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.

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.