Page 8 of When I Thug You Like That

He nodded. “And what about one-on-one support?”

I smiled, appreciating his line of questioning. He was inquiring about assistance that wasn’t spelled out on paperwork. A hands-on parent. Even better, a hands-on father. I could appreciate that.

“The higher ups read all evaluations and clinical recommendations before enrollment to determine when one-on-one support is needed. I also make it my business to read through those same files. Although we have a supportive team here, the kids assigned to me are my responsibility while they’re in my classroom. Paperwork only gives us part of the child. Our interactions give me a better understanding of who they are in totality. Best believe, I’m on it. I don’t play about my babies.”

“That’s good to know ‘cause there’s no limit to the things I’d do for this one.” He ruffled Jamison’s head.

I blushed on accident then tried to fix my face quick, clearing my throat to distract him, even though he was staring at me intently. I led them toward one of our early childhood classrooms and let Jamison peek in before continuing to move down the hall to show him the gym.

“How have your experiences been at other schools? Anything you think I should look out for or focus more on when it comes to teaching him?”

His expression changed slightly. “Prior to here, he’s only been in one other school. I pulled him because it was too much telling me what he couldn’t do versus how we could work together to take steps toward progression. I don’t count my child out at home, so I wasn’t about to keep letting teachers who weren’t taking the time to learn him do it.”

I understood his answer immediately.

“You won’t have to worry about that here. This is a team effort. I can’t be successful without you,” I assured him. “This is our gym.”

I swiped my keycard again, and the room opened into a wide space filled with colorful mats, balance beams, two small trampolines, and different sensory stations throughout. It was well thought out for all stages of autism in mind. Like most of the kids who toured the area, Jamison’s eyes lit up the second he spotted the swing toward the back of the gym.

His father looked down at him and pointed to it. “What you think, son?”

“Wanna swing?” Jamison asked.

“Ion know, champ. This ain’t my building. I don’t make the decisions. You gotta ask the woman in charge.” He pointed to me. “Ask Ms. Jai.”

Jamison turned to me with his head tilted upward. “Can I swing please?”

I giggled. “You sure can. If you need any help, let us know.”

He bolted off without acknowledging my offer. His father laughed.

“I can assure you if he’s mastered anything, it’s knowing his way around a play area.”

We watched him together for a few seconds as he started off slow, rocking back and forth with both hands around the rope, until he got a good rhythm.

“Does he usually gravitate toward movement?” I asked.

Mr. Sullivan nodded. “Yeah, on most days. It’s like he gotta be doing something. Then, there’s days when he’s chill, and he expects everyone around him to be the same.”

“That’s common. It’s all about balance.”

“I know,” he replied. Not in a cocky way but informed.

Like he was used to people explaining things to him that he’d already taken the time out to learn.

“We’re adapting as we go.”

I smiled. “Family support is always good.”

Jamison began swinging a little faster, and we both found ourselves inching toward the back of the room.

“Slow it down some, champ,” Mr. Sullivan instructed.

Jamison didn’t respond, too busy focusing on his form. I looked between the two of them to see how Mr. Sullivan handled redirection.

“Jamison,” he called him by his full name in a sterner tone that got his attention. “Not so fast, aight?”

“I slow down?” Jamison said as he settled his legs and let the swing move on its own.