Embedded Files
by Julie Schneider
Once upon a time I made a joke about executive function. What happened next was indicative of the misunderstandings that seem to follow me on my journey parenting a twice exceptional child.
We were three weeks into the school year. My son was not quite four years old and I had enrolled him at a developmental play-based NAEYC-Five-Star-Rated preschool. He needed support in the classroom and the teacher had assured me that I could accompany him for a few weeks...just until he acclimated. I was talking with the director of the school and the classroom teacher daily, trying to sort out a plan for my child. Clearly, they said, he has special needs. We were just waiting for the developmental specialist to meet him and assess him (an eight month wait) so we could identify exactly what those needs were.
It was the end of the day and I stood with other parents to see the children line up. My son had lined up a little early. As he waited, he stood rocking back and forth banging himself against the wall, then left and right falling on children nearby him, then flapping his arms and smiling at me. When he heard the teacher ring the bell - a task often done with a small contingent of children before lining up - he raced off to join the fun.
I leaned over and jokingly said, "Executive function, right?"
It was in reference not only to his behavior but also to the topic of the director's speech given the previous night to a huge group of parents.
The next time I came to the school the director called me to her office. This time I had my one year old daughter with me. As my young child nursed and quietly played in my lap, the director asked me if I had said something about her to the other parents. For the life of me, I couldn't imagine what I could have said that would be offensive. I confessed saying that I was helping in the classroom because my child had special needs but other than that... Her look said it all: she thought I was lying. She told me not to come back; my son and I were not welcome at her school.
With my daughter in my arms and tears in my eyes I went to my son's classroom to collect him. The teacher was clearly flummoxed and peeved about the decision. She had not been consulted about the situation. She offered to help however she could with my son's future placement.
It took me months to figure out what on earth could have happened. Then it dawned on me. The joke. That woman (about whom I won't state my assumptions based on her appearance and demeanor) must have thought "executive function" was in reference to some deal I had struck with the director (the executive) of the school.
All I was doing was looking for a community. I was looking for a place for my son to connect with children his own age, a place where I could meet other parents with whom I could share this part of life's journey. I had found childcare for my daughter so that I could help my son acclimate to the new school. It was a juggling act to be sure but I thought I had found a place, a teacher, a community that was worth it. But it wasn't.
We were misunderstood. Both of us. Not only was my son's egregious behavior problematic in the classroom, it was also taken as evidence that I am bad. I am a bad parent. I am lazy. I read too much. I am asking for entitlements. I am gaming the system so my child gets more than others. Little did I know that that misunderstanding would follow me and my son for years to come.
"What's wrong with your son?"
"I can't believe he asked me that!"
"He doesn't look autistic."
"I worry about my son more than you worry about yours."
"Other children have it worse than your son."
These are things people have said to me. Voices and body language have indicated the unspoken parts of these messages: "your child doesn't deserve the help you are requesting" and "how are you parenting so badly that you've messed up this child so much?"
I've loved him. I've loved him the only way I know how.
Since moving from Arizona to Colorado I have encountered fewer judgmental people. It seems like more people here are content to hear my story, ask good questions, and accept us for who we are. I have noticed some of the key differences in the way these new friends and professionals have treated us. For the people out there who haven't met us yet, here they are:
1. They don't assume bad parenting made my child autistic.
This kid was stimming in utero. He's been preoccupied with objects over people since he could hold a rattle. He did not speak for years, nor did he ever imitate me, so they way he learns to flow within a social situation or take care of himself is different. He needs instruction.
2. They don't assume obsessive parenting made my child gifted.
All the energy some children spend on imitating their parents, my child spent figuring out how and why a rattle worked, how a toy car and its wheels worked together via rotational translational motion, how sand and water pour. Indeed, I have always read books to him and shared the joy of learning, but I do not drill and kill. His ideas are his, not mine, and they have grown from his intent observation of the world.
3. They don't assume I sought a diagnosis to get free stuff.
His giftedness does not cancel out his autism. He may understand "academic" things way beyond his years but he has social pragmatic challenges and sensitivities that are real. These differences (both parts - being simultaneously way above the norm and way below it) mean that he has more needs, different needs, (considered "special needs") compared to his peers. With support my child can thrive; without support his health and well-being suffer tremendously. So any aid we receive is meant to help him become an independent and productive member of society.
4. They don't assume motive when I say "gifted" or "autistic."
When asked, I answer honestly. Many people notice that he is different. Some even comment on it. When I say he is gifted and autistic, supportive people say, "oh. OK!" They accept it is our truth as much as when we say how old we are.
5. They assume I'm doing my best with the information I have...and I have a lot.
I read. A lot. So when I heard the report summary and details of his developmental assessment and the doctor recommended reading, I read it all. Then I read more. I attend workshops. I ask questions. And all the while I grow as a parent alongside my growing child. As I learn things, I try to apply them to our lives. Some work; some don't. Thus is parenting.
6. They assume there is not a simple way to make him like everyone else.
You can't spank the autism out of a person.
You can't bore the giftedness out of a person.
7. They honor my decision to not sacrifice my relationship with my child to make him conform to the norm.
The way I parent is from a place of trust. I listen to my children and try to communicate with them as openly and honestly as possible. I do not rely on my power and their obedience. My aim is to raise kind, productive members of society. To do that, I've made kindness and responsibility the primary focus of my life with them. And because of this, our needs our met and we step into the world with curiosity and the energy to pursue all the gifts the world has to offer.
In short, being misunderstood is something that arises because, as Stephen R. Covey so aptly pointed out, "Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply."
So then the best thing we can do prevent misunderstanding is to hold space with each other.
To truly support people in their own growth, transformation, grief, etc., we can’t do it by taking their power away (ie. trying to fix their problems), shaming them (ie. implying that they should know more than they do), or overwhelming them (ie. giving them more information than they’re ready for). We have to be prepared to step to the side so that they can make their own choices, offer them unconditional love and support, give gentle guidance when it’s needed, and make them feel safe even when they make mistakes.
It is so simple that it is almost like doing nothing except walking alongside me. You will hear about my good days and know I'm not bragging. You will bear witness to my bad days and know that I'm not a bad parent. And I will do the same for you. That is how we all will be less misunderstood.
This was written as part of the GHF Blog Hop "THE INVISIBLE GIFTED CHILD: MISLABELED, MISDIAGNOSED, UNIDENTIFIED and MISUNDERSTOOD." Read more here...
When she writes, Julie draws from both her formal education (MSE Electrical Engineering, MA Curriculum and Instruction - Science) and her informal education in Early Childhood Education and Special Needs Parenting that arose when she became a mother and shortly thereafter a blogger. Julie’s blog, Preschool Engineering, is where she advocates for children (and adults) as playful, independent Science, Technology, Engineering, Art, and Math learners. Her experience and interests are a natural fit for her work Free-Learning in Colorado. Julie lives in Superior, CO with her husband of 16 years and their two children. In her spare time she reads, hikes, and practices kundalini yoga.
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