Middle School: Spell it Out
The following blog post was written by special education advocate Robin Beauchemin.
Welcome to my nine-part blog series! My name is Robin Beauchemin, and I am a mom to an amazing young man with dyslexia. In this blog, I will tell the story of our journey which started with a diagnosis of ADHD in 2nd grade and continued with a diagnosis of dyslexia in 8th grade.
This is the fourth blog in a nine part series and continues from Middle School: Check-in and Check-out.
I think it’s safe to say that by your 7th grade year we all had PTSD and completely dreaded every new school day. But you had a “robust” 504 plan and you and your guidance counselor had a tight bond. I still believe to this day that she wanted so badly to help you, but she just didn’t know how. None of us did really….
It wasn’t going well. You came home every day and would lock yourself in your bedroom. You stopped enjoying the things you used to love. You HATED school. Each day was harder and harder to get you out the door. One of the hardest parts of my weekday was forcing you to go to a place that was stealing all of your joy. But what choice did I have? Parents are expected to send their kids to school.
You came home one day and shared with me how one of your teachers was unkind in class. Listen, I know you were not the easiest kid and I’m sure your teachers were frustrated. But so was I. It was a full-time job advocating for you, and I was getting nowhere. You told me that this teacher responded to one of your questions by saying: “Is it wrong of me to wish you were struck by a meteor, so I didn’t have to answer any of your questions again?” Ok, let’s back this up – I KNOW you probably struck his last nerve, and I am sure he was frustrated. But holy my, my blood was boiling. I wrote a very long email to the principal.
Your school ended up moving your schedule around after I sent the email and gave you a new teacher. The thing that bothers me to this day is that that teacher never apologized to you. Bigger picture though, I was ready to lose my mind. Why were you having such a hard time in school? Why did we have to walk on eggshells at home to control your environment to keep you happy? None of this made sense because somehow, your grades were still decent. So, what was it that was making you so miserable?
As I watched you slip further away from the happy kid you once were, I sent an email to all your teachers pleading with them to treat you with kindness and understanding. You were almost 13. A very fragile and vulnerable age. Like always, I was reassured that you were a sweet boy who wanted to do well, and they all loved you. Except for that one teacher. 😉
What happened next is still so disturbing that it haunts me to this day. My heart was broken, and my world was shattered. I don’t think it’s something I will ever in my lifetime get over. As I sit here thinking back to that time, my eyes are full of tears. And it wasn’t just me that was broken; it was our entire family. To respect my son’s privacy, I cannot share the details. What I will share is that he was robbed of his 13th birthday by a broken system that never fulfilled their obligation to identify a child with a learning disability.
As a teenage boy, and a student who was given a computer to type, I hadn’t seen any writing samples in years. You wrote some items you wanted me to get on my grocery list. WHAT?!?! HOW?!?! How on earth were you unable to spell things like soap? How were you unable to write within the lines of the page? Why were you using capital letters in the middle of a word? Was this dyslexia?! No, it couldn’t be… Surely SOMEONE in your time at school would’ve picked up on that?? Not one teacher has ever had any concerns with your reading. I must be overthinking.
In our now 1,877,765,887th school meeting, the district agreed to your initial evaluation. In 7th grade. You began going to school part time and spending your day in the guidance counselor’s office independently working. And you would text me every 15 minutes or so to come pick you up. This evaluation couldn’t happen soon enough. And then covid hit. Of course it did……………..
Middle School: A Dyslexia Diagnosis
This is the fifth blog in a nine part series.
Our district was able to do your evaluation over the summer. Eighth grade began with the option of in person, or virtual. We agreed that you would try it in person and see how it goes. That didn’t last very long, and I was ok with that. I had been working hard to restore your confidence and the thought of you being in school all day where I couldn’t protect you didn’t sound like the best idea. You were still very fragile and my new normal was sitting by your side for every one of your classes.
Welp, the day is finally here – another meeting. This time it was virtual because of covid. I’ve always felt so outnumbered at these meetings. The school psychologist reviewed her evaluation with the team. She identified a reading deficit, and the team agreed to an IEP with ONE reading goal. ONE. We ended the meeting and called an advocate. I wasn’t crazy. This kid has dyslexia! I think………..
We signed a contract with an advocate well known in our state. We took her suggestion and scheduled our son for a neuropsychological evaluation with a doctor in Ipswich, MA. In the middle of the pandemic when you were not supposed to travel outside of your state (CT) for more than 24 hours, we hopped in the car and went anyway.
Our son spent the next two days being evaluated by a wonderful and caring woman. After she finished, she pulled us into her office while our son sat outside in the waiting room. She shut the door and told us that not only did he have dyslexia, but dysgraphia too. She explained that he was reading at least 3 grade levels behind. I think my body went numb. I’m not sure what I was feeling at the moment, but it wasn’t good. We hopped in the car to travel the almost 3 hours back home. I drove so my husband could catch up on some work emails. And I cried all.the.way.home. The immense guilt I felt in that moment isn’t something any parent should ever feel.
Here we were again, another meeting with the school, this time armed with an advocate. It was recommended in his evaluation that he be placed at a private school that could remediate dyslexia. However, the district proposed putting him in what they call “the reading academy” at his middle school. It was almost as though my soul left my body, and a rabid feral mama bear took over. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but when I was finished the school psychologist said: “Mrs. Beauchemin, we hear loud and clear that you are not in agreement with keeping him in district.” You got that right buddy! Our meeting ended in favor of our son. OMG! Don’t move, DON’T BREATHE! Let’s just end this meeting before they change their minds. VICTORY!
The private school did not have any openings for his 8th grade year, so we spent some more time bonding while he participated in virtual public school. He did not have a full schedule like typical 8th graders because of the trauma he was still working through. I spent my days sitting by his side while he pushed through trying to get to the end of each day. His perseverance is admirable. This kid had been knocked down so many times, and he never gave up. Next up, 9th grade in a new private school! Phew. I think we’re going to make it!
High School: New School, New Beginnings
This is the sixth blog in a nine part series.
Ok… Here we go again… breathe in, breathe out. Anxiety seemed to be our new normal. It was the first day of a new beginning. A fresh start. A LOT of uncertainty and unfamiliarity. I figured if we made it through the nightmare we had just been through, we could get through this, right?
Your driver showed up, pulled into the driveway, introduced themselves and took you on a 45-minute drive to a private school a few towns away. I secretly was mourning the loss of our time together, but so thankful for this new opportunity. You deserve to be able to walk into a school and feel like you fit in. And I was certain that was what this school was going to be for you. You came home happy, but exhausted. That didn’t last as long as I had hoped it would.
Remember the false hope we talked about in your 6th grade year? That happened here too. I think I had hoped so badly that private school was the answer that I missed all the signs that you weren’t happy. In my mind, if I just willed it away, maybe you’d figure it out? Fat chance. The phone calls and emails started once again. Oof…. What now?!
At your new school, each student is assigned an advisor. I reached out to yours. He was young. In fact, I remember thinking, “Is this guy even old enough to be a teacher?” We talked for almost an hour. He shared his story, how he too was dyslexic. How his mom fought for him, just like I did for you. He assured me that he had your back, and he would do everything in his power to help you find your place. He was all things amazing, but he wasn’t the answer. Your academic frustration had drastically improved, but you were still struggling to feel like you fit in. And that made my heart hurt. You managed to make it through another school year, but it was hard, and we were exhausted.
Up next, 10th grade. Lord, please let this be a better year. We were quickly running out of time.
This blog continues with Sophomore Year - Another Year, Another Meeting.
Robin Beauchemin is a non-attorney special education advocate serving clients throughout the state of Connecticut.