By Kelly Sinon
The Power of the Middle School Office extends well into adulthood. I sat in a straight-backed wooden chair against the wall, clutching a folder from the doctor. Normally, the chairs are tiny, but this time, they were too big; an attempt at disarming parents who might have come to the school with the idea that they would be speaking to equals. My sandaled feet strafed the stained green carpet as I nervously swung my legs back and forth.
I was there, folder in hand, to meet with school administration regarding my son’s new Autism diagnosis. I wasn’t really sure why I'd brought it. It only held three Xerox’ed papers, explaining the next steps as a new “Autism Family”. I just knew that folders make people look prepared and important. I am neither of these, so the prop was handy.
Being horrible with names, I immediately came up with “names” for the people I was introduced to. I was also keenly aware of the labels I was attaching. The very thing I did not want for my son. A label. And yet, here I was, talking with Green-Eyed Psychologist With Clip Board, Curly Haired Counselor With Messy Desk and Math Teacher With Pleasant Face And Hawaiian Shirt. I am sure these would not pass muster as Native American names, but they worked for me.
I wondered what “name” they might have attached to me, as I sat down, ready to be the advocate my son needs me to be.
I could not shake the feeling that Green-Eyed Psychologist was studying me, as he jotted things on his clipboard. I made sure I smiled, made eye-contact, answered all questions articulately and hoped he deemed me “normal.” and worthy of motherhood.
Curly Haired Counselor With Messy Desk didn’t say much. She just took notes on the flowing conversation, and chuckled at appropriate times. At least, what I hoped were appropriate. At the end, I’d seen that she had summarized the entire 45 minutes very well. I was impressed.
Math Teacher With Pleasant Face And Hawaiian Shirt was singing my son’s praises as a “good, polite boy who pays attention.” I beamed. No matter what, all mothers want their boys to be “good boys.” The news wasn’t all good, as he told me that Kirk will need to re-take some quizzes and tests that were rushed through and failed.
Next step is to have Green-Eyed Psychologist With Clipboard conduct his own independent work-up, as a work-up from an actual hospital with actual PhD’s is too “broad”. Apparently, the district only recognizes the diagnosis from a Middle School school psychologist. Ironically enough, he cannot start his Independent Work-up without our doctor’s final report. I blinked. Seriously? I do understand that they need a benchmark for district standards and criteria to issue special services that Kirk might need. But it just sounds like circular logic.
So in the meantime, the world will still turn, Kirk will still be Kirk and for all I know, I will continue to be Crazy Nervous Nearly Empty Folder Toting Mom With Short Legs.
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Kelly Sinon is filling The Folder in an effort actually be more prepared and appear more important. She lives in Gilroy with her family and can be reached at sksinon@aol.com, not to mention the ever-popular Facebook.
*Note: To see the first part of this column, please go to http://gilroypost.blogspot.com/, a blog written by my friend and award-winning journalist, Dennis Taylor, who was kind enough to let me use his blog as a forum, before I had my own. This, part 2, has been promised to Gilroy Post for publishing as well. It is published here, with permission.
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