Over the course of the 5 months Mini was home with me, I started to notice that he wasn't talking as much as his peers. My friends would talk about the things there kids were saying and the conversations they had, and I'd think... "Hmmm... Mini is nowhere NEAR that point...." He was also hitting a lot when he was frustrated, and had been for a while. I felt like I tried *everything* to curb that behavior and I just couldn't do it.
It turned out that I never went back to work. So, we found this great Montessori school close to our house, where he could go Monday through Friday, 9am-3pm, for a reasonable price.
When he started at school, I told them that he struggled with language a little. I thought it was because he'd been out of the game for a while, and I didn't push him to learn like they push kids to learn at school. I was busy with a newborn and trying to figure out life without a job, nursing all the time, a husband who was gone a LOT of the time with a very demanding job, etc. I felt distracted and uncreative. I'm not a mom that busts out the arts and crafts every day.... I just did what I needed to do in order to make the days work for us.
Suffice it to say he didn't assimilate well into their environment. I learned over the course of the three months he was there, that he didn't talk much, if at all. He struggled to interact with any of his peers. He played too much in the bathroom, flushing the toilet and playing in the sink instead of sitting in circle time. He refused to learn songs and do activities. Eventually, he started started acting out- swatting at his teachers, throwing chalk, and saying NO instead of just sitting outside the circle. I was called in to meeting after meeting, with the school telling me they don't know how to deal with him, how to talk to him, how to get him to participate. Then that progressed to "his teachers are afraid to go near him," then "the teachers tell the children to leave him alone." Then I was told "We need you to get him help. In the meantime, we'll deal with him until you can tell us what to do with him." I got written reports most days listing all the things he did wrong. Finally, I was told they were moving him to a different class because his teachers refused to deal with him, and they needed to bide time until I figured out what to do about him.
The day they told me that was his last day at the Montessori school. Not surprised, are you?
But, I am grateful for the horrific experience for a couple of reasons. First, I am glad that we got started with the process of figuring out what's going on with Mini. I quickly learned that appointments take months, that there is no definitive answer, that the process of getting help is just that- a process. Not a "decision." I'm glad that they told me they thought something was off.... Albeit RUDELY and INSENSITIVELY. The earlier he can start improving his skills, the better. And that's what the failed Montessori experience gave us.
I'm also grateful for the experience of speaking out for my kids. When I pulled him out, I wrote the director a speech. Instead of sending it via email, I went in and read it to her, so I could look at her FACE when I read it. I stood up for Mini. WAY up. She cried. I'm not happy to make her cry, but I am happy that I made her think, because she needed to. She needed to know that SHE failed and her staff failed. That my son was a hell of a lot more deserving than she made him out to be. I hope she won't forget that speech. I plan to update her when he is a shining star and stars in his first school musical. or plays his first soccer game, or whatever his bright future holds.
Because I want to be sure this is kept on record, here is what I said to her that day:
Dear Deepa,
I read such a wonderful blog post over the weekend. I won't share the content, but this point is this: we as parents will absolutely *never* give up on our children. No matter what happens. I never thought that I would begin to learn this lesson so early on in my parenting experience. But yet, here I am.
There is a yet-unnamed challenge that my little guy is enduring... as we all know. You had him 30 hours a week, but I have him all the time. I am the one who watches, anxious, minute-to-minute, as he struggles to verbalize his thoughts. I am the one who sits, minute-to-minute, questioning every action I take, every word I say, every lesson I attempt... wondering if it's helping or hurting him. I am the one who sheepishly dropped him off at school each day, and worried- hoping that he'd say something that mattered, or he at least would't do something to cause an email, a backward glance, a shaking head, or an incident report. I picked him up each day, hoping to find him beaming... My little boy, my smiley, fun-loving, carefree guy...my all day mantra was PLEASE BE HAPPY AT SCHOOL TODAY, BABY. You are a mother, and have had your own struggles to worry through with your children. You know what this anxiety feels like. It is consuming, sometimes.
Since our first conference three months ago, I haven't enjoyed parenting. Each time we've met, I've left feeling like a piece of my heart has been left on the desk. I've left feeling patronized, deflated, feeling hopeless. I've left feeling like my son's caregivers don't believe in him. In three months, my little boy became the tough one, the one who had to be tolerated, the one people are afraid to go near- to quote you directly. My heart has been broken a little more each time we met.
And then over the weekend, I read this blog entry. And I realized... I'm it for him. I am the one who will always come to his side. I am the one who is his warrior, his cheerleader, his advocate, his shoulder, his constant, his sustenance. I am the one who will never give up on him. And I started wondering why I should feel embarrassed, ashamed, or silenced- EVER- when it comes to my children. Because this is the thing: Deepa, Mini is a wonder. He is a thoughtful, smart, sweet child and he has a smile that you have never seen- that stretches so far across his face that it spreads to everyone in the room. At night, before bed, I remind him of these things: "Mini is good. Mini is smart. Mini is SPECIAL." Except I don't say the word "Special." He says it. Every night he whispers it in my ear.... Mini is good, Mini is smart, Mini is.... And I feel his breath in my ear and his arms squeezing around my neck, with his stars and the moon glowing blue on the ceiling...
"SPECIAL."
And he is. He is darling and beautiful, and I made him. And I will not give up on him.
I read once that, once you become a mother, every child becomes just a little bit yours. That's what I hope for when I entrust my babies in the care of other women. That you'll take him in with the heart that loves your own babies. I assume you all do your jobs because somewhere inside you believe in the beauty of young children. Because, like my own job in education, I feel certain you don't do it for the enormous paycheck. I don't pay my tuition for merely keeping my babies alive each day. I pay you to treat him with compassion. I pay you to treat him with respect, and patience. I hope I'm handing my tuition check to a fellow mother, who will see her job caring for my baby as an extension of her bigger job at home.
Unfortunately, what I felt from you instead is that you want him to be somewhere else. What I feel from you is hands in the air, looking for me, to tell me he needs to go see someone- to "go get help." The comment that you want him to switch classes to "bide time until I can get him help" was the singular most patronizing, insensitive comment I have received as a parent. To me, it is discrimination. Because my son doesn't conform to your expectation, and doesn't respond to the sole method your teachers tried, it became okay to simply corral him- to ignore him when he's not disruptive and correct or reprimand him when he is. Although you claim as Montessori educators to embrace differences and celebrate all backgrounds, individual strengths, and varying personalities, I have evidence that you don't actually practice what you teach. Merely tolerating my son because he isn't your school's NORM, while other students get praised, hugged, and smiled at would never be okay with any mother. When I shared my concerns with you all prior to the start of school, I hoped to prepare you, to inform you that you might need to try a bit harder with him in the beginning. I hoped that I could make you aware that he may need your expertise and creativity a bit more than other kids, initially. What I hoped for was that we *BOTH* would seek breakthroughs. I hoped that we *BOTH* would rejoice in small successes. I hoped that we *BOTH* could be happy with less than perfection. I hoped that we BOTH could love Mini. Because what more does a child really need at age 3? What more do they need than a warm hand, a strong hug, a safe space, and LOVE. I'm wasn't paying you to teach him to talk. I wasn't paying you to teach him to count to ten in Czech. I was paying you to instill confidence in him, to provide a space where he felt empowered and capable. I was paying you to remind him he's special when I'm not there. Instead I was told you don't have time for creative care, and was told "the world is a big place," and he needs to deal with that. At age THREE. It is absolutely heartbreaking, and frankly, it's offensive.
The reason you couldn't reach him is because he didn't have the room to just BE with you. He is intuitive, he senses anxiety, he senses being rushed. I know anyone can get through to him, because I've seen it happen with countless others, countless times. With Luke, for example. With strangers at the grocery store. With his Uncles. He just wants to be genuinely smiled at. He wants to be hugged and played with. He's not as complex as you think. There was never hope for the real Mini in your school. The real HIM wasn't the one you wish he would be or the one you feel pressured for him to become. If you could sit with him and go along for a ride, you'd see his sweetness and his gentle, sunny playfulness. And I promise you, if you had been the school you claim to be, you would have loved him.
So now, after three months, I'm more scared, more anxious, and more worried than I was when he arrived. I WILL NOT GIVE UP until my guy is able to be happy and learn and show everyone, with ease, all the gifts he has for the world. I hope you understand Mini's time here has ended not because he is hopeless, but because, in fact, this place is HOPELESS for Mini. You have decided he won't be successful here, and so we have no choice but to remove him. But someday, a new child will walk in your doors, looking to you and your staff for an extended hand, a warm smile, a hopeful heart, and open arms. I HOPE that child and that child's family will be shown more compassion and care than we have been shown. Since you couldn't teach Mini, he'll move on, and perhaps you will allow him to teach YOU instead.
Wow...
ReplyDeleteThat was awesome.