A few months ago, I watched Amichai walk into first grade. I did not hesitate to place Amichai in a regular school. The school I choose specifically works to integrate special needs children and I felt this was a place he would have support – support to assist him but also support in him, appreciating who he is and what talents he brings to the table. I believe in those talents. And so, I did not hesitate. Still, I anticipated there would be a period of adjustment. Going to a new school, unfamiliar faces, bigger classes…he would adjust and ultimately succeed, but he would need time. And I anticipated that that first day of school might not go so smoothly. Amichai is velcro in new settings. That boy knows how to wrap himself around my leg and not let go. I was hoping for the best, but most definitely prepared for the worst. Soon enough, we found ourselves on the first day. He went for a red t-shirt instead of a sweater vest – already better choices. He held my hand – or maybe it was me holding his– as we walked up to the gate. There was music playing, balloons flying, kids shouting and jumping around – some crying. I took a deep breath in, I looked at Amichai and was waiting for the tears. That would have been ok – it was a tremendously overwhelming scene. I even wanted to hide for second. But the kid…ice. He glanced at me. I recognized that look – all business. He was ready. Backpack on, eyes straight ahead -Amichai confidently walked into school like a boss and didn’t look back. Game on.

That day and every day since – well at least every day that he has had school with the constant start and stop due to corona – Amichai walks, in fact runs, into school with that same confidence. Still doesn’t look back – I mean would it really put him out to just turn around and give a little wave? As I write this, I can hear my mother saying smugly – what goes around comes around.  Yeah, yeah. The thing is, I watch him happily run into school and then when I pick him up, I watch him happily run out of school. But what happens in between? From run to run, what’s he up to? How is he really adjusting? Is he engaging with other kids? Does he participate in class? On one hand, I assume he’s doing just fine because I haven’t received any phone calls…on the other hand, what’s he up to?

All my questions were answered last week when I had my first parent teacher meeting. By all accounts, it really was – thank Gd – a glowing report. The teacher described Amichai as attentive and diligent in class. He listens and shows understanding. He engages with his classmates, more and more of his personality comes out every day. He is quiet, but his voice is heard. He is confident. And then his teacher leaned in and said – I know there was some thought of having Amichai continue in special education, to have him placed in a resource room… but why? I don’t see it. I leaned back in my chair and smirked.

 A year ago, when I was meeting with the staff at Amichai’s kindergarten, they were hesitant to recommend sending him to a regular school. They were worried he would get swallowed in a bigger class. They were nervous that his pace was too slow – what if he could not keep up? They were fearful he would not find his voice. They were afraid his confidence would be shaken. I heard what they were saying, I even shared some of their anxieties, and I very much appreciated their deep concern. But there was also something unsettling about this concern – like an unwillingness to change, to progress, to take a calculated risk because they were too scared of what might happen. The professionals who work in special education – in my experience – are extraordinary individuals. They infuse care and love into everything they do. They are deeply dedicated to these children. I am forever indebted. But sometimes, I think they focus so much on disability that they miss seeing capability. That their belief in the child lies within the context of their diagnosis and does not extend beyond, so that when it comes time to make bigger decisions – they hesitate, paralyzed with fear – because what if they can’t?

But what if they can?

When Amichai’s teacher said – I don’t see it – its not because she isn’t looking. The detail in which she described him – she’s looking. She was also quick to ask me if there are other issues to be mindful of, things to pick up on so she can further foster Amichai’s progress. I think one of the advantages of having a child with special needs is that in ANY situation, people are always paying attention. And so far, this teacher has her eyes open. But her eyes are also opened to seeing his capabilities. She sees that he can. She sees that he will. Her question is not what if – she quickly saw that was not the concern. Instead, her question is simply how. How can I help him further succeed? How can I help nurture his talents? I don’t know if every report will be as flattering and positive as this one. Amichai is not perfect. I don’t know if every teacher will be as attentive or insightful. There are bound to be challenges ahead. Still, it’s a good start and I’ll take it. My greatest hope, my sincerest desire – is that his capabilities are seen. That they are valued, developed, and cultivated…and fine, maybe just once, he turns around to wave goodbye. I won’t hold my breath though…I once knew a kid like that.

There were two recommendations of framework made by his kindergarten staff. The first recommendation – Amichai can go into a mainstream classroom given the right parameters – a smaller class, an inclusive atmosphere, a shadow/wrap-around/assistant – whatever terminology you choose – to help when he needs. This made sense to me. The second recommendation – a resource room track. This would be a separate, smaller class with kids that have a variety of cognitive or behavioral challenges. While the class would physically be in a mainstream school, there is limited to no interaction with the rest of the kids. Within the class, each child receives their own individual educational program. Hmmm. I asked why they thought this was an option – Amichai is sometimes in his own world and works at his own pace. Hmmm…Is there any cognitive delay or issue? Not that we can see. (An official evaluation will be conducted but they don’t anticipate it revealing any diagnosis.)

I pondered this recommendation. I have zero issue with special education. See above paragraph and this article. I am grateful for it. Amichai needed to be in this framework to ensure proper development, but now…does he need it? To say that Amichai is in his own world sometimes and works at his own pace…well, I spoke to several educators and parents and their reaction was the same – show me a first grader who doesn’t fit this description. Even more so, this very issue is being addressed. The overwhelming feeling is that Amichai is not your average run of the mill six-year-old space cadet. He is kid with a lot on his mind. Can’t blame him. But this not being ignored. See this article. These emotional challenges are being attended to through his work with the psychologist, and certainly next year we will continue working with her to ensure a smooth(er) transition. While I respect the staff fully, I kind of wanted to say – ya, tell me something new. Seriously. Tell me something new that would help me understand why there is a need to keep him within the special education system. I’m open to it, I’m not scared of it, and if its what he needs – I’m all for it. But if there is no specific cognitive or behavioral issue – what really lies at the heart of this? Why are they hesitant?

I imagine their hesitancy lies in fear. What if it’s too much for Amichai to handle? Amichai is an introvert. There are times when he doesn’t always want to participate or share. New environments can overwhelm him. He doesn’t always like to be in a crowd. He takes him time, a lot of time – to warm up and feel comfortable. They are scared he might get swallowed up in a bigger classroom of kids. That he will retreat into his shell. That his self-confidence could break. These aren’t thoughts that have not crossed my mind, but two things give me assurance: 1. I am introvert too – we do just fine with the right support. 2. Amichai has that support and has made a tremendous amount of progress…keep reading; still – I have other fears. I am scared of how he will be accepted. How will the kids react to Amichai? How will he react to them? What efforts will the teacher make to create a positive environment of inclusivity?

But I also have fears – even greater fears – in the other direction. If Amichai is placed in a resource room – in a class with other children who have cognitive challenges or behavioral issues that Amichai does not have – won’t that hold him back? What if he isn’t challenged? What if his potential is not met, worse what if its not even seen? This is incredibly scary to me. I shared these thoughts with the staff. They didn’t disagree, they fully understood this side of it too. I know they care deeply for Amichai – but the fact is they happily sit on the sidelines. They kept repeating – at the end of the day its your decision. They aren’t passing the buck – its just not their responsibility. Its mine.

Determining what Amichai can handle, where he can be pushed and where he needs a little more support comes from knowing this child to his core. And I know him. Amichai has gone through many stages. He has grown, matured, and changed – sometimes with tiny little steps forward and at other times with giant leaps. At each stage, I listened carefully to what the professionals were saying – how he was progressing, what they were concerned about – both physically and more importantly emotionally. I addressed these concerns and we continue to put in the work. Yet all along, I just kept saying – be patient, give him chance, he will get there I know he will. And so, I was overjoyed but not surprised when his kindergarten teacher told me in the beginning of the year that Amichai is different. That all the sudden he’s participating, he’s sharing, he’s engaged, he’s answering and asking questions…he’s breaking out of his shell. She said it’s a giant leap forward. I told you so.

It’s not just with my gut, but it is with my full understanding and belief in him – that Amichai can go into first grade like any other child. I say this knowing it will be challenging. It will be a transition for him, there will be days that might be harder than what we bargained for. I have spoken to parents who have children with CP. Their children are much older than Amichai and have gone through the process. They relayed to me that there are trials and tribulations, that you must advocate for your child, that the school must know who you are. I get it, I’m preparing for it. They will know who I am. But the truth is there are some very good options out there for Amichai – schools with smaller classes, schools that have an eye toward inclusivity, schools that are progressive in their educational approach, schools that encourage different types and paces of learning. This path is not easy but its encouraging and I’ll take it – I’ll take all of it because I know he can do it. Just give him a chance. He will get there…he’s already on his way.

I loved everything about this interaction. I loved that she was staring at his brace for a while. Staring isn’t always bad – kids should take notice of something out of the ordinary. I’m assuming she had never seen a brace or maybe not close-up like that, and she was just glancing with curiosity. I am not saying to gawk or point, but it is ok to be aware of the people surrounding you…and if something looks different – ask. And she did just that. A genuine inquiry, a request for information. We can sometimes fear what we don’t know, but if we don’t ask, that fear can just fester and grow irrationally. She just wanted to know and understand. I also loved that her Mom gave her the freedom to ask. Parents are often on edge that their children will somehow offend with inappropriate questions or comments.  She was not shushed, quieted, or told its none of her business. And lastly, I loved her reaction – cool. She didn’t see disability or difficulty. She just saw the brace for what it is, thought it was pretty rockin and then said goodbye to her new friend Amichai.

It was a scene straight out of a Mr. Rogers episode. Real warm and fuzzy. But is this reality? Can I expect that all interactions will be pleasant teaching moments? And what happens if they’re not – how do I prepare Amichai?

My belief that Amichai is child with immense capabilities is not just hyperbole. I know – I know, he can do anything. He has shown time and time again that a physical limitation will not stop him. I know this, I feel it, I live it with everything I am. But as much as I can instill this belief in Amichai, to continue developing and cultivating it within him – I also know that I cannot control how other people react, what other people will say. I remember sitting in the lounge area outside the NICU after Amichai was diagnosed. It was all very tranquil – the sunlight poured in through the rounded glass windows overlooking the Jerusalem forest. I wanted to scream into the forest. My parents – ever the cheerleaders, were pumping me up. You can do this – you were trained for this moment. He can do this. He will do this. Nothing will stop him – you know this. I did. I didn’t even know Amichai yet, but I knew this. Still, I found myself suddenly blurting out – yes but kids are cruel! I was expressing a dark fear I hadn’t even wanted to say out loud because I didn’t want to give it credence: What if kids make fun of him because he’s different? My parents looked at me with shock. It’s a look I recognized from my teenage years when my sisters and I would purposely say something which would gravely disappoint and set them off…my younger sister seemed to have real knack for this, still does. Oh Gd. I’m in trouble. Where is this coming from?! Who told you that?! Why would you even say something like that? Who taught you to think like that? We didn’t teach you to think like that.

I think my parents’ reaction was based on a few different factors. First, my parents taught us to be understanding and accepting people. Cruel behavior toward others and making disparaging remarks about anyone is simply wrong. Any upstanding parent teaches his child the same. Second, they taught us to know who you are and stand tall. If someone would ever make disparaging remarks toward us – well, that’s their problem. Don’t let the words or behavior of others bring you down. Third, I think my parents were trying to slow me down. Amichai was just a few days old. Let’s not jump to any crazy conclusions or imagine unwritten scenarios. And lastly, I think they were probably activating their own parental instincts to protect their child and tell me bad things won’t happen. If I wanted to protect Amichai from all the evils in the world, they were doing the same.

But they know the reality. My parents raised four children and while they wouldn’t categorically define kids as cruel (I wouldn’t either!), they know sometimes there is at least one kid who says one stupid and thoughtless thing. Even if you have raised the most confidant of children, that can still be scary for a parent because you know it will hurt. Your child will hurt.  I’ve been there as a kid. I’ve even been there as an adult, and I don’t think it was easier for my parents to watch regardless of my age. But there can be something elevating in that moment. It’s not that I would ever want Amichai to be in a situation where he is Gd forbid bullied or made to feel less than what he is. That is categorically wrong and intolerable. But an inevitable encounter with some jerk at some point in time? It will happen. Instead of fearing these moments, what if we embraced them? What if we used them to learn about who we really are? Do I really believe in me? Everything that I was taught, everything that my parents tried to instill in me about who I am, my infinite strength, my infinite worth – do I believe it? Am I going to truly stand tall or am I going to let this jerk get to me? You must make a conscious choice to rely on your own truths and filter out the noise. These might be unpleasant situations, and I hope that one does not need to face them again and again, but they are breeding ground for character building.

Protecting your child comes in so many different forms. I will never put Amichai in a situation that is harmful or dangerous – be that physically or emotionally. But protection also comes in the form of giving your children the right tools to face the world. So, in the same way my parents taught me, I will continue to cultivate his confidence and belief in himself. I will continue to instill him with the knowledge that his strength comes from within and that is priceless. I won’t pray for the day Amichai encounters a jerk, but if he ever does – I’ll pray he has the proper perspective and uses it as stepping stool for greatness…and equally important, I’ll also pray that society continues to evolve – that differences are seen, understood, and appreciated. I will pray that more little kids stop, stare, ask, and then see Amichai for what he is – another friend.

Last week, Donald Trump hosted the U.S 2018 Winter Olympic and Paralympic team at the White House. He acknowledged their hard work and great accomplishments. He gave specific praise to the Paralympians and referred to their athletic performances as “inspiring.” He almost had it. He almost pulled it off. And then he said it…“its a little too tough to watch too much” of the Paralympics. Oh man.

In the interest of being fair, Trump’s team has said the comment was referencing his busy schedule. As much as he wanted, he found it “tough” to find the time to watch all of the Paralympic events. Ok. Even if this is true, most people were shocked, outraged, stunned, appalled, offended…pick whatever adjective you want. When I saw this, I drew upon the always reliable WTF…Amichai was obviously not in my presence…If he had been, I would have busted out my mom’s preferred way to curse without cursing in front of the kids – SUCKER!

The thing is – if we put aside the alarming insensitive nature of his comments, if we casually put aside the fact that he’s the leader of the free world and should have enough awareness to use some sort of internal filter, if we put aside the dark and disturbing fact that he has made fun of  a disabled reporter  – maybe Trump is inadvertently helping? Maybe he is providing a platform to confront our own feelings and perceptions about disability and how that makes us feel. Perhaps in his supremely oblivious ignorance, he opened a window and it is upon us – the rightfully shocked, outraged, stunned…etc. – to honestly climb through it.

I’ll go first.

I’ve referenced my athletic past. My childhood, adolescence, adulthood – fine my entire life – revolved and continues to revolve around sport. I have always been surrounded by teammates who were able-bodied like myself. But I won’t place the blame squarely on sports, because even off the court or field, when I think about the spectrum of people who have come in and out of my life – there is basically no one whom I was in steady contact with that had any type of disability – cognitive or physical. I can remember only one boy from camp who wore a leg brace and walked with a limp…hindsight is 20/20 and I wish I would have known him better.

I simply wasn’t exposed to very many disabled people. When I would see someone who was paralyzed, or someone missing a limb (or limbs), or someone walking with a limp, or a someone who had a physical deformity – it wasn’t in my norm. Let’s put the cards on the table – for me, that was tough to see… and I tended to look away. I don’t think that made me a bad person – uninformed, uneducated, naïve – absolutely, but bad? Don’t know. And while I’d like to hope that people are more informed than I was…I have a feeling most have similar reactions – because it can look scary, it can look uncomfortable, it can look…tough. And we often don’t like to see tough things in life. I think that’s ok to admit.

While I’m not scared to admit these things, what is scary for me is that if Amichai had never had a stroke, had never been diagnosed with CP – I would have just carried on – never ever gaining a deeper understanding of disability. That is scary because this understadning has enriched my life. I am not saying that I am happy he had a stroke. That was traumatic. I am not saying that this is what I wished for him. It certainly was not. Maybe I’m just saying that there are blessings in the dark, and lessons to be learned. And maybe Amichai was given specifically to me so that I could learn…and hopefully teach him a thing or two.

Amichai exposed me to a world I never imagined I would be a part of. Through him, through other children and adults that I have been exposed to -its all changed. Its not tough to see because that’s not all there is to see. There is innovation and determination. There is excellence and precision. There is passion and energy. There is humility and pride. There is intelligence and perspective. There is beauty and kindness. There is understanding and inclusivity. There is capability and strength.

We aren’t all privileged to be exposed to this daily or even semi-daily. Learn from my mistakes. Expose yourself to disability (I really don’t like that word – I’m open to suggestions). Confront it. Make yourself uncomfortable for one moment and then see that that moment is fleeting and shallow. We can all do better. Here’s an easy way to start – watch the Paralympics. You will not be disappointed. They provide an opportunity for exposure. They provide an opportunity to look past a missing limb, look past paralysis, look past deformity, look past a limp, look past blindness or any other impairment – and see the real deal.

Hey Mr. President, if the Paralympics were tough to watch – my advice – keep watching.