My Incredible Student

   My incredible student story may not be what you expect.  My child is not an all-A student.  In fact, sometimes he does not try as hard as I would like him to.  He goes through phases of enthusiasm for school, interspersed with downright apathy when he gets frustrated.  My child is an incredible student because before he was born, the doctors gave up on him.

   When I was pregnant, at the tender age of 19, my nurse midwife told me there was a thickening in the neck on the baby's ultrasound, and that was an indication of Down's syndrome.  She strongly suggested I abort my baby.  I told her this was my son (as we now knew the gender) and that God would grant me the strength and wisdom I needed to care for him, however he might turn out.  God apparently had a plan, and I read all I could get my hands on about Downs. 

   The baby was born -- no Down's syndrome.  But, he did have neurological issues.  He would lie stiff as a board across my hand, not limp as a newborn should be.  I was barely past childhood myself, but I came from a large family and knew this wasn't the way he should be.  As he grew, he missed his developmental milestones, one after another.  By 9 months old, he wasn't crawling -- it seemed he would try, try, try and just could not get the hang of it.  I'd sit two feet away from him or lay a ball a foot or two in front of him and he'd try until he cried, poor thing.  All I could do was comfort him, massage his arms and legs to try to stimulate his muscles, and pray.  The doctor said he was a little delayed (no kidding?) and hence came a referral to the neurologist.

   When he saw the neurologist, that doctor ran an array of tests that absolutely terrified my son, now almost two.  The doctor told me my boy would never attend regular school -- that I should just forget about that.  He said he would end up in a special school or even a group home setting where they made simple crafts or learned basic skills all day.  I told that neurologist, "Just watch me.  I'll prove you wrong.  My son will prove you wrong." 

   My son was two, with a fresh diagnosis of high-functioning autism, more specifically along the spectrum with semantic-pragmatic disorder.  I was 20 years old, new to motherhood, relatively new to adulthood, and in a new marriage that already was going down the tubes because of my abusive husband.  I would call my son to dinner and he would not respond to my call.  I had his hearing checked.  That was fine.  I got down on my knees in front of him and snapped my fingers, clapped my hands, called him name -- nothing.  I held his face in my hands and said his name, looking deep into his eyes.  Finally -- he snapped out of the faraway world he was hidden in and came to eat at the table.  I was scared to death -- catatonic -- that was the word for this.  I had read story after story of healthy young toddlers slipping away into that mystery land of autism, and never coming out of it.  I prayed, I prayed, I prayed.  I got on the prayer list of every local church.  I sent prayer requests to online acquaintances I didn't even know!

   I started with trying to homeschool, but apparently I am just not cut out for it.  At the time, transportation was an issue -- my ex-husband pretty much made sure I was homebound because of control issues and extreme jealousy, and that meant no real socialization for the kids.  By the time my son was kindergarten age, I had left my ex and started the divorce process -- and procured a permanent restraining order.  I started life over with four kids and the clothes on our backs.  My parents helped me get on my feet, get a job, get a new home.

   My son had a fabulous Kindergarten teacher.  When he couldn't manage the balance beam, she chuckled and said she wasn't much good at that herself!  She really knew how to get inside his little world and get through to him.  She understood his tactile issues and how he couldn't sit for very long, and let him lay on the floor or stand by his seat to do his work.  He thrived!  In a regular classroom . . . .

   First grade saw the kids transferred to a different local school, with a high reputation for excellence.  I worried how he'd fare with the academic ante raised.  He did great!  He was one of the best readers in his class from day one, and still is years later.  As a preteen he is reading college level books.  Test questions often confuse him, so his test grades are not usually very high, but he does score an average mark on assignments, or better.  There are some times when socialization issues, or communication issues with teachers get in the way and dishearten him, so for a time he decides it's not worth the effort.  I think some of this is typical preteen boy as well, though. 

   I have always been open with him about his autism, and now his newly diagnosed ADHD, and what these are.  But we treat these as a fact of life, not a crutch or an excuse for lack of trying.  As his grandma says, "Everybody's got something.  I've got allergies, he's got autism."  My wonderful husband, Matthew and I married in 2004 -- and he took in all four kids with the love of a true father, no holds barred, accepting the negative with the positive.  With a positive male role model, my son has made leaps and bounds.

   I am proud of my boy, my incredible student.  Some people didn't think he deserved to live, on the chance that he might have a developmental disability.  Others felt he didn't deserve a fine education, simply because he might not be the easiest student to teach.  When I get frustrated I remember those long-ago days of trying to snap him back from another world.  He makes eye contact, he speaks (and his vocabulary is astounding).  He has a way of looking at things sometimes that stuns me.  He is a blessing.  My son knows that what his future holds is entirely up to him.  Disability?  We don't get stuck on labels around here.