Signing the Papers

I've got an amazing kid. He's beautiful, with big brown eyes and a mop of blond hair. He's got a big heart, snuggling up to me and whispering, "I love you, honey" or "My sweet little mommy." He's smart--he read before he was four-years-old, he can count to thirty, and he can figure out computer games that baffle me. He is the best of Will and I smooshed into a perfectly lovable package.

And yet...

Something isn't right. We noticed it when we enrolled him in a part-time preschool at the high school where Will is an assistant principal. First, he got in trouble for "loving" the kids too much: he'd hug and kiss and pat and squeeze when the other kids were like, "Step off, jack." Then he started hitting the other kids, or pushing them, or tackling them. Then the teachers. We pulled him out of the preschool, reasoning that he was just too young and that as an only child he needed more socialization. So I found a play group and we found some friends. But even in playgroup, he was the kid trying to hug somebody who didn't want it, or rolling around with the friends who thought the hugs were just peachy and ruining the group photo. We read books, we changed discipline strategies, we thought we had it figured out.

Until Pre-K started. And let me tell you, it has been an...experience. The same pattern played out: kissing, smacking, total insubordination. The teacher and her paraprofessional, both inexperienced, were becoming more vocal about not knowing what to do with him. He went to the principal's office almost every day. And came home and acted more and more rowdy. Finally, the school had to send him home for the day. At this point, I was--in the words of a favorite writer--calm with dispair. "What is the next step?" I asked, and I knew what it would be. The coordinator was very hesitant, "Well, we might get him evaluated by an outside counselor..."

"Yes," I said, "Do that."

And you know, she was completely floored that I was open to my son's behavior and mental and emotional state being evaluated. And I was completely floored that SHE was completely floored.

Look, y'all. When you realize that your kid is different from other kids (and I don't mean in the smarter, cuter, sweeter way...I mean in the "hmmm...why did he just tackle that kid on the playmat while yelling at his teacher?" way), it sucks. It's so embarrassing and frustrating and scary and freak-out-causing. You think about how much you love him and then you want to stuff him in a hole because he just spit on the paraprofessional. It's not cool that none of your friends have kids like your baby. You wonder what you did wrong.

And then you have a choice. You can say, "Well, clearly they just aren't dealing with him correctly. He's not doing anything wrong. He's just EXPRESSING himself. He's just a little REBEL." and you can hide your head in the sand and not look the teacher in the eye in the morning. Or you can say, "Bless his heart, something just isn't clicking with him and the teachers can't help him, and the administrators can't help him, and I can't help him, so I have to find somebody who can." And you swallow your tears and your embarrassment and you sign the papers to have him evaluated.

Hard? Uh, yeah. I always thought I'd be giving my permission for him to be evaluated for the gifted program. Instead, I was signing something that assured me that this was not an evaluation for Special Education. The psychologist was very adamant about showing me that sentence, even though at that point, if she had told me they were going to send him to a zoo for chimpanzee therapy, I'd be like, "Rock on." But it was then that I realized how many parents she must deal with who can't accept that Junior just isn't right, for whatever reason, and how hard it must be for schools to cope with children and parents like that.

Guys, here's a Decrapinated truth for you: you know if there's something not right with your kid. Don't you? She spends too much time alone, or he can't talk right, or she's been eating nothing but peanuts for three weeks. You can see that as a parent, even if it hurts or is scary or embarrassing. If you don't want to call it "not right", call it something else. Call it "special" or "different" or "out of the ordinary." Or don't call it anything if it makes you feel better. But if you can't figure out how to stop the unnamed behavior, and your kid's teacher can't, and none of the strategies you find in books or online help, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get. Help. For. Your. Kid. It's your responsibility. It's your privilege to help a little person be the best person he can be.

Now, I'm not thinking that I'm going to win Mother of the Year because I'm acknowledging Jeffrey's issues. But if I can give up that control and admit I don't know what the hell to do to help my kid, anybody can do it.

I don't know how to end this post. I want to be funny to let you know that I'm staying positive. I want to be profound to let you know that I've thought a lot about this and it's affecting me deeply. I want to be all intelligent and quote a child psychologist.

But instead, I think I'll just end it and go check in on my beautiful, perfect, flawed little boy as he sleeps. It makes me feel better.