2 Children. 2 Services

As an educator, past department of health and human services intern, and residential treatment counselor, I have participated in a sizable amount of individual education program (IEP) team meetings. I am fairly fluent in teacher acronyms, and as a graduate of an educational leadership program, I’ve engaged in vigorous conversations surrounding the importance of supporting parents, teachers, and of course- the student. 

What I hadn’t yet done, was be the parent. 

The parent on the other side of the table. 

The parent, whose kid was the topic of discussion.

The parent who the meeting couldn’t take place without. 

The parent who, when the meeting ended, was left to digest the professional opinions, well-intentions, and plans that were to someone else only meeting agenda items. 

The parent who, after all the legal signatures and form requirements were fulfilled was left wondering what the next best steps for the child were.

But that’s just it: what really is best for them?

What’s best for them isn’t always known by us- the want and hope to be all knowing adults. The adults who are so often the ones calling the shots, the ones who ,while well-intended, can’t possibly understand what it could be like to walk a mile in their shoes.

So, then what?

What’s best for them. 

What does that mean? What does that overused phrase look like? 

Being the mother of four, age ranging from eight to nearly two years old, alongside my husband, have written, either intentionally or from our own experience, the Jones family parenting playbook. The material that determines acceptable behavior from non, and decides how we support, discipline, or just survive another day of keeping our children alive. 

What’s best for them. 

A phrase, much like an old nineties tune, replays in my mind. A repeating sound that, like many others, is much easier to figure out before you’re actually faced with the dilemma. 

Our family of six, currently has two children in elementary school. Coincidentally, both of these children receive formalized educational support. The type of support, that if done right, can lead to independent victories and academic gains. If done wrong- or if negatively labeled, can leave them hating school for the next ten or twelve years, or worse, themselves.

Two supports: one in the form of an IEP; the other a 504. Both recommend a diagnosis, and while only one has legal implications, they both have significant stigmas. 

Maverick, an IEP, in the area of speech intervention. 

Frequent, but short burst of speech intervention to assist his development specifically in the pronunciation of his R’s. The IEP, designed and protected by the Individual with Disabilities Education Act, originated as the Education of Handicapped Children in 1975, is a legally binding protection qualifying students with one of thirteen disabilities with special education services. 

Ace, a 504 plan, in the area of behavioral support. 

The 504 provides a specificised plan- a way of leveling the playing field; the formalized document provides written details to his current and future teachers providing the know-how play-book to help Ace reach success in managing his formal Oppositional Defiance Disorder diagnosis. 

The 504 plan, a section of the 1973 Rehabilitation Act of 1973, is designed to support students who have, most often, been clinically diagnosed with a disability, as long as the behavior associated with the diagnosis, can be proven to directly interfere with the students academic success. 

Two children in school. Two school-supported intervention plans. 

At the second official school meeting my husband and I attended, I joked: I am not really sure if I am proud that we advocated on behalf of the boys, or if I should feel embarrassment, that with only half of our children in school, and half of our kids needing intervention, we are completely failing them all together. 

That, and of course- what will people think? Is this really what’s best for them? 

The questioning loop continues.

What will people, people much like yourself, think when I tell them that the only two Jones children that attend school, do in fact- not only qualify, but receive services. 

Does this change the way you view our children- or our parenting? Are their services really necessary– will the boys feel embarrassed? Do kids pick on them? Are our children the ones who teachers talk about with their friends over dinner, or behind the closed doors of the teacher plan centers? Is one of our children’s interventions more acceptable than another?

Is Maverick’s disability, of speech impairment, an accepted form of help, because well- bad parenting, or just being a bad person, is not often associated with the need for speech support, unlike the stigma associated with oppositional defiance. 

Lack of education, or need to know, provides a lot of misinformation and judgement about kids, or really all humans who have the unfortunate misfortune to be diagnosed with a disorder that has severe negative connotations. 

In deeper reflection, is it the diagnosis that feels troublesome, the fear of individual perceptions, not necessarily that I’ll have to deal with, but that our children will have to fend off. Or of course, if these extra steps are really necessary, or best for our boys.

My greatest fear is not the diagnosis, or the fact that our boys need specialized support, but rather, the way people treat them, as if their diagnosis is their definition.

I fear that with the small “IEP” or “504” label next to the picture on their attendance sheet, that their teacher will immediately classify them as less than their peers. I worry that, even without the general public or their peers having access to these intentional symbols signifying their diagnosis, that through the knowledge of intervention, people will treat them differently. 

I worry that because our boys were, with no fault of their own, or gasp- even their parents, still have official labels, and will therefore be deemed as less than. 

I worry that when Maverick talks, some kid will be a jerk, making fun of the fact that rabbit comes out sounding more like wabbit. Or that Ace, rather than patiently stand in line, feels the strong pull to lay on the ground. 

I worry that Maverick, when making friends, will be an easy target, because he is sometimes harder to understand than his peers. I worry that Ace, easily annoyed, lacks the empathy to hear someone out or accept that his emotions are a normal part of being human, but instead- completely shut down, crying, hitting- often appearing as disrespectful or bratty. 

I worry that even with well-intentioned actions, our avocation and desire to seek support from our school will upset or frustrate our kids. I worry that we are not in-fact making the true decision as to what is best for them. 

Yet, even with so many unknowns. We did it anyway; we signed the documents- we gave our kids an official label.

I do not know if this is what’s best for them. I do not know if we are making the right decision.

What I do know, is that Maverick’s speech interventions allow him to build a one-on-one connection with another school member. 

I know that just yesterday, Ace’s had two positive e-mails sent home regarding his accommodations and his soaring academic success and outpouring of pride. 

I know that the interventions are research driven, independently tailored, parent approved and thoughtfully planned to support and help each of our boys.

I know that by going against my gut, and not doing something, that I was taking a bigger risk. 

I was risking their future, their success, their opportunity to fall in love with the chance to learn. I was risking their confidence, and the opportunity for personal growth and development. 

So, without regret, my husband and I opted to fight the labels, work to erase the stigmas, and engage in meaningful discussions about their services. Together we will continue conversations, with our children, and make decisions based on their input. 

As a family, we will work together to build strong connections, meet individual needs, and always work to do our best. We will work to make informed decisions, based not only on what feels or looks good, but what we believe to actually be good. 

I will proudly continue to advocate on behalf of our children, discuss their diagnoses, any potential interventions and the necessity of them. I will continue to speak with our children, giving them perspective and a voice about the services they are receiving. 

I will work to normalize asking for, and receiving help. I will, even while hesitant and a little fearful of being transparent, continue to write about my internal dialogue, and experiences- in hopes that, together, we can be the change. 

We can be the change, the people that normalize and familiarize gaining support for all diagnosis, for any reason. 

We can ask for help- not only for ourselves, or for our children, but that our children can learn through our actions. 

Slowly, through tiny steps, we can change the world.