“This Is Not Your Fault, Son. There Is a Problem with the School System.”
After 15 years of mom-advocating for my child, I still look up at the sky, shake my head, and ask: Why does it have to be so hard? I wish I had the answer.
I was enjoying a rare morning walking the dog with my husband before he left for work when I got a call from our 14-year-old son. I could barely make out, “I’m getting zero credit,” and, “He said I thought my mom would bail me out,” and, “I give up.” I put the phone on speaker so my husband could hear.
Two days earlier I’d driven the half hour to my son’s new high school to have a conference with his teacher. The teacher apparently told my son, “I don’t care about your 504 Plan; you better get your homework in on time.” A 504 Plan is a blueprint developed by the school to provide accommodations to students with disabilities so they can succeed at school. My son has attention deficit disorder (ADHD or ADD) — Hyperactive/Impulsive type. His accommodations include an extra day to turn in assignments, frequent homework reminders, and taking brief classroom breaks.
When I met with the teacher, I explained about ADHD and poor organizational skills and following the 504 Plan. He nodded and seemed compassionate. Then my son lost his science packet. It included two weeks of calculations he could not recover. He combed his classrooms and our house. He couldn’t find it. Misplacing things is not uncommon for people with ADHD. Neither is anxiety. By some estimates, 30 percent of children with ADHD have an anxiety disorder.
My son was freaking out. I told him he needed to speak directly with his teacher. The assignment wasn’t due for two weeks. I was sure they could work something out.
“He’s giving me a zero,” my son said over the phone. “He said I thought my mom would bail me out.” He was so distraught he left class to call me. It felt like an endless loop. Different year, different teacher, different school, but the same issues… over and over and over again.
ADHD is tricky. Many people, educators included, don’t believe in ADHD. They think they can cure it by being tough on the kid, or they consider the manifestations of ADHD as character flaws — as if a student blurts out, moves around, interrupts, doesn’t pay attention, loses assignments, or talks too much because he doesn’t respect the teacher.
This is not true. The student blurts out, moves around, interrupts, doesn’t pay attention, loses assignments, and talks too much because he is hyperactive and impulsive. Hence: accommodations. But accommodations only work if they are well designed and if they are implemented.
My hands gripped the steering wheel as I headed to my son’s school. I walked into the office. “Is the principal available?” I asked. “No? I’ll wait.”
I planned to sit there all day. Eventually the assistant principal invited me into his office. I told him I’d hoped the teacher would use the lost assignment as a teachable moment, whether he gave my son a way to make up some of the lost points or not. I wanted this to be a lesson, not an opportunity for punishment and humiliation.
As we spoke, text messages kept popping up on my phone from my son: “I’m so upset” and “Come pick me up.” I ignored his texts and I was glad that he didn’t have the Find My Friends App, or he’d know I was at his school at that moment.
I’d driven out there to talk about him, not with him. I wanted him to make it through the day and recover. I knew the zero would upset him. I knew how much he cared about his grades. I knew he hated himself for losing things. But I also knew that his sense of self could not depend on whether his teacher thought he was doing a “good job.” Too often his teachers judged him by standards he could not meet. Whether he was five or 15, I’d keep reminding him that the only thing that mattered was whether he thought he was doing a good job. If he was doing his best, that was enough.
So, no, I wasn’t going to let him come home and stew over this. Even though I thought the teacher needed to be educated on working with students with ADHD. I was in it for my son’s highest good, which sometimes means his discomfort.
During our follow-up conference, the teacher and principal said to me, “This is high school.” My answer to that is, so what? A blind child is still blind in high school. Kids with ADHD still struggle with hyperactivity and impulsivity in high school. They may require extra time and extra reminders and extra days to be successful — even in high school.
The wheels of advocacy keep on turning. Emails are sent, meetings are held, conferences attended. My son feels guilty that it takes up so much time. Although he knows he is entitled by law to a “free and appropriate education,” he also knows it is hard work to get it. “There is a problem with the system,” I tell him. “This is not your fault.”
In the end, it wasn’t the zero that bothered me. What bothered me was that, after 15 years of mom-advocating, I still look up at the sky, shake my head, and ask: Why does it have to be so hard? I know many parents of children with special needs ask this same question. I wish I had the answer.