Power, Peers, and a Sad Evening: Part II

I met with the high school principal, The Boy’s special education teacher, and the band director last Friday. It was their last day before break, and it was apparent the principal wanted to clear her plate before she left for two weeks. She explained that they take any hint of bullying very seriously, and she wanted to speak with me right away without delaying the conversation two weeks. Potato, pot-ah-toh.

Let me preface this by saying it was not an adversarial conversation. The principal and I did most of the talking, and we understood each other to a great extent. But, she lost me when she could see both sides of the issue. I bit my tongue, let her finish her thought, and promptly explained that I used to be a band director for a living and that behavior was never, ever acceptable. You don’t touch other people’s instruments. She didn’t disagree.

She felt it wasn’t malicious, and therefore it wasn’t bullying but an extremely poor choice. The kids involved felt The Boy was playing wrong notes, and that they needed to apparently stop him from doing so. She said she questioned them on that when she spoke to them, asking who had given them the authority to do that. They couldn’t answer. They were very remorseful, she said.

We talked more about whether or not The Boy is included in the band class, and in the school as a whole. She said she thought I saw different things at home than they did in school. “He has a group of people that he hugs and gives high fives to every day,” she said. “I know, but he doesn’t know the name of the kid he sits next to every day in band,” I said. They went back and forth between trying to assure me that no one has negative feelings toward him, and highlighting how he keeps to himself and insists during sectionals that he knows the material. She admitted that one of the students she spoke with about the incident “guessed” that The Boy was autistic because as he explained it, “I don’t know anything about autism, so that must be what he has.”

Ugh.

They continued to prove my point while it continued to go over their heads. She insisted that they would have done the same to any other students who might have been playing wrong notes, and I knew that was preventative defense against further action from me. Because that is a load of horseshit, if you’ll excuse my language. They know my son doesn’t have the verbal agility to defend himself or get the attention of the teacher, or even explain what happened after the fact. I only found out because a friend’s kid watched it go down. They took advantage of him precisely because of his autism. If this wasn’t bullying, it was a shocking display of the bias that exists in the school culture that students with disabilities are “less than,” and that excluding others from participating will get you a stern talking to from the principal and that’s it, because you didn’t mean any harm, and are “good kids.”

Before the meeting ended, as it was clear the principal was ready to get to her vacation, I requested they investigate peer to peer programs and seriously consider implementing something so that a “poor choice” like this wouldn’t even enter their minds in the future. I got some vague promises to look into it, and the meeting was over.

But it’s not over.

I’ve already drafted a follow up email to be sent with my further reflections on the incident and how it was handled. And I will also be following up with the various and sundry promises made. I can be a magnificent thorn when I want to be.

I’ll keep you posted.

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On Being “Enough”

After a fairly rough meltdown, it takes awhile for The Man and I to process, as well. We were discussing the events of the weekend, and then The Man asked if there was anything we could do about The Boy’s insistence to strangers and acquaintances that we have a purple dog at home named Barney.

I shook my head noncommittally, as I was still focused on the situation that had triggered the meltdown this weekend. I wasn’t even thinking of anything else, but apparently The Man had some other things on his mind, as well.

I got quiet, and he asked if he had said something wrong or upset me. I started to cry because I was upset. Not with him, but because I didn’t really know the answer to his question, and I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I am not enough.

We used to have quite the “village” to help me navigate raising a boy on the spectrum. Now, I feel like I’m it, I’m the authority. I have stopped believing that anyone in the school system knows any more than I do about autism. And there’s a very obvious limit to what I know.

I don’t know if the fantasizing about pets and cars he has “owned” and all of that can be curbed (or should be curbed). I don’t know if it needs addressing or if it will go away with time.  I just don’t know.

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with worry, and I guess I’m particularly susceptible to worry after a big meltdown. And I suppose that’s ok. But it’s not a nice feeling, and I hope it passes quickly.