Dear Teachers ... I trust you.

Photo courtesy of: http://www.good.is

Dear Teachers,

The range of meaning that some words contain never ceases to amaze me.  The word "teacher" for me encompasses such a vast span of my life, both personally and professionally.  It is a simple term that no longer gets the venerable inference it deserves, too often associated with the assumptions of undeserved tenure, incompetent instruction and too demanding class of laborers.  As a result you also miss the facets that include the overworked, underpaid and unappreciated maestros of the didactic arena.  When you hear "teacher" what does it elicit from you?  Does it brings to mind your favorite one from school, what image does it evoke?  She's the stereotypical young woman who is patient and quiet, perhaps even boring.  He's the shop teacher with the gravelly voice and missing digits, she's the disciplinarian who obviously never remembered what it was like to be a teenager.  He's the English teacher who droned on and on about how wonderful "Crime & Punishment" is as a literary work (Sorry Mr. H, after Chapter 2 it was no Crime and all Punishment).  She's the History teacher that noticed your eyes were red-rimmed from crying and made a point to distract the class in another direction, conveniently forgetting to collect your paper.  He's the Biology teacher who made you look forward to anatomy class, and it wasn't just for the lesson plan ... (Mr. K, you know who you are.)

Titles like "teacher" stop becoming a role and begin to become a category, which can be unfortunate because labels reflect the lowest common denominator.  The word "teacher" to me gets tossed around like a Frisbee.  When you think about it, it behaves much like those same aerodynamic discs.  Depending on the skill of the toss, it will can soar a great distance - rising higher with each draft it can catch before gracefully floating back to Earth.  It may catch the first breeze it comes across, or gets slapped with and wobble broadly as it tries to find purchase on its invisible terrain.  Perhaps it will simply careen to the side and slam into the ground, having gained neither grace or distance.  I am forever grateful for those teachers in my past (and present) who had the ability and measure of personal investment it took to help me to soar when I could, and make the best landing possible if I could not.

Now that I am a parent I realize more than ever what a sacred relationship there is between a teacher and their students, for I am their teacher as well.  I am beholden to them to make sure that I can provide and protect them, and that does not just apply to material things.  How to be resilient, compassionate, to see the world with an open mind and fair intent, this is no small task and now that autumn has come once more I have to let someone else share that responsibility with me.  In many ways it is a hard, hard thing to watch them get on that bus and drive away from me.  Now I must trust.  I must trust them and I must trust you.

What I need you to know, more than anything right now, is that I do trust you.

I trust that you will at the very least be fair, that you will be attentive and understanding.  That when you notice signs of struggle you will not look the other way.  That you will correct, that you will be firm, that you will invest and stand by your convictions.  That you will demonstrate the behaviour you want my children to display as adults, for you are their role models too.  That you will give them homework, and that you will be reasonable.  That you will not be afraid to communicate with me - about even the slightest issues.  Most of all I trust that you will care, not just about all kids but about my kids, as individuals.

What I also need you to know is that you are not alone in this.

I will make sure they sleep, that they are clean and dressed (I claim zero responsibility for the 7 year old's fashion sense.), that every day will have time dedicated where my attention is on nothing else but reviewing with them their day, reading their assignments and helping them with what I can.  (Though I have NO idea how you people teach math anymore, so if I can't find it on YouTube I'm kicking it right back to you with a sheepish note.)  I will correct when I must and if I have to lock the electronics away for another school year I will not hesitate to do so, they can chew their own pencils sharp and do it by candlelight if they have to.  I do not negotiate with terrorists and it is not your responsibility to give my child a grade they have not earned.  I will not hesitate to provide both positive and negative reinforcement, all decisions have consequences and to go without sends a life lesson that never ends well.

In short - I've got your back.  I will communicate openly with you, for if we do not function in tandem my children will not have the best chance at success.  That's all either of us really wants, isn't it?  All I ask is that you do not violate my trust, for my response will be swift and will be terrible - as I am certain yours would be on behalf of your children.

I believe the most successful teachers do not do this as a job, it is a vocation - a divine calling which is challenging, heartbreaking and ultimately rewarding on a level that the rest of us can never know.  Whether you are in that category or not, you are holding up the mantle of those that are as well as yourself.  You should be proud of your investment and the measure of trust that is laid upon you each day.  When the burdens of the school year weigh heavily on you, or perhaps you are confronted with parents that place the onus of success solely on your shoulders, remember that we are out here as well.  We know you are their for our children and are eminently grateful for that, and they will be too - across the breadth of their lifetime.

Thank you in advance.  Have a great year.

James and Meredith's Mom

Lieutenant Dan! Magic Ears!

June always seems so busy. The midpoint of the year, things start / stop -- school ends, camps begin and the weather eventually settles down. The beginning of this June saw James at his first graduation. He graduated from Pre-K successfully. ;) They did a really cute recital of a bunch of songs and dances and the school director gave her teary-eyed farewell to another class. James was the first one to come out and actually participated in about half the songs before giving up and sitting in his seat. I'm sure it was chaotic and overwhelming for him. Unfortunately I can't seem to get him to understand that there's no more "Yellow School," as he asks to go just about every day.

Graduation!



The school offers a summer reading program, designed to really give him a boost for Kindergarten. He loves writing and can read some sight words already, his teacher feels that even with the hearing issues he should be able to keep up. So he'll be back in school for July.

Magic Ears!


On Flag Day James finally got his hearing aids! In true James style he took them completely in stride, no adjustment period necessary. We put them in, turned them on and voila! He realized immediately that they were helping him hear and takes great care with them (for a 4 and a half year old anyway). Which is good because at $3500 for the pair, we can't afford it to be otherwise. The ear molds are dalmation-spotted at his request -- 102 Dalmations was the movie of the month when we ordered the ear molds. (g)

We started taking him to Special Ed twice a week back in March, so he was in school four days a week between that and his Pre-K. He goes for speech and hearing therapy, along with repeat evaluations and social exercises. They're on break now, he'll resume in July for one more month and then be done with it -- he integrates into normal Kindergarten in the fall.

His teachers are absolutely wonderful and they adore him. He likes going and has definitely benefited from the experience. However, all that being said I will be glad when it's over. I cry every single time I drop him off. I can't help it, it's just a hard adjustment. He's in a small group and is the (very obviously) highest functioning child in the class. The ladies tell me he's very good with the disabled children and is very helpful to them at playtime, but you can see his confusion sometimes. That he knows that something is different with the children when he tries to interact with them. The other parents are actually nicer than most of the ones at Pre-K and the children are great. But when the teachers come out to collect/herd them in at drop-off, he kisses me good-bye and trustingly puts his hand in Ms. Cheryl's and I watch him walk in. Then I get back in my van and cry as I drive home.

I try to figure out why this is and I think it's just frustration. This is my perfect little boy, he's not supposed to have anything permanent "wrong" with him. He's not supposed to rely on devices or be limited in any way, restricted for reasons not of his own making. I dread the day that the other children decide to focus on his small difference, I would spare him the pain and confusion that will come from mean small-minded people. His differences should be of his choosing, his unique personality, not forced upon him for whatever reason this happened. Yet his road begins with a little more burden than I think is fair and all I can do is help him carry it, I can't take it away. That's why Mommy cries on the ride home.

Though I will share this story, from when the process first began. In our first "IEP" meeting, when we were deciding what his therapy and educational needs would be, we met with his Special Ed teachers, speech therapist and the school board person, etc. As they laid out his evaluation and plans, they were very painfully, obviously trying NOT to use the actual term "Special Ed" in any form. Granted we had come from work and were in uniform, and my husband can be scary-looking but I mean they were really pussyfooting around the term. I think they were just worried that we'd be upset or feel that James was being labeled, I don't know. Finally we said to them, "Look ladies it's ok. We know he has additional needs and we want to get him whatever he needs to be successful, so it's really alright." Anyway the meeting went fine and we went home with all the paperwork and folder full of welcome packet, etc. So we go home and I open the folder to read the class information and what do I see? What's the first thing in the folder, right on top, glaring out at me?

An application for the Special Olympics. Go figure. ;)

If you can't hear the bell tolling ... does it count?

Meredith failed her newborn screening exam (deja vu) and had to go for a repeat test with an audiologist.  Since we were supposed to be getting another one for James post-op as it was we scheduled both together.  Fortunately the baby passed the screening with flying colors.  I had very high hopes for James as far as improvement went, since the tubes were put in he's been doing so much better.  However we're apparently not that lucky.

The exact quote from the audiologist was, "This is permanent kiddos."  It's really interesting just how profound and far reaching a single word like "permanent" can be.  Even now as I try to objectively sort through the information, it's hard to wrap my mind around the concept that my son has a level of disability that will never improve.  She told me he will need external hearing aids in both ears in order to hear at a normal level.  Before committing to this we decided to take him for a second opinion -- I want to be 100% certain of what we're dealing with before approaching the problem.  So today we went back to the audiologist who originally tested him in October.  He was a little more thorough in his testing and while his results were unfortunately similar, I do feel more comfortable with his methods and explanations.  I also have a little more direction in where to go from here.

He has a moderate level of conductive hearing loss in both ears, which means his issues are neurologic in origin.  He should be hearing conversation at approximately 10 - 20 decibels, in both tests so far he only appears to be hearing conversation once you get to 40 or 50 decibels.  This means that "normal" conversational speech levels sound very soft to him.  It's something that we have to address before he enters school full time, otherwise he'll be severely limited once he gets to the grades where classwork is lecture intensive.  He just won't be able to hear the material as well if at all -- depending on the speaker or where he's sitting.  It also explains why he loses interest in school sometimes, especially during story time.

He's so good during all of this testing, it breaks my heart sometimes.  He was sitting with his dad in the soundproof booth today, big headphones on, watching the audiologist through the window with his huge eyes.  He wanted so much to do well, to do what the audiologist was asking him to do.  And there's mommy, sitting in the corner making her lip bleed by biting into it to keep quiet.  All we can do is keep the experiences as positive as possible, especially if we're going to have to stick devices in his ears and convince him to wear them. :(

So the next step now is to re-schedule him for a BAER test, which has to be done under sedation.  It's like an EEG, they stick a bunch of electrodes to his head and measure actual neural impulses and stuff.  It will give us a more precise range in regards to his loss, which will be helpful when it comes to adjusting his amplification.  He hears more of the higher frequencies, the loss appears to be in the lower ranges.  This is the lesser of many evils and one of the few positives.  It means he can hear diction more clearly than say, environmental noises -- since speech is in the higher ranges. 

The other audiologist already made molds of his ears for the hearing aids, in anticipation and since he was being cooperative at the time.  Once all the testing is done, then we have to come up with the funds.  I haven't heard back from the insurance company yet, but most private insurances do not pay for the actual devices -- just the appointments for adjustments and monitoring.  My options are limited at the moment, but we're still looking at a few different things.  Otherwise we'll have to come up with approximately $3500 out of pocket for a pair of hearing aids for him.  Which with me just finishing my stint on disability is truly getting blood from a stone.  But this too shall pass of course.

Chris is being the optimistic one again, which is a stunner for anyone who knows him. ;)  He already calls James "Daddy's little Cyborg" and is generally unconcerned.  He feels that 1) he's not deaf and 2) it's correctable, so he's focused on the positives.  He's right of course, but it doesn't stop Mommy from having mini-panic attacks at stop lights or whenever she allows herself to really think about it ...

"This is permanent kiddos."