Can I put my bare feet on?

Our scheduled appointment was 1:15 p.m. on Tuesday. It was time for our son's annual IEP, Individual Education Plan. I started thinking back to his first evaluation.

It was before he entered school. I remember wondering what would take place. We walked into the room, which seemed oversized for the small chairs designed for 5 and 6 year olds. The walls were covered with bright pictures and the alphabet made a 3-foot-high border around the room. We sat down on those small chairs, making our knees rise above the table. Uncomfortable-yes, but we weren't there for comfort. The test scores were brought out. Your son did well on this one. These are the norms for children his age. These are his test scores. He had difficulty with this test. These tests reveal a problem area. And so it went.

And then the words tumbled out. Your son has a learning disability. He will have trouble in these areas... This will prove difficult for him...But my mind is locked back to the words, "Your son has a learning disability." The rest of the meeting remains a blur. Just the words, "Your son has a learning disability" echoed around in my head. How could this be? He knew his letters and numbers before age 3. He could count objects at an early age. He knew shapes and colors well before starting school. And now the experts were telling me he was disabled? I wanted to shout, "you're wrong" but I knew they weren't wrong.

I knew there was something unusual with the way he processed language. When asked "How old are you?" he would answer, "Fine." He never heard the word "old," just "How are you?" I knew he had a different way of expressing himself. "Can I put my bare feet on?" when he wanted to take his shoes and socks off. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I choke them back and ask simply, "What do we do?' A plan is made. His Individual Education Plan-the IEP-that starts us on our way through special education. From now on our lives would involve going through the resource room door.

From the moment you know your child is different you seek to find answers for his problems. You read everything you can on anything remotely connected with his disability. You read everything you can on special education and the needs of your special child. You spend a lot of time on the phone talking to other parents, talking to doctors, counselors, teachers, educators, family, and friends. You seek out those agencies that can help you. You look for a support group and when you can't find one, you and other parents start one. You search the Internet. You learn about prescription drugs and the effects they have on your child. You learn to adjust the dosages up and down until the drug reaches the optimum positive effect for your child. You learn to recognize when the drug is no longer effective and you must call the doctor for a change in medication. You learn to savor the good moments. You learn to dread the sound of the phone ringing during school hours for fear it will be the teacher calling about a problem. Some weeks you make daily trips to school. Some weeks fewer trips. Some weeks none at all.

Soon you find yourself on a first name basis with the teachers in special ed. and voc. rehab. You learn to be assertive without being obnoxious. You learn to speak up for your child and other children. You learn to laugh. You know that a sense of humor maintains your sanity. You become empowered. You write letters to senators and congressmen advocating for your child's rights. You become well acquainted with Rule 51 and Rule 72 and Section 504. You keep up with the IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act) and the new regulations that follow in IDEA 97. When you become overwhelmed and can't keep up, you surround yourself with people who are knowledgeable and resilient.

You find your mailbox filling up with letters from the schools, Nebraska Department of Education, Voc. Rehab, various agencies dealing with disabilities, doctors, hospitals, clinics, support groups, and other parents. Unfortunately, you and your child learn about teasing and bullies. You learn to comfort your child when he is a victim of random acts of cruelty and he tells you, "It really hurt my heart." You struggle to explain mean spirited actions when there are no answers. You ask, "Are you okay?" but who can know what scars remain? You learn that forgiving is easier than forgetting. You rejoice when your child, after long hours of practice, accomplishes a task most children learn easily.

You give thanks for his peers who develop friendships. You give thanks for the doctors and counselors who work with your child. You give thanks for his teachers who are willing to take the time to get to know him and understand him and thereby help him. You give thanks for those special people who work with him on a daily basis. You give thanks for your coworkers who become his other moms. You give thanks for his coaches who let him play the game and recognize when he needs to rest. You give thanks for your church and pastor who teach him the love of God. You give thanks for your husband who supports you in your efforts. You give thanks for your family's unconditional love. You give thanks you live in a small community where everyone knows your child and helps him reach his potential. Most of all, you give thanks for your special child who is teaching you so much.

January 29, 1999, copyright 1999