A Spade

It was the week of Thanksgiving Break and I remember being called into the office to discuss Dawson's needs. I knew something big must have happened, as my husband was the principal of the school at that time, and usually managed smaller infractions. I sat at the table with his classroom teacher and my husband and discussed how Dawson had become increasingly more aggressive, which led to him throwing picture frames and other classroom items at peers that day. I was embarrassed, confused and heartbroken. Yes, I had seen his needs increasing, but I hadn't ever seen this aggressive side where he threw things. The teacher then respectfully slid me the parent autism checklist and shared that she believed this was the next step in supporting Dawson. 

I agreed. I had wondered if Dawson was on the spectrum from a young age, but always brushed it off as if I were overthinking. Having a background in Early Childhood Education, I knew quite a bit about child development, and he seemed to be delayed in a few unique ways:

Explorative Play - Dawson would often opt to do his own thing. He was the master of parallel play- playing alongside someone else, but not interacting with the other person's play. He would also rarely play, he would explore the items. I distinctly remember a STEM toy where a ball was within a box and though there were hole cutouts on the box, the ball could never be removed. It was triggering for him - he would often scream and throw this toy and I ultimately had to give it away. Additionally, he went through a train phase where he loved trains, but would rarely want to utilize the tracks my husband and I would build for him. Instead, he liked to lay sideways and watch the wheels turn.

Interactions with peers - Dawson was always drawn to kids older than himself. In fact, when he would interact with his age-group peers we often found that he would be more frustrated and aggressive. When he was 3, he began wearing glasses. We wondered if vision had been a barrier for him in interacting with smaller peers, perhaps he didn't see them clearly, but we later found out this was not the issue. 

Regulating in Overwhelming Environments - The Easter the year before he was identified on the spectrum is one that is forever ingrained in my brain. We took him to a community-wide Easter Egg Hunt at the local school. They had all the families meet in the gym and then take turns releasing age-groups out into the playground. Dawson became fixated on a ball inside the gym, and when we put the ball away and began to head outside, he went into full meltdown mode. I remember feeling mortified that my son would throw a 'fit' over a ball, but now can reflect and see the level of over-stimulation he must have been feeling. 

Speech - Dawson developed slower in speech milestones than his neuro-typical peers. I remember tracking this and sharing my concerns with his doctors, but he always seemed to master a milestone at the tail end of the developmental range. By the time he was 3 he could barely string together 5 intelligible words to make a sentence. 

Dawson was initially identified with a Speech delay and began to receive Special Education Services through our local district. He received speech support for about 6 months when we had to come to terms that his needs were more intense than speech services could address. 

And here we were 6 months later with Dawson's well-being, support and growth in our hands. We moved forward with gathering a team for formal assessments in all areas, focusing on an autism identification. 

And then we waited. It's difficult to trust that things are happening behind the scenes, while also knowing that until he had a formal identification, extensive supports would be limited. This is when I began reflecting on previous students I had had in preschool and kindergarten as a teacher, and what supports looked like for them. I couldn't wait for assessments to be done to give Dawson what he needed so I began reflecting and researching strategies, tools and differentiation that was successful for others with similar needs. This list is extensive - stay tuned for a blog solely on this! 

Finally, in March all testing had concluded and we were able to sit down as a team to discuss what each expert had found in their testing during a formal Multi-Disciplinary Team (MDT) meeting. 

I had been at numerous MDT meetings in the past; this was something I felt comfortable with. But in all the previous meetings I had been sitting among my colleagues as educational experts to share findings on students of mine. Now I was sitting in a meeting as a mom, and the table began to feel much bigger than it had in the past. As every expert sat down, my chair seemed smaller as I realized I was the only non-school affiliated representative there:

-Myself

-My husband (also the school principal, so he asked to have me be the vocal parental representative)

-District superintendent/ district representative

-General education teacher

-Resource/Special Education teacher

-Speech Language Pathologist (SLP)

-Behavioral Specialist

-Occupational Therapist (OT)

-Physical Therapist (PT)

-Regional Psychologist

I sat there and listened to the information shared about Dawson. It was clear who truly knew my son, and who had just assessed my son. Those who shared Dawson's language growth so far, who described him as loving, who talked about his humorous side, those were the people who knew my son. 

Sadly, though, those were not the only people who got speaking time in this meeting. 

It is important for me to remind you, I was in support of an autism diagnosis walking into this meeting. I wanted this identification for Dawson, as I knew it would allow him to get the support he needed. Just not like this.

As the regional psychologist read their findings, it was clear that they didn't know my child, they had merely assessed my child. They shared that they were concerned Dawson didn't know the sound a zebra makes; I laughed and bluntly asked if any adult at the table knew what sound a zebra made - no one did. They then mentioned that when Dawson was asked what animal lays an egg, he answered with a dinosaur name that they had never heard; I bluntly asked - is he wrong? - because he wasn't, dinosaurs laid eggs. As the results from his autism assessment continued to be shared, I found myself becoming  increasingly more defensive of Dawson. My son looks at the world differently, yes, but I wanted them to share results that matter. 

I came into this meeting ready to advocate for an autism identification, but I wasn't ready for how it was shared. 

We sat as a group and evaluated what the test findings meant. It was at that point that the regional psychologist stated, "Let's just call a spade a spade."

Let's not. My son is a person- a beautiful person - with a mind that is brilliant and a heart that is pure. He needs extra supports to function in a neuro-typical world, but my child is not a spade, my child is a person. 

This experience hit me in a way I didn't expect. I came in as an educated and informed parent, an educator who knew the purpose of these meetings, who knew my rights and responsibilities and had an open mind and heart to hear that my child needed more, that my child needed special education services. What happens when we have parents who aren't ready for this? In education, it can be frustrating when parents don't agree or give consent for special education verification, but have we ever stepped back and considered how it feels to sit in the parents' seat? I hadn't until I was there as the parent. 

What I suggest as a parent and educator during these meetings:

1. Sit strategically - have a designated space for the parents to sit in the middle of the group, so every expert is in the same proximity to them. This helps the table not feel so big. 

2. Share information strategically - These meetings begin with strengths, which is a great practice, but ensure this isn't the only time that parents hear the good stuff. When you're sharing hard information, be sure the parents know that this tells us how the team can know what to support. Share hope. 

3. Have a one-pager that is easy to understand and that parents can go back and reflect on. Not every parent speaks the educational language and the meetings can be overwhelming - it's hard to absorb so much at once. Break all this down in an easy to read document. 

4. If any adult in the room does not have a relationship with the child, own it, but then share something positive they noticed during the brief assessment period.

5. Remember that if you are facing challenges with this student at school, this parent is living in this world at home. They may be overwhelmed, exhausted and feel defeated. Perspective-sharing can go a long way. 

When I reflect on Dawson's journey to identification, it can be upsetting; however, it is important to note that the team who worked with Dawson were champions for him. His teachers, support staff, and additional experts were his cheering squad and advocates. The growth we have seen from 3 years old to now is astounding, and that is due in large part to his Individual Education Plan (IEP) team. I'm so grateful that my experiences as an educator allowed me to separate the comments made at the MDT from the services Dawson received from his team.