My $64,000 Question
It’s the third day back into school and I’m exhausted. Some of it has to do with my wrestle with the Neti pot and the lack of sleep I got last night due to allergies, but most of it has to do with the emotional up and downs of starting a brand new school year with a middle schooler with autism.
You think I’d learn this by now, being a somewhat seasoned adult (right?), but I’m constantly forgetting transitions happen all the time. I think most of us think of the big transitions: weddings, baby births, high school graduation, empty nesting, retirement, etc, but I know I’m forgetting the ones that seem to happen every few months. This summer we adjusted our routine a lot. J woke up, went for a run, practiced piano, we worked on reading skills, math skills, any other school prep we could think of, played, had dinner, played outside again as a family, and then after the kids went to bed I worked on my part-time job until I went to bed. Of course, we went on a few trips so we had to figure out our routine again on the fly, and then we were back to our home routine again. And then school happened.
I’m not going to lie, I was ready for this transition–sort of. I was ready for for W to not be around teasing and complaining about J–which was getting worse every day we got closer to school. I was ready to be able to do my part-time job (which I LOVE–it’s the best job ever–I can keep my brain from going to mush and still spend time with my kids) during the day again. Working with J practically one-on-one all day and then my “downtime” filled with more work was making me pretty batty by the end. Just ask Steve. There may have been one or two emotional meltdowns.
But I wasn’t ready for J to go back to school. Last year–his first year at middle school was hard. The hardest year we’ve ever had in public school. Between a jump in homework and academic expectations and behavioral problems and adjustments we came out of that year a little battle-scarred. I wasn’t ready to sign up for that again.
Because for some reason, J becomes a completely different kid when he leaves our house. Especially when he goes to school.
Last week, we went to back to school night. W and the grade six class had their orientation 20 minutes before J’s grade seven class, so Steve took W while I drove around with J to kill time until J’s orientation and out of nowhere we started having this conversation. A really great conversation. J started off by talking about the new school year, specifically what year he’ll graduate middle school in and then high school. He asked me what happens after high school and I dodged the question because with him I really don’t know yet what that looks like.
“Hey mom, look that’s a crazy orange car!” He says pointing out the window. He’s forgotten his post high school question and has moved on. “Why do people choose that color of car–that orange color.”
“I don’t know, J,” I say, because I don’t. It’s a pretty ugly color if you ask me. “Our family always buys used cars and we really don’t get to pick the color, but some people buy new cars and they get to choose the color. What color would you pick?” I ask, not really expecting an answer, because I think his brain’s moved onto something else.
“Black,” he says, not even skipping a beat. Which really surprises me, because that means he’s thought about this before–and I see a little glimpse of his personality. So I prod more.
“What car would you buy?”
“A Chevy trailblazer.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed again. “Do you know what kind of car I’d like to get?”
“No, what?”
“A Prius. Like our friends have. I want to help out the earth and use less gas,” I wonder if I could even venture into an explanation of global warming with him, but by now it’s time to head back to find a parking spot and mentally prep him for orientation.
He survives orientation well enough. It’s in the gym, and he has a thing with gyms. A fire alarm went off while he was in the gym back when he was in second grade and he will probably remember that for the rest of his life. In fact, he can tell you the date AND day of the week if you asked him. During orientation, a parent was standing right beside the fire alarm pull station and that was sort of freaking him out because J was afraid the parent might accidentally set it off, so his para was gracious and talked to the parent about maybe standing somewhere else. We did leave 5 minutes early because at that point his anxiety was in full force.
After orientation we went down to his locker to load up the last of the school supplies and he was SO excited to see his friends he hadn’t seen all summer. And that’s when the J we know at home totally disappears.
“Can you eat Chevys!? Can you eat Chevys!?” He starts running around asking every kid he sees.
“Can you eat Chevys!?” Is the key phrase J uses to interact with friends. For some reason he thinks it’s funny. 1) Because it’s a ridiculous question, and 2) No one knows what to say to that and so guaranteed you’ll get a great facial reaction.
The kids know J. J does this all the time with them. And, bless their hearts, he goes to school with some of the kindest, most patient kids out there. But it also breaks my heart a little. Because the kid I had an awesome conversation with 30 minutes earlier–one that I had an on-topic, appropriate conversation his friends never see. They don’t get to see the kid we see at home. The one that’s quirky and full blown autistic and says out-there things but is also capable of really great, on-topic, meaningful conversations too.
That’s my $64,000 question. That’s a big piece of the puzzle I’m constantly trying to figure out. How do we get J to be the same J at school as he is at home? The J who can argue, manipulate, talk, and have fun with–in good, socially appropriate ways with his sister. How do we get him to do that with the kids at school? How do we get the kid who gets frustrated but ends up pulling through with a task at home to work that hard at school? How do we get him to obey school rules like he does with home rules? I know we’ll be revisiting J’s IEP in the next few months, but for me, that’s a huge mom goal.
Because he can have all the quirks, talents, and abilities in the world at home, but if he can’t translate those skills to the outside world, then it doesn’t matter in the end. I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve seen it year after year in the first year college English classes I’ve taught. You’ll get smart kids–kids that got As in high school who end up failing or dropping out of class half way through semester because they can’t do this either. They haven’t been able to translate those skills in a new environment, without the net of parents and teachers keeping them in line. It’s just as much a problem for typical developing kids as well as kids with special needs.
So far we’re surviving. The first two days were great. Today not so much. I think he’s testing the waters. We’ll figure it out as we go along. J will test and learn and comply and we’ll have to be on our toes in every response. But overall I’m optimistic for a better year. The teachers know him better. I’ve seen a change in his maturity this summer. And the best thing about this kid–when all is said and done, he really, truly, honestly, doesn’t want to let Steve or me down. He really cares what we think and he doesn’t want to disappoint us. He’s always been like that. Despite the autism. And that’s something we can work with.
