Middle School: Spell it Out 4 of 9 part series

 I think it’s safe to say that by your 7th grade year we all had PTSD and completely dreaded every new school day. But you had a “robust” 504 plan and you and your guidance counselor had a tight bond. I still believe to this day that she wanted so badly to help you, but she just didn’t know how. None of us did really….

It wasn’t going well. You came home every day and would lock yourself in your bedroom. You stopped enjoying the things you used to love. You HATED school. Each day was harder and harder to get you out the door. One of the hardest parts of my weekday was forcing you to go to a place that was stealing all of your joy. But what choice did I have? Parents are expected to send their kids to school.

You came home one day and shared with me how one of your teachers was unkind in class. Listen, I know you were not the easiest kid and I’m sure your teachers were frustrated. But so was I. It was a full-time job advocating for you, and I was getting nowhere. You told me that this teacher responded to one of your questions by saying: “Is it wrong of me to wish you were struck by a meteor, so I didn’t have to answer any of your questions again?” Ok, let’s back this up – I KNOW you probably struck his last nerve, and I am sure he was frustrated. But holy my, my blood was boiling. I wrote a very long email to the principal.

Your school ended up moving your schedule around after I sent the email and gave you a new teacher. The thing that bothers me to this day is that that teacher never apologized to you. Bigger picture though, I was ready to lose my mind. Why were you having such a hard time in school? Why did we have to walk on eggshells at home to control your environment to keep you happy? None of this made sense because somehow, your grades were still decent. So, what was it that was making you so miserable?

As I watched you slip further away from the happy kid you once were, I sent an email to all your teachers pleading with them to treat you with kindness and understanding. You were almost 13. A very fragile and vulnerable age. Like always, I was reassured that you were a sweet boy who wanted to do well, and they all loved you. Except for that one teacher. 😉

What happened next is still so disturbing that it haunts me to this day. My heart was broken, and my world was shattered. I don’t think it’s something I will ever in my lifetime get over. As I sit here thinking back to that time, my eyes are full of tears. And it wasn’t just me that was broken; it was our entire family. To respect my son’s privacy, I cannot share the details. What I will share is that he was robbed of his 13th birthday by a broken system that never fulfilled their obligation to identify a child with a learning disability.

As a teenage boy, and a student who was given a computer to type, I hadn’t seen any writing samples in years. You wrote some items you wanted me to get on my grocery list. WHAT?!?! HOW?!?! How on earth were you unable to spell things like soap? How were you unable to write within the lines of the page? Why were you using capital letters in the middle of a word? Was this dyslexia?! No, it couldn’t be… Surely SOMEONE in your time at school would’ve picked up on that?? Not one teacher has ever had any concerns with your reading. I must be overthinking.

In our now 1,877,765,887th school meeting, the district agreed to your initial evaluation. In 7th grade. You began going to school part time and spending your day in the guidance counselor’s office independently working. And you would text me every 15 minutes or so to come pick you up. This evaluation couldn’t happen soon enough. And then covid hit. Of course it did……………..

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