Commencement Speech for My Special Needs Second-Grader

Commencement Speech for My Special Needs Second-Grader

Conceptual shot of child education. Brown teddy bear in graduation cap leaning on books

By Melissa Hart

Members of the second grade class: two years ago, you scampered down these hallowed halls to play with the unpainted wooden dollhouse and the felted gender-neutral puppets and the classroom newt in a kindergarten done in womb-pink. Among you moved a little boy named Oliver.

Oliver wasn’t like other children. He forged his own way, eschewing circle-time and songs and hand-clapping games, and sprinting for the nearest exit at recess. His voice rang out above all others, commanding attention. He was, in short, a trail-blazer—a child so original that the teacher’s aide devoted her days to him.

As you struggled to form letters and numbers on your soft ecru paper, the aide bent over him, fingers gripping his around the hand-carved pencil, sometimes for half an hour while you soldiered on alone. You wonder now: What did Oliver have that I didn’t have? I’ll tell you:

A learning disability.

Like yours, dear children, Oliver’s parents visited a vast array of educational institutions. They pored over commentary at GreatSchools.org and debated into the wee hours self-directed curriculum versus whole-child learning and how each might ensure happiness.

Oliver–like the 22 of you now sipping chamomile tea while covering your soft ecru paper with watercolors–learned to finger-knit yarn spun from the alpacas you fed on your field trip, becoming so attached to his string that he wound it around his fingers until they turned purple, and screamed and bit the aide. Inspired by his teachers and principal and his tearful disbelieving mother, he forged a new path to a behavioral classroom across town.

He didn’t try to be special, dear hearts; he simply was.

I tell you this because today–as the morning glories stretch and beam from the garden boxes you lovingly decorated—there’s another child in your midst who shows the same spirit that you may recall from Oliver’s days.

Unlike that boy with his feet planted firmly on the spectrum, however, this little girl came into the world drug-affected and placed in foster care. As a toddler, she enjoyed the perks of regular feedings and diaper changes, unhampered by distractions such as caregiver eye-contact and physical embrace. Thus, she learned to sound her barbaric yawp so that she, like Whitman rolling naked in his leaves of grass, might make herself known.

You know her as the child in the front row, directly in front of the teacher’s podium, with all the privileges that weighed blankets and noise-cancelling headphones confer. The letters ADHD mean nothing to you—but you marvel at her ability to turn cartwheels behind the teacher. She’s memorized the words to over 100 songs and locks herself into the bathroom daily to belt them out. She isn’t like you, dear hearts. She marches to the beat of her own drum and refuses to learn with the rest of you how to play the pentatonic flute.

Like Oliver, she doesn’t try to be special; she simply is.

Education is a community-driven endeavor, and you exhibit this daily. For years, the little girl in question watched you arrange playdates and sleepovers in the hallways. She heard thrilling tales of birthday parties to which she wasn’t invited. Just this morning, two of your fathers dialogued in the classroom about a class camping expedition—a trip apparently open to a select few. How inspiring to know that you gather so lovingly to support one another at a school that prides itself on inclusiveness.

A mystery to you, the little girl’s mother who shows up each morning with a smile plastered across her face as you gather outside to jump rope while her child screams because she’s forgotten her homework. What pride the woman exudes as your parents remark on the artful display of her daughter’s uneaten lunch on the floor among her shoes and jackets where they lie below your own neatly-hung Columbia windbreakers and precise rows of Bogs.

How unfriendly that mother appears with dark circles under her eyes as your parents pair up to arrange warm-hearted diversions after school and on weekends. It’s impossible to picture her, dear ones, weeping at night for all she’s been given, not the least of which is a flexible schedule that allows her to work early in the morning and late at night, the better to homeschool.

So you see, dear ones, this story does have a happy ending. Next year, the little girl in question will turn cartwheels each Monday morning in gymnastics class and take professional singing lessons at the music studio downtown. She’ll study on her living room couch, travel weekly to wetlands and science museums and animal shelters. Hell, her mommy may even adopt an alpaca.

For a moment, as you pause on the threshold between your second and third grade classrooms, you may glimpse the future—six more years in these same hallways fragrant with patchouli and the bliss that only true oblivion can provide.

It’s your future, dear ones. Keep in touch.
Melissa Hart is the author of the YA novel, Avenging the Owl (Sky Pony, 2016) and the memoirs Wild Within and Gringa. Web: www.melissahart.com.

 

Cold Inside

Cold Inside

Toddler Boy Playing ArtBy Lynn Adams

Before I had children, Autism Spectrum Disorders were my specialty. I reduced my child psychology practice to half time after James came along, and soon realized I couldn’t close the door on autism at the end of the workday, because it was in my house.

I first heard about autism in high school, at a children’s residential facility where I volunteered. Sam was lying on his back and spinning around in circles by kicking his feet, as if on an invisible merry-go-round. He wasn’t brushing his teeth alongside the other children, because he was having too much fun at his own carnival.

I determined to become part of Sam’s carnival, and eventually learned to play with kids whose parents thought they couldn’t play. So 20 years later, why did I find myself on our playroom floor, my back against the sofa, writing down everything James said, while he did his own thing? “You sit on that. You like that. You put it down there,” I transcribed, noting he had his pronouns reversed. I hope I took the time to talk to James as I wrote, but I don’t remember.

My son was a loner. It didn’t come naturally to him to connect with anyone, including – and maybe especially – me. Instead of crying or looking for help in a tough situation, James mounted a noisy protest. Every tantrum was a puzzle. When he started talking, my first sign that he’d hurt himself was hearing him screech, “No ice!” as he ran away from me. If I figured out he had a pebble in his shoe, captured him, and removed it, he calmed down immediately.

By contrast, every time I kissed James’ cheek, he would rub the spot with his hand, looking away, like a teenager. He was unaffectionate. He had sensory issues. Of course. He had autism.

I knew that underlying health issues could be a source of toddlers’ developmental and behavioral problems. So, I arranged a medical evaluation for various thyroid, allergy, immune, and metabolic problems that might have been an easy fix. And the doctor found something. We discovered that one of James’ vaccines hadn’t been effective, exposing him to frequent upper respiratory infections. And all that time I thought he had allergies. He got a booster shot and the colds went away, but the autism didn’t.

That’s right, I’m the mom who thought that a vaccine might cure her child’s autism.

Practically speaking, as part of these work-ups three-year-old James had to have his blood drawn three times in three weeks. Although James freaked out the first time, the second and third times he patiently held out his little arm as the nurse poked around for his tiny veins. She kept looking up at his face, waiting for him to blow his stack. He never did.

The nurse remarked, “This is the best-behaved child I’ve ever seen!” Then she gave him a jumbo pack of Starburst and a full roll of stickers.

Her compliment felt like an accusation. I was still out of breath from forcefully extracting James from under the Lego table in the waiting room, where he’d been holed up catlike for a half hour. Before that, I’d pried him out from under the car seat, and then carried his noodle-like body through the parking lot. Back at home, he’d resisted brushing his teeth, getting into his clothes, leaving the house, and getting into the car. The whole way out to the suburban office he’d looked out the window, exclaiming with joy anytime he saw a construction truck. But each time a truck disappeared from his view, he’d kick the back of my seat.

James was a good boy, just not for me.

As my office became a refuge and I accepted a patient who would eventually become James’ first friend, I began to wonder whether I was ever meant to be a mother. One evening, my infant daughter asleep on my shoulder and a glass of gin in my hand, I made a suggestion to my husband Bruce. Maybe I was better off, and James was better off, and the community would be better off, with me as a psychologist rather than as a mother.

A parent-ectomy. That’s what Bruno Bettelheim proposed in his 1967 book, The Empty Fortress, a book my parents might have read if I’d had autism. Early professionals observed that mothers whose children had autism were cold and distant: Refrigerator Mothers. But sometimes it feels better to focus on doing right by your child, than to interact with him. Contemporary studies refer to “parental stress” and investigate the effects of having a child with autism on the parents.

Instead of condemning me for my cold-hearted suggestion, Bruce appealed to my sense of reason. “Think of your favorite families you’ve worked with, your favorite adults with autism,” he suggested. “What did they all have in common? Good psychologists, or good parents?”

Kids in our town had some choices when it came to psychologists. But James had only one mother.

Around this time, I came across a newspaper article. Researchers at the Yale Child Study Center, my old stomping ground, found that administering oxytocin, “the love hormone,” led to activation in the brain’s social regions in a small sample with mild autism. I wondered where I could get some oxytocin for James, and then flagellated myself for wondering.

James needed a mother’s love, and I was giving him everything but that.

I stopped reading about autism, and started reading about motherhood. I especially liked Erma Bombeck, who wrote, “A child needs your love most when he deserves it least.” At first I took my fondness for this quote as further evidence that I’d become a refrigerator mother, but later I realized how many kids it’s kept alive.

So James didn’t know how to connect with people. I did. It was time to show him how.

Neglecting to tell Bruce where I’d learned it, I pulled out the trusty “basket hold,” a form of restraint I’d used during my internship in a children’s psychiatric hospital. It was the only way to get ahold of James. You grab the child’s wrists, cross them in front of him, and pin his body in your lap with your legs crossed over his legs and his head under your chin. It’s a hug you can’t refuse.

As I held James I would say things like, “I know you’re mad because your toy broke. No biting, though. That hurts me. You’re my boy. Mommy loves you no matter what.”

I was talking to myself, more than James.

Over time, I didn’t have to hold James so tight to keep him near me. When he was really upset, he’d often give up his struggles and sob on my shoulder. Then I really felt like his mother. 

One day after a basket hold I kissed James wetly on the cheek, and he immediately wiped it off. I decided to ask him about it. How did I know why he did it?

“Did you wipe that kiss off?”

“No,” James said, still rubbing.

“Well, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Rubbing it in. That way it makes you love me more.”

Now at this point, James had his pronouns reversed. So, he probably meant, “It makes me love you more.” But who cares what direction he was heading? The fact that the word “love” was in his vocabulary suggested I was on the right track.

Author’s Note: James still struggles with the stresses of everyday life, and our family struggles along with him. But I don’t dwell on the word “autism” as much as I did when I started writing this piece. Instead, I focus on James’ love of guitar and flag football, and on his strong relationships with his family, neighbors, teachers, and friends. I’m proud to say he’s the only member of our family who’s consistently described as “sweet.”

Bio: Lynn Adams is now a full-time wife and mother in New Orleans. Her work has appeared on Salon, Brain, Child, and The Mid, as well as in the anthology, It’s Really 10 Months: Special Delivery. Find more at www.lynnadamsphd.com.

 

Top Ten Books for Parenting Children With Disabilities

Top Ten Books for Parenting Children With Disabilities

Special Needs Art !These ten books all make two similar points: 1) Your child is more than a syndrome or symptoms or disability, and 2) Navigating the bureaucracy associated with having a child with a disability is challenging. In their own ways, these memoirs and advice books provide advice and comfort not just to parents whose children share a similar issue, but to all. Lessons about self-reliance and acceptance are important for all kids.

These books were published in this century, which makes sense given that we know so much more about how young brains and bodies develop than we ever have before. All of them also talk about similar acronyms like IDEA, IEE, and 504. While some of the books focus on just one special need (like autism or learning disabilities or genetic conditions or Down’s syndrome), together they look to the future in some way, helping children to develop into adulthood—when they will become adults with disabilities, a specific population two books on the list focus upon.

Be sure to consult the books for lists of resources and suggestions for further reading, and don’t let some of the scientific journal articles listed scare you off. Remember you know your child better than anyone else. Educate yourself and trust your gut.

Parenting Children with Health Issues and Special Needs by Foster Cline and Lisa Greene

This condensed version of 2007’s Parenting Children with Health Issues is a useful volume that focuses on the emotional development of ill children. While originally written for kids who have chronic medical conditions (like diabetes or cystic fibrosis), the 2009 version also includes advice for those with autism, learning disabilities, and other similar conditions. More importantly, it has advice for all parents—like nurturing self-concept and being a consultant parent rather than a drill sergeant or helicopter. The main take-away is that children need to learn to take responsibility for their own bodies and adhere to medical advice. This can happen by 4th or 5th grades, but certainly needs to happen by high school. Parents can let children choose when to do treatments, but not if; banking lots of smaller choices means parents can sometimes cash in bigger requests or respond with, “I love you too much to argue.”

A Good and Perfect Gift: Faith, Expectation, and a Little Girl Named Penny by Amy Julia Becker

I dare you to read this book and not tear up several times at the rawness of Becker’s emotion in describing her relationship with her first-born, Penny. The Beckers faced an unusual situation in this day of prenatal testing: they were surprised when their daughter was born with Down’s syndrome. A Good and Perfect Gift chronicles how Amy Julia and her husband, along with their families, friends, and students, come to understand Penny and what she adds to their communities. Published by a Christian Press there is quite a lot of religiously-motivated discussion, but for those unfamiliar with this point of view it won’t distract from the larger messages of the book. Becker finds that Penny having Down’s syndrome was hardest to deal with in the abstract, but once they were in a room together she became nothing more than their wonderful daughter who happens to have an extra chromosome. The lessons about pity versus compassion will help all of us who know someone with a special needs child.

The Boy in the Moon: A Father’s Journey to Understand His Extraordinary Son by Ian Brown

The Boy in the Moon is Canadian journalist Ian Brown’s lyrical memoir about his son, Walker. Walker suffers from a rare orphan genetic syndrome (meaning it comes out of nowhere), labelled Cardiofaciocutaneous (CFC). Given the small numbers who have it not much research is devoted to studying CFC, and as Brown soon learns he often knows more about it than the pediatricians he sees (as do the other parents with CFC children he meets and stays connected with via the Internet). This is partly because, as Brown describes, “High-tech medicine has created a new strain of human beings who require superhuman care. Society has yet to acknowledge this reality, especially at a practical level.” Yet, parents will see themselves in the constant fights Brown and his wife have over who is getting more sleep (though their fight goes on for 11 years). Brown’s story reminds us that we all need to be advocates for our children to help them develop the best inner and outer lives possible.

Will My Kid Grow Out Of It? A Child Psychologist’s Guide to Understanding Worrisome Behavior by Bonny J. Forrest

Dr. Forrest’s practical guide will appeal to parents who are worried their children may be depressed, autistic, ADHD, schizophrenic, or have an eating or learning disorder. While she is clear that Will My Kid Grow Out Of It? is not meant to be a substitute for professional advice, her advice is plentiful. She believes there is no downside to screening a child because a parent will either get reassurance or get early access to the resources a child needs. Forrest reminds us that, “Although one in seven children has some form of developmental disability, fewer than half the pediatricians in the country screen children for these disorders.” On top of that there are few gold standard research studies in child psychology and lots of “cures” in the popular media; she discusses these and suggests questions parents should ask when choosing professional to help children. Note this book offers a useful bibliography divided into sections like scientific journal articles, books, and websites.

Thinking Differently: An Inspiring Guide for Parents of Children with Learning Disabilities by David Flink

Like Dr. Forrest, Flink pushes testing and assessment for children because it helps families and schools build profiles that can lead to useful interventions. Flink focuses on “learning disabilities,” which are, “Generally understood to be an umbrella term for neurological difficulties in the brain’s ability to receive, process, store, express, and respond to information.” Flink himself has been diagnosed with a learning disability, dyslexia, and ADHD, and he is an expert in navigating how to use the educational system to get help. On top of that, he started a mentoring program called Eye to Eye, that links college students with LDs to middle schoolers. Flink’s own story of attending an Ivy League college, and authorship of this book, should help reassure parents that a label doesn’t define a child. His Chapter 3, “Take Action,” is especially helpful in explaining to parents the laws and evaluations that can help children access help (his discussion about whether to hire an independent evaluator or use the one the school provides is important).

Essential First Steps for Parents of Children with Autism: Helping the Littlest Learners by Lara Delmoline and Sandra L. Harris

This short book by two professors who run the Douglass Developmental Disabilities Center at Rutgers University is packed full of useful information. Each chapter starts with the story of a specific family who has a child with an autism spectrum disorder and ends with a list of further reading and resources related to that chapter whether it be on self-help skills or play. Delmoline and Harris write that 20-30 years ago it would have been unlikely to get a diagnosis for a child under three, and usually not until five or six. But with powerful interventions, like Applied Behavior Analysis, younger children can benefit greatly. The authors emphasize though that any intervention needs to be done by a trained professional who should know just as much about what treatments haven’t worked as those that have. A focus on your individual child and data on him or her is also vital to seeing changes in child’s performance and behavior—so parents, start taking notes!

The Out-of-Sync Child: Recognizing and Coping with Sensory Processing Disorder by Carol Stock Kranowitz

Sensory processing disorder is seen as a new definition of an old problem. Until recently it was often overlooked, except by occupational therapists who are most effective in helping children with a range of sensory processing issues. Like other authors on this list, Kranowitz is a strong advocate for early intervention—even recognizing that insurance doesn’t always cover the cost of therapy, mainly because the disorder still isn’t included in the latest DSM. Regardless of whether your child has sensory issues, or other medical needs, you should read the section in Chapter 8 on how to build a relationship between a therapist and child (hint: emphasize that it’s fun). Kranowitz presents many checklists and questionnaires throughout the comprehensive book, but her images are also useful, like saying we should think of sensory processing disorder like indigestion of the brain and just like an antacid soothes, kids need occupational therapy to smooth their neural pathways.

The Complete Guide to Creating a Special Needs Life Plan: A Comprehensive Approach Integrating Life, Resource, Financial, and Legal Planning to Ensure a Brighter Future for a Person with a Disability by Hal Wright

Eventually many children with special needs develop into adults with special needs. Hal Wright is a Certified Financial Planner who has a daughter with Down’s syndrome. This book deals with various forms of planning, but the sections on financial and legal planning are especially useful. Wright talks about siblings and how parents need to be fair to help all children financially, while also knowing siblings often take on other burdens related to special needs siblings. He cautions that just as state disability services “are more extensive for people with developmental disabilities than for those with mental illness or physical disabilities. There is also a greater emphasis on the needs of pre-school and school-age children than for adults.” It is up to parents to plan ahead and deal with the practical intricacies as children become adults and this book acts as a sueful guide.

Parenting an Adult with Disabilities or Special Needs: Everything You Need to Know to Plan for and Protect Your Child’s Future by Peggy Lou Morgan

If Wright’s book focuses on the practicalities of having an adult child with special needs, Morgan’s book focuses on the actual caring issues. She writes, “All parents deal with the sometimes-paralyzing question of what happens to adult children when we can no longer be there for them. While legal documents are very important, they may not prepare caregivers, nominated representatives, or others to understand someone who may not be able to communicate his needs directly.” For Morgan the title of Chapter 3 says a lot, “Loneliness is the Only Real Disability.” She explains that even service dogs can be helpful, though many residential homes don’t allow them. Nonetheless creating social connections important for special needs kids/adults—especially if parents are not able to be around much, if at all. The sample caregiver’s manual in the appendices is important for anyone working on this daunting task.

Touchpoints Birth to Three: You Child’s Emotional and Behavioral Development by T. Berry Brazelton and Joshua Sparrow

You might be surprised to find a book on this list that focuses on “typical” developmental milestones. But many parents of special needs kids express, as Becker does in A Good and Perfect Gift, that it can be helpful in a way to see in what ways a child is attaining milestones at around the right time (could be verbal if physical is a problem, or vice versa). Touchpoints recognizes not only development forward, but also regression at certain times. While “touchpoints” are universal, “driven by predictable sequences of early brain development,” they obviously don’t always apply to all. Part 2 discusses various challenges to development in alphabetical order, including allergies and asthma, developmental delays hypersensitivity, and speech, language, and hearing problems. So some special needs parents may learn a bit, but they will also benefit from discussion of other issues like divorce, television, etc. In the end, a book like this reminds us that each child is an individual and not just a symptom, disorder, or disease.

Hilary Levey Friedman is the Book Review Editor at Brain, Child and the author of Playing to Win: Raising Children in a Competitive Culture