Winners

I started the day today composing a letter in my head to my sons’ school district.  I was fuming this morning; I don’t know what touched it off.  In reference to our town newspaper that profiles a senior student each week, I wanted to tell the district who feed the articles to the paper that they need to put their student profiles where their mouths are: have the profiles reflect their stated dedication to diversity and inclusion. I wanted to demand that they understand that disabilities are part of diversity; it’s not just about race and ethnicity.  While I would thank the district for the excellent education my sons have received, I wanted to tell them it is an isolating experience for parents of differently abled children to read the  accolades of their neuro-typical peers, week after week.  The accomplishments that are universally deemed wins:  state athletic records, extraordinary service in India, leadership in the school, etc.  I wanted to remind them that a senior with autism that can navigate the halls is a winner, and a student with bi-polar disorder who gets out of bed every day is a champ.  That Cesare, who has actually made it to the finish line and will be granted a diploma, did so after surviving multiple brain surgeries and the extraction of an entire lobe of his brain; that’s a win. 

I wanted to say all of those things.  But then I arrived at my job at the Alternative School and got swept up in the bustle of graduation day there.  We awarded certificates of completion to twenty one students today.  They blew my mind.  They do every year.  One student, who is 18 and pregnant with twins, has battled chronic mental illness to get to this day.  Jewel high-fived our very gifted principal on her way to the podium.  Once settled there, Jewel boomed into the microphone, “I have a question for all of you out there.  Can you see me?”  “YES!” we answered.  She paused and said, “Good…because I’ve only seen myself standing here in my dreams”.   It went on like that most of the morning.  Kids who bounced around foster homes, jail cells, drug treatment facilities, and beds. Our students with Aspergers spoke about finding their way out of their shells, and feeling loved at school.  These are our square pegs who have never fit nicely into the round holes offered them by their school districts.  They fist pumped and cried.  And we cried too. 

Our kids come from nine neighboring school districts.  Often reps from the districts, social workers, probation officers and therapists join us in this graduation celebration.   I noticed a woman in the audience whom I knew had taken a leave of absence from her job as an adolescent therapist and had just recently returned.  I didn't know that it was because her high school aged daughter went on a hike with friends, four years ago, and slipped off the edge of a cliff.  I don’t know how anyone survives the death of a child.  But the mere presence of this therapist/mom at the celebration of other parents’ children was nothing short of an extraordinary gesture of generosity and courage.  

Any rambling letter half composed on my morning commute was quickly forgotten.  I felt tremendously fortunate for all that I have.  And I know that there are places and people in the world who celebrate the successes not always seen by the naked eye.  It takes a special perspective and an open heart and mind to see these wins.