I steeled my shoulders; this was for Danny. I could puke later. “He never makes eye contact, has problems if the schedule has an unexpected change, certain noises seem to bother him, he has a hard time understanding others’ emotions and regulating his own?—”
Adam tossed the papers back onto the table. “He’s seven, lay off. He will figure it out.” He pushed himself and the chair away from the table and stood.
I was trying to help Danny, and Adam wasn’t listening to me at all. Why do parents always assume different is bad? Moments from my childhood flashed in my memory. It didn’t have to be like this.
My palms pressed down on the table and I stood. “It’s not something for him to figure out; it’s more for us than for him.” I didn’t need Adam looking down on me. I eyed the chair behind me suspiciously.
What were the chances of standing on it in my heels without either looking ridiculous or falling off?
Not great. I focused back on Adam.
“Right. So what…” Adam’s eyebrow raised. “You want to test him. Give him a label?” He scowled. “You’re not from here, but I know this town. They would make him carry that his whole life.” He grabbed his jacket off the ground and slammed it over his shoulder; it must have fallen when he stood up. “He isn’t stupid, and he doesn’t need a label.”
I placed my hands on my hips, feeling my blood heat. “Again, I never said stupid. I said different.”
“Danny’s fine how he is.” Adam shoved the small chair back under the table hard.
So hard, it bounced off the table and fell to the floor. The movement caused a box of crayons to fall, and a few scattered pieces rolled off the table and onto the brown stained carpet.
This conversation reminded me of my mother and her need for perfection and for me to fit a certain mold that I desperately tried to, but I never could.
I stared at the pieces of crayons, shattered and broken. This conversation could not have gone worse. I took a deep breath and held it, I smelled something citrusy coming from Adam’s direction.
Why was I getting so worked up about this?
Was this because of Danny, or my past?
My thoughts kept flicking to my past and my mother, and I knew too much of my own scars had resurfaced during the exchange.
The thought cooled my anger, and I rubbed my forehead.
“This isn’t about a label.” My voice was soft, broken like the crayons. “This is about trying to understand Danny, so that you as the parent, and me as his teacher, can have the tools to help him, now and in the future.”
I gestured towards the toppled chair. If my second graders had to pick up their messes, surely that applied to adults as well.
His icy expression melted as he bent down and righted the chair and scooped up the crayons into the bin. Seeing Adam scoop up the crayons, my awareness and anxiety rushed back into me.
My reaction, plus my nerves, were over the top.
Adam stood, shoulders hunched in. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. I’ve had?—”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It was obvious my body wasdone masking the panic. It had too many big emotions and was collapsing. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere, and I needed to leave. Now. I shook my head.“ The choice lies with the parents if they want to pursue that or not.” I tried to breathe with my belly. “Let me know if you would like to discuss my concerns about Danny at a different time, but I think we both need some time and space.” I pointed my hand toward the door, praying he didn’t notice how much it shook.
His gaze took in my shaking hand, and his eyebrow raised.
I was not so lucky.
I clasped my hand into a fist.
He nodded. “I’d better go get Danny.” Adam went towards the door, but glanced once more in my direction before he left. He looked ashamed of his outburst, but I was even more so.
I was seconds away from crying.
Well, that went absolutely terrible.
Of course, Danny was fine. Danny was wonderful; I just wanted… Well, never mind what I wanted. Parents got to choose and shape their kids’ lives, and that was how it should be. I wished sometimes they were less rigid about how that plan needed to look.
I walked to my desk, shook out my hands, and sank into my chair. I might need to work through some worksheets when I got home. I hadn’t been to therapy in over two years, but I still used the cognitive behavior therapy worksheets from it when needed.
