Suiting up for...school?

Van Wilder: Well just take a look at this... ya... doodles... I attended class today just about stayed the whole time too! Gwen: I'm glad you went to all your classes today. Van Wilder: And a few that weren't mine, I stepped in the wrong room, liked what I heard... stayed.

Ryan Reynolds and Tara Reid

            So last Tuesday was the IEP meeting. For the few of you that read my blog (thank you by the way) and don’t know what that is, it stands for Individual Education Plan. But for those of us that have children with special needs, it sometimes feels more like suiting up for a battle. Sure the name makes it sound harmless enough; but sometimes it feels like it is just you, or you and your spouse, against the entire school board. I realize that it really isn’t like that, but when you go into the meeting room, besides yourself, there is the special needs coordinator for the school, the teacher, a therapist or three, the principal, and often the district special needs coordinator, among others. It can feel more like a bail hearing than a planning meeting for your child’s education.

            Please don’t misunderstand me. I know that everyone in that room is trying to do what is best for my child. It is just that the cynic inside of me also realizes that the school is trying to balance what is best for my child with their current workload, budget, and demands by the district/community. It is easy for me to see it from their point of view. I have to worry about only one person, my son; whereas they have to worry about limited resources, other children with special needs, multiple curriculum plans, and the pressures from teachers, administrators, and parents just like me.

            And it does feel like I am getting ready for battle. My wife and I start the discussions around the same time the meeting is scheduled…basic overviews at first. Things like “this is what CJ is struggling with” or “this seems to be working, we should have them do more of that”. And as the days get closer, we map out a direction that we want to follow. The day of the meeting we have a “pre-board meeting” meeting, usually over coffee or breakfast, we talk specifics of what we hope to accomplish. And although the teachers want to do what is best for CJ, their perspective and ours is sometimes very different. They see him for a small part of the day, once you factor in the different classes, recess, lunch, library, etc; whereas we see and hear him and his struggles every day.

            So in the meeting, there is always a lot of give and take. Like any caring parent, we want to make sure the CJ gets every possible opportunity and resource that is needed (and often not needed) to help him succeed. That could be something as small as a “lunch bunch”, where on a once every other week basis CJ gets to have lunch away from the noise and overstimulation of the lunchroom, with one of his teachers in a separate room, and where he gets to invite one of his friends to join him. (Or in my son’s case, four friends.) Or something as major as additional speech, language, or occupational therapy. Or extra time to take tests. Or allowed to take oral tests versus written. And on the other side of the table, the school and educators need to ensure that they can provide for said needs, time, and/or duties. In a way I feel bad for the other side of the table, because I generally get what is needed for my son, because I push. Hard. I once told the district coordinator to go back to her office and think seriously about better fitting schools for my son. And guess what? That is exactly what she did.      Please don’t misunderstand. It is almost never an actual battle, and I know that the educators truly want to do what is best for my child. And they are almost always agreeable, or at least willing to find a solid solution that works. They are great people, and if I didn’t think they would get in trouble, I would buy every one of them a drink after the meeting.

            But for me, after the dust has settled, a little doubt creeps into my mind. Not about whether or not I did enough for my son, but if I did too much. My wife and I are not helicopter parents, by any stretch of the imagination. We don’t hover around our kids, wrapping them in bubble wrap, always at an arms length to kiss boo-boos. They learn that you’ll fall down, scrape knees, make mistakes. And that it is ok to do so. They also know that when it really counts, we are there, but only after they have tried it for themselves. No, the doubt comes from the opposite side of the coin. I wonder if perhaps I did too much, asked and was granted too much. For as much as I want my son to succeed, I want him to do it on his own merits, not because his preferential treatment was so great that he couldn’t fail. My greatest fear is that I will fail him.

            Or I could just be neurotic….