Our school year has been riddled with two hour delays. And although my recent posts have been fairly centered on my (adverse) reaction to these, they do negatively affect The Boy, as well. As always, if he can expect it, and be prepped for it, the result is mitigated. But if it comes as a surprise, and is combined with other students being absent, teachers being late… It’s not very pretty, and this was the case this past Monday.
I understand why the district does it. They try very hard to avoid cancelling school because there is no such thing as a make up day in the South. They could very easily build in some days, as this is the second year in a row that we have had a dearth of these routine-upsetters, but that would take forethought and planning… and I digress. The problem is that our district encompasses many long miles of coastline, the east end of which is very susceptible to flooding during heavy rains. There is basically one road going in and out of town, and there is one very small school there. But if those sixteen kids can’t go to school, then the rest of the district has to close too. Even if there’s a chance they may not be able to make it, or the wind will be too strong, or there just may be water over the road… I am exaggerating, but only slightly.
The district needs to take a hard look at their policies. Two hour delays may not seem like much, but it only takes three to add up to a full day of instruction lost. Couple that with the detrimental effect on kids like The Boy (and neurotypical parents like me), and we are starting to have a serious problem.
Monday evening, The Boy asked when the next two hour delay would be. That’s not something I can predict, considering the last two were for no apparent reason. At that time, I pulled up my Weather Channel app, which said no chance of rain until next Tuesday. Now, as weather forecasts are wont to do, this Friday looks like rain and a chance of snow in the AM. If that forecast remains, you can bet there will be a delay. And now our job is to prep for that possibility…
At one point, I was putting together The Boy’s lunch, and The Man stood in the kitchen, a little warily, I suppose, and asked if there was anything he could do. I told him no. And I realized I needed to have a yes answer to that question. I need to allow him to help me when it gets down to it. I was a single mom for so long that I get into that mode sometimes, that I-am-fierce-I-can-do-it-all-on-my-own-and-no-one-can-stop-me mode. But I’m not all on my own. And it’s OK to ask for help. It might take a little training for everyone involved, but it would be better for everyone involved if everything didn’t fall on me in the morning.
I had heard a lot of things about special ed in our high school, the different tracks, what they can take, where they can go with the different diplomas… I wanted to meet with people who could tell me definitively. And I got some answers.
It’s been just about eight years since The Boy’s dad walked out and I filed for divorce. It’s been so long since The Boy’s dad lived with him, I wonder just how much he remembers from those years. He was only six, after all, when his dad first decided to live downstairs, and then decided to move four states away.
