One lovely and sunny Sunday afternoon, I was finally enjoying a day to myself. My house was clean, with no laundry to fold or dirty dishes in the sink. I was free. I could watch TV, take a nap, or just lie around with one of my sweet cats and do absolutely nothing. What a relief. These days were super uncommon for me once I had become a mom. Then, the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number; I typically ignored these and sent them straight to voice mail. Today, however, I picked up the phone. It was one of Grant’s teachers.
“Is this Grant’s mother?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “This is Miss So-and-So from Grass Valley Charter,” the woman chimed.
“Grant has had an incident here at the campout and we need you to pick him up straight away!”
she said emphatically.
Once I had found out he was safe and everybody was safe, I thought to myself “Oh Christ. Here we go again.”
Grant had gone to elementary school in Grass Valley since kindergarten. On this day he was dared by three boys at the fourth-grade campout to strip down naked and dance around in their tent. And yes, this is exactly the sort of thing that my jackass of a kid would do. He was always looking for a laugh. And boy did “we” get in trouble. The school asked for him to be picked up immediately and then “we” were to report to the principal’s office that following Monday morning, which happened to be the next day. At this point in Grant’s education, this field trip to the office was the norm for us. When we made our regular trips to the principal’s office, I always felt as though I were a bad dog, tail between my legs, skulking back to be scolded. Trust me, Grant was not the only person in trouble.
Grant was a beautiful baby with a thick head of dark hair that eventually fell out and turned blonde, giant blue eyes with thick eyelashes, and perfect pink lips on the day he came into the world. All of the nurses in the intensive care pediatric ward, a place where we had spent ten frightening days after his delivery, were in love with him and commented on just how gorgeous he was. I was in love and brimming with pride. And by the time he was twelve months of age, we knew he was a very bright child by the way he was speaking words that anyone could decipher.
We found out that third-grade year Grant had ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) and Tourette’s Syndrome. I cried when the county doctor, whom the school recommended, told me his diagnosis. I don’t know why. It’s not as if that was new. We had been struggling with his behavior for as long as I could remember. He was able to make friends, but not keep them. His school days were plagued with time outs, meetings with teachers, and notes home. And now there was an identity to this demon. We had Kaiser Health Insurance, but the pediatricians and psychiatry department were clearly not up to the task of figuring out why Grant had these behavioral issues even though 11.9% of boys in America have ADHD (Wirth).
ADHD is a medical condition and is one of the most common childhood neurodevelopmental disorders. According to The Cleveland Clinic, “Children with ADHD often have difficulty with inattention, hyperactivity, and impulsivity, and nearly 50% of kids with ADHD also have the neurological disorder Tourette’s syndrome.” This explained the involuntary blinking and incessant need to clear his throat. Something that wasn’t as present when Grant was at home. Those symptoms are typically brought on by stress and were more noticeable during the day when he was at school. Tourette’s also causes a social delay in children, sometimes up to four years. This explains why these children will often get along with children who are older or younger and are not in their direct peer group (Carter). Also why Grant had a hard time keeping friends in his class. It also explained why his gluten-free, sugar-free diet was not helping. His body talk, neurofeedback, and sessions with counselors did not help. You name it, we tried it, and I wrote the checks for it.
As you can predict, these elementary years were difficult. Internally, I battled with a whirlwind of doubts. Am I a good parent? Did I make a mistake by bringing a child into this world? These questions haunted me, echoing in the corners of my mind like a mischievous ghost. I had never felt inadequate before. I had planned on being the perfect parent and having the perfect family.
But the outside world seemed to conspire against us. Educators, fellow parents, and even some family members, all seemed to cast us aside, as if my child's differences were somehow contagious. I never imagined parenthood would be a rollercoaster ride through a maze of societal expectations and judgmental stares. But then again, life has a way of surprising you, doesn't it?
My mind often wandered into dark alleys of fear. Would Grant ever be normal? Would he find love, hold a job, or lead a fulfilling life? The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant shadow lurking in the corners of my consciousness. Or will he be the next Jack the Ripper, I wondered? I thought this on occasion because he would intensely pet the cats and end up squeezing them so hard that he would have fistfuls of skin and fur oozing out between his little fingers. But he was so sweet when he was asleep. My mind was all over the place with this kid. I always wanted to be a parent, but I painted more of a fairytale type of picture for myself. That’s how you think of parenthood when you are young, before children.
After that excruciating meeting on that Monday morning at the principal’s office, I proceeded to drop off Grant in his classroom, and then I nonchalantly asked the student who had made that claim against Grant at the campout, if it was true.
I asked him, “Did Grant really strip down naked; and do a dance for his tent mates?” He responded with his head bowed low, “Yes, he did.”
I had no reason to not believe this child; I had known him for several years at this point and he was always pleasant. I had never known him to be someone to make up stories. I need to clarify that because, with certain kids, you were always expecting a tall tale, just like everyone was always expecting my little Grant to misbehave. But little did I know, I was not allowed to talk to the students.
I was allowed to drive the school children in my personal vehicle on field trips throughout the years, this student included, spending time helping out in the classroom, and providing things I would make or donate for the classroom. Once in second grade, I made all the platters of food for the Valentine’s Day party where I cut each fruit, vegetable, and finger sandwich with a tiny heart cookie cutter and adorned them with baby roses, thanks to Pinterest. Partly because I loved doing it, but partly because I was always trying to make up for my sons’ somewhat unpredictable or inappropriate behavior. But now, God forbid that I speak to these same students I had been creating relationships with for years!
After dropping that question to the student about Grant’s behavior, I got another phone call. The principal had me back to his office where he explained to me that it was inappropriate to accost a student and then asked me not to go past the front office on my future visits to the school. Accost a student. The blood pumping through my veins and my eyeballs caused me to see red. The anger that I felt from these people. My son was left unattended at a school function and now whose fault had it become, because of his behavior? They were very aware of what Grant was capable of, so it left me wondering who thought it was a good idea to put him in a tent alone with other students and no supervision. I’ve always been sensitive, especially when I don’t feel I’m in the wrong. Yes, I was always the kid who would cry when accused of something I didn’t do. Come to think of it my reactions are still that way, although less tears. And in this case, I was extremely sensitive.
How dare he take something so innocent on my part and turn me into some type of predator? I’ve always been told it takes a Village to raise a child and I believe that. Talking to Grant’s fellow students, which I had become accustomed to doing so for the past five years, was not out of the ordinary. Nor did it give them any psychological damage. It was practically routine conversation. I loved interacting with the kids. They were all unique and I enjoyed them. Nothing that was said here was sinister or callous. I was just being a typical, nice, cookie-baking mom, with a little bit of an agenda. I wanted to get a confirmation. I felt at times that situations had been embellished, and not in Grant’s favor.
That somewhat typical Monday morning ended up being the perfect storm of the past five years of painful school memories, coming back to haunt me. Three years prior when the kids were in first grade, this one boy came up to Grant and I before the bell rang, to tell him that his mother said he could no longer play with Grant. Wow. Another parent whom we didn’t know well, other than she would snub me and turn away when we would see one another, to save herself from a friendly hello, was now having her child perpetrate her nastiness. My son had never had any problems with this student, so I was flabbergasted. This parent forbade their child from playing with Grant, simply because he was different. It hurt, like a thousand tiny daggers stabbing at my heart. That’s some serious mean girl shit.
I always have believed that we teach our children to be kind and empathetic to one another. Even if, as a parent or person, at times we are lacking those same sensitivities. And that as parents we do what we can to make our kids better than ourselves by using what we have learned from our past mistakes.
Actually, Grant never had problems with any other students. He would misbehave by rolling around during circle time or not following along with the class assignment. Once he was singled out by a teacher for hitting a girl with a big bouncy ball at recess. Then he was sent to the principal’s office, only for me to drive twenty long minutes down to the school, skulk into the office, and then find out that it was during a dodgeball game. That’s where the object of the game is to hit the other students with the big bouncy ball! Yes, my thoughts exactly. An email from me regarding the dodgeball incident was sent to the school administration to fall on deaf ears.
Diving into the depths of learning about ADHD and Tourette's, seeking some form of understanding about why my child was this difficult, was overwhelming and left me with more questions. Why for years was he the child subjected to hearing about the countless birthday parties that he never received invitations to, each one a reminder of our exclusion from the social circles of “normal” families? Why do these other parents lack awareness of how hard school can be for kids who are different and how their rejections only make it harder? Plus, they are teaching their children that it’s ok to treat others that way. You don’t know real heartache until you watch your child experience that. It also really adds to that self-doubt and insecurity as a parent.
I discovered there is a lack of proper training in schools regarding neurodiversity. It’s a gaping hole in our educational system that only serves to exacerbate the challenges faced by families like ours. But with my newfound knowledge, I felt empowered to advocate for my son. Not just take a backseat and accept some of the unjust treatment he was being subjected to.
In recent years, Grant, now just days away from his seventeenth birthday, has grown out of all those behaviors he had as a young child. I remember what the county doctor said to me, with tears running down my face, the day he diagnosed Grant. He asked me if I knew any twenty-five-year-olds who behaved like Grant, explaining that a lot of these behaviors would subside with maturity. I played this over in my head many times, like a mantra, for the next few years. He was the first person who gave me hope. And his words rang true. In high school, we dumped Grant’s 504 plan, this is where there are modifications specifically written per child to help students with their disabilities.
I am now grateful to see his entourage of lovely friends coming by our home several times a week to hang out. One of the girls specifically went out of her way to tell me what a truly great person Grant is, just several days ago. And it’s not uncommon for me to hear the same praise from teachers, counselors, and fellow parents these days. High school, a time when so many parents are struggling with their teens, has turned out to be the most fun and closest times in our lives.
That Monday morning, I sent out a very harsh email to many people at my son’s school only to exclude myself further. But honestly, at that point, we had nothing left to lose. Sometimes in anger deep breaths and a few extra moments can be a great friend. But being a person who is generally balls to the wall with everything, I went ahead and unleashed those five years of fury in a single email. Reflecting on this situation, things could have been handled differently, but when you are at your wit’s end, sometimes we can all behave badly. I do feel it was necessary to confront the school about their lack of education and how that can affect a child’s entire life. Young children are tough; especially those with ADHD, I recognize that fact. But ultimately it is their job to learn and implement systems to help children with special needs. Needless to say, it was time for us to change schools. One where Grant was not labeled by his past and could have a fresh start.
Through experience and chaos, I realized, that parenthood isn't about conforming or winning a popularity contest. It's about embracing the uniqueness of your child, cherishing their quirks, and nurturing their spirits through love and patience. I wasn't a failure. I wasn’t lazy. We were simply on a different path. And, at times, an exhausting path but one with a glorious outcome.