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.

A friend of mine is in the midst of checking out special education preschools for her little boy. She went to visit one the other day and described to me how kind of taken aback she was when first stepping in the building. She was overwhelmed with what she saw and had a hard time processing all of it.

I remember that feeling well.

For the first year of Amichai’s life, I juggled my own work schedule around Amichai’s therapy (PT and OT) schedule. When Amichai was about eight or nine months old, his PT suggested that we place him in a special education preschool for the upcoming year. Huh? My limited perception and understanding of special education was reserved for children with learning disabilities.  As far as we knew, those were not Amichai’s challenges so what exactly was she talking about?

She explained that special education includes physical disabilities as well. (As I read over this line, I am shocked at my obliviousness and downright ignorance.) Amichai’s PT worked at a preschool that provided various therapy sessions throughout the day – whether that was one on one or group work. Plus, the teachers and staff were trained by the PTs and OTs on how to engage the kids so that even within the context of play, the children were getting in extra work. She felt that placing Amichai in this type of environment would really give him a push forward. Every day he would be getting consistent and intense therapy.  This all sounded good to me, but it was still hard to get past the title of Special Education. What did that really mean? What did that look like? She encouraged me to visit the school.

Like my friend, the first time I took a tour of the school I too was taken aback. I too was overwhelmed when I saw a row of little wheelchairs and walkers lined up outside a classroom. And I was overwhelmed again when I walked into that classroom and saw kids fitted in leg braces and sitting in chairs with safety belts. There was one little girl wearing a helmet. I felt my eyes widen a bit, and I started to look away. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Am I in the right place?

For close to a year, I had gained a deeper understanding of what CP is and how it specifically affected Amichai. I accepted what happened and I tried with everything that I could to embrace the challenges that it presented – to teach Amichai that nothing can stop him. I believed in what I preached to him, but this – wheelchairs and walkers? safety belts on chairs? – Amichai didn’t need these things. This was not our world. This world was scary.

When Amichai is scared, I tell him that its ok to be afraid. There are things out there that can make us jump I tell him. But once we understand that it’s only a loud noise, or its just dark – well than maybe we can see it’s not so bad after all. And maybe next time it won’t be so scary. Also, it helps that he holds my hand…

If I was going to teach Amichai how to get over his fears, I had to do the same. Why were the wheelchairs and the walkers and the helmets scaring me? Why did I look away? Because at that time, to me – they just represented disability. It wasn’t that I was in denial about Amichai’s diagnosis. I knew what the challenges were, but because I wittnessed his accomplishments every day and the determination he displayed – I never thought (and will never think) of him as disabled. And I certainly did not want Amichai to live in a world where he is defined by disability. This was not our world.

What I learned though was that the school didn’t place itself in the world of disability either. The entire staff – from teachers, to therapists, to the guy who builds those seat belt chairs – they all live in a world of potential and promise. They see these little kids with their whole lives before them and are deeply committed to building a strong foundation for them. They believe in their talents. They believe in their abilities, and that is incredibly empowering. When I realized this – and it certainly did not happen overnight – I was able to look fearlessly at the wheelchairs and the walkers and the braces and say – you do not scare me anymore. Today, when I walk into the school, I don’t even notice the wheelchairs. I see them, but I don’t. What I do notice, what has become for me the defining feature of the school, is how happy these kids are. They smile and laugh all the time.

It can be liberating to let go of your fears. We have these notions and perceptions as to what perfect is. Perfect body. Perfect job. Perfect house. Amichai helped me see that really, perfect is as perfect comes. Everyone is granted gifts. Sometimes those gifts don’t always come in what we perceive to be normal packaging. But you have them, they are yours – so own them. When challenges come – and they most certainly will -rely on your own perfect to see your way out…I can also say that through my own experiences, someone will always be there to hold your hand too – even when you stubbornly insist on doing it yourself.

I think, more than anything – this is exactly what Amichai’s school is trying to impart to its young students. Embrace your perfect, reach high with everything you got, and know there are always people who are cheering you on.

And I think that’s a pretty special education.