class change time,
saw that I was on my own and approached me, asking if I was T’s mom. He then told me just how much they enjoy
having T at school everyday, and how well he is doing. I grinned and thanked him, and said that he
does have a way to getting into people’s hearts. The assistant principal agreed wholeheartedly, and proceeded
to tell me that the students & teachers really like him. He then put his hand on my shoulder, looked
me in the eye, and said, “Never underestimate how important it is that he is
here. The students learn so much having
him here. He makes them grow up and
think less of themselves. And he learns
so much from them too. It is so good to
see.”
Looking back at him, I took a deep breath to take that all
in, and thanked him for those kind words – and told him it meant a lot to hear
that. At that moment, T was approaching
with his huge smile, and I said to the assistant principal, “Look how happy he is here. He is really happy being here.”
And with that, the bubble burst. One of the para-educators from T’s classroom
walked up with T and proceeded to tell me how much the zipper on his backpack
really made him mad. (Um, yeah – he
looks really mad with that wide smile across his face.) So I just said that yes, that can irritate
him but it is usually short-lived. This
is not the first time, or the only para, that brings him to me with this sort
of update.
Then I started thinking about communication. How often do we, as parents of children with
disabilities, hear about every minor infraction, every frustration expressed,
every mis-step? If the para were to
bring him to me everyday, I would probably get very little feedback other than
“the backpack irritated him”, "he was grumpy today" or “he pushed me away” or some other imperfection
of his day instead of how hard he tried in math class, or the cool experiment
he got to see and help with in science.
It was a fantastic “compare and contrast” moment. Have no fear: the little minor frustration
expressed by the para in no way diminished the wonderful exchange I had with
the assistant principal.
Parting words: if you are professional working with kids
with special needs (or heck, ANY kid!), don’t start off a conversation with me
by telling about every minor infraction or frustration you have with my
son. If you need to brainstorm with me,
ask – I’m happy to do so. But remember,
any minor frustration you have, we experience at home every other hour of the
day. I know about them and don’t need to
hear about them. In the words of a
dear departed friend: “Three rules of communicating with others: Be kind. Be kind.
Be kind.” Thanks, Mr. Assistant Principal, for being kind today.
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