Monday was the first day of school for my son at the neurotypical middle school campus. In the car on the way there, he said somberly “let’s get this party started.”
I suppressed the urge to hold his hand as we walked across the campus as I knew that it might embarrass him. With his black vans and camouflage pants he blended right in. The only way you could pick up that he was different, was the battered flannel jacket that he clutched (his lovey).
When we got to the class he looked up at me anxiously and asked "Can I keep my jacket? I want to hold it." I gave him a little hug (as much as he would allow) and assured him that he could keep it. He put his hand on my arm and peered up at me, "Can I go with you Mom?" he pleaded. I felt a sharp twinge, but I replied reassuringly. "You’re going to stay here today. It will be fun, I promise" sounding far more certain than I felt.
I left and had just made it to my car, when I choked on a sudden flood of tears. The mental image of him on the swings yesterday materialized soothingly in my head.
We had been at the park the day before when he walked right over to the swing set and sat down and started using his feet to force the swing higher, a joyful grin on his face. This sounds like an everyday thing. Only it wasn't. Because of his hypersensitive vestibular system; the sensation of swinging is very scary. A couple times, he had let me push him but after a moment he would plant his feet back in the sand.
But there he was, feet in the air, the wind in his blond curls, swinging away. As I sat, stunned, I remembered something that I sometimes forget. He courageously faces challenges every day, with more strength than most people I know. He would conquer this new school as well.
So Mom, I told myself, let’s get this party started.
Redwood City, CA
