A Sideways View

"Some of the kids were bad in school today," Chloe reports as we drive home. This is a common theme. She's doing preschool in the mornings this year, in a mixed class of typical kids and those with special needs.

"What do you mean, bad?'" I ask her, knowing where this is going.

"Oh, they wouldn't stay in line, they kept rolling around on the floor during circle time, and one of them kept singing this song really quietly over and over," Chloe says. "She doesn't talk, she just sings."

"You remember what we talked about, right? And what your teacher says?" I remind her. "Some kids are working on learning different things. You're learning to trace your name. Some of them are learning to sit still in circle." We've had this conversation before. I'm sure it won't be the last time.

It's a little bit strange, having a child who is technically a "peer model" in a special ed. preschool classroom, after having a child who was in special ed. preschool for services.

When I remind Chloe the kids aren't "bad," they are just working on different things than she is and might need some extra help, I wonder what kids used to report about Ethan when he started preschool.

When she says she wants to go get "services" (OT, PT or speech) like some of the kids because that seems like it's really fun (and they appear to get special attention, I'm assuming), I remember how Anna couldn't understand why therapists spent so much time attending to Ethan (and he STILL didn't really enjoy playing some of their games).

When Chloe tells me the ones who don't talk are the "little kids" in the class (although they are all three and four-year-olds) I wonder the best way to delicately explain that's not really the case -- or should I?

One day Chloe walked by a little boy in the classroom when we first arrived.

"You could say hi to him..." I suggested.

"He doesn't talk," Chloe replied matter-of-factly.

"But you could still say hi," I protested.

I will ask her who she played with at recess. Ninety percent of the time, she names the typical kids only.

I can't help but remember the way Ethan avoided everyone at the beginning of preschool. Even compared to other kids on the spectrum, he seemed anti-social. In kindergarten he climbed the monkey bars again and again and again, alone. But he was perfectly happy.

Some days I watch Chloe come into the classroom trace her name pretty darned neatly. Occasionally I'll see parents of some of the special needs classmates who come in and scribble, or need the teacher to hold their hands, or fight with even sitting at the table, and I don't want them to see what Chloe is doing. I know it can feel discouraging. It's easier to have your child receive services at home, where it's safe; insulated. In school, with peers, suddenly the differences stand out much more starkly. It becomes hard sometimes to let your child develop on their own timeline rather than the standard one.

Some days when we're leaving at pick-up time we walk down the hall and Chloe is chattering constantly about her morning and pictures she painted and games she played, and there are times we walk near a mom and her daughter, from one of the other classes. This child rarely speaks but traces her fingers across the walls as she walks. Their silence feels heavy. It feels heavy to me because I know if I were her, I would be longing to have conversation with my child, like the one Chloe and I are having.

In these moments, I feel something like guilt.I want to tell this mom I'm not taking any of this for granted. And I know what it's like. I DO understand.

I was going to title this post something like "View from the Other Side," but I realized that wasn't true. I'm not on one side or the other. I've visited both. So now I stand sideways...always with the perspective of a typical child's mom, and a special need child's mom.

Interestingly, while I realize I now have more compassion for special needs families, I also need to not be guilty about my own child's abilities --  the same way I needed not to resent those typical kids who did (and sometimes do) surpass Ethan in their social abilities. They are who they are. It's not their fault. Why did I ever think any differently?

These differing perspectives have grown my empathy. They've also reminded me to not be so hard on myself.

So I stand here in the middle. And while sometimes the feeling is unsettling, I am grateful for the view.