Mommy Proof #22: When there is something that needs to be said, say it.

Dear son of mine,

I see you struggling. I recognize that you are trying. I know that you wish you could be finished your homework. I can tell you are frustrated. No, my dear, you are not stupid. You are not dumb. Those are not words that should be in your vocabulary. I know these things. Let me tell you why...

Stupid people accept when someone tells them that there is a limitation and they don't try to surpass that limitation. They believe that when someone tells them they are dumb, that they are. But you don't do that, my dear, you don't believe that. Do you? Dumb people do not think for themselves. You do. Dumb people follow the crowd. Some people will hear the term "developmentally delayed" and they may use that as an excuse to call you dumb. They may try to act as if you can't learn. Don't be one of those people.  You laugh it off. You show them what you can do, because you are just that awesome. The letters they diagnosed you with are just that...letters. Those  letters, APD, do not have to define you.  APD does not know you as I do. Those letters cover a huge array of things, not all of which describe some of the troubles you  have. You are much bigger than those letters. You are my SON.

APD has never made me laugh. It made me weep. It temporarily cut down my excitement in the future. It made me question what joy was left for your life. But not my SON, unlike APD, you dried my tears. You awakened the next morning full of excitement for school, for the day, for life. You taught me how to enjoy life. APD made me wonder if you would ever do what other kids your age can do. But not you, not my SON, you made me see that you could do what they could do...and more. I showed you how to tie your shoe, just once, and you did it. You repeated what I said and did it step by step. You showed me that you could do it and you would learn to do it. APD kept me up at night pondering what the next step should be. But not my SON, you woke up the next morning and asked me to help you write your letters, then you copied them. Even though it was hard, you tried, you succeeded, and you hugged me tight when you did. You are awesome. You are amazing. You make me laugh. You teach me every day. You taught me how to hope. APD has nothing on you, my SON.

Love,

MOM

Dear teachers, doctors, therapists....to whom it may concern,

I am sure you came across my son's records, IEP, previous doctor's notes, vague diagnosis, and other information that is needed to help my son. I know that you, too, have marveled at how his mind works and how is brain makes connections. There is just something I need you to remember. He is, first and foremost, a little boy. My little boy. There are very few things you can tell me about him that I do not already know. Please, don't pacify me and tell me he can be helped. I know that. For years, I begged someone to listen. I pleaded for anyone to see what I saw. Instead, I want you to tell me how to help him. 

I am amazed that he writes his letters and words upside down and backwards. Sometimes, I wonder just what the world looks like to him. When he climbs onto the playground equipment and hangs upside down, is the world suddenly right side up? Is that the moment when everything is clear to him? Is that the second that he understands? Is that why he runs, flips, and jumps to every destination? Is he just trying to keep up with what it feels like the world is throwing at him with each step he takes? There are questions that I wonder if I will ever have answered.

I am tired of acronyms. These letters mean nothing to me: APD, IUGR, IEP, ETC I don't see those letters when I look at him. I just see my SON. Remember when you speak to me, please, that I am not only his advocate. I am his mother. Clinically, you can throw all of the diagnoses, treatments, and information that you can find, but all I really want to hear is a success story, a guarantee, and a cure. I want my baby to be okay. To be just fine. To catch up. To thrive. To learn. To succeed. Remember when you are speaking of APD and figuring out just how his little brain works, that the child in the charts is still my son. Not a case number, but my baby. Take the time out to get to know him. Forget the information, the professional assessments, you will learn more by talking to him and getting to know who he is and the way he reasons. Take note of how he holds his pencil. Mark it down that when he is really trying, he chews on his tongue. Look into his eyes when he gets something wrong. You will see that he has already realized it wasn't quite right, but that he did try. If you look close enough, you may even see the hesitation in the point of his pencil. You may see him instinctively try to guide his pencil in the direction that he should be copying his letters, but, more than that, I want you to see that he is trying. Because he is smart. Because he won't give up. Because the only way you can help him, is if you believe in him too....

Sincerely,

his MOM




(APD is Auditory Processing Disorder. Ever heard of it? Neither have I.)