Well, we have only today and tomorrow left and I haven’t even
touched on the biggest change that happened this past year.
The rest of last summer was fantastic. Coleman’s mood and health were both at their
best. School was going well, home
services were going well, and weekends were going well. It was beautiful. Coleman was entirely enjoying the social
group, and each Sunday he would eagerly ask about his schedule: “First school Monday, and then Social Group
Tuesday?” I’d confirm it for him and
he’d smile widely, repeating as he walked away, First school Monday then Social Group Tuesday. By Tuesday morning he was giddy with anticipation,
and as soon as he climbed into the car from school, he’d exclaim, “You have
social group today!”
As the summer drew to a close, I started to prepare Coleman
that the social group would be ending. Understanding
that things come to an end has always been hard for him, and this was no different. Despite our efforts to prepare him, the last
day came and went, and the following Sunday he said as usual: “First School
Monday and then Social Group Tuesday?” I
tried to explain it to him again, but he was confused and asked again on both
Monday and when he got into the car after school on Tuesday. “Social Group is over, buddy” I reminded
him. “That means we can’t go there anymore. But we’ll try to find a new social group for
you soon.” He was alternately mad and
sad, but as the afternoon wore on he became used to it. Still, the following week it was the same
thing over again. He went through his
ritual of words starting on Sunday, and again on Monday, and each time I
reminded him it was over. It seemed to
sink in finally because on Tuesday, after school, he climbed into the car,
looked at me and stated sadly “You don’t have social group anymore.” Ah, my
heart. “I’m so sorry Buddy but that’s right.” And he turned away and said nothing for the
rest of the hour and a half ride home.
I knew that day it was time for a change. We needed to find
a school for Coleman that moved away from the intensity of one-on-one
instruction, and offered something closer to what the social group had
offered: time with other kids.
I started making calls the very next day, and before long, I
had a short list. We had to inform the
town which made the entire process incredibly stressful. When you have fought hard to get your
placement, it’s with extraordinary apprehension that you consider changing
it. But we felt strongly that Coleman
needed a program more geared to socialization so we forged ahead. Over the next few weeks we looked at several
different schools - all of them offered something, but none jumped out as spectacular. And then I learned about a program in our
neighboring town, Scituate.
I scheduled a visit, and I asked Katy (from the Social Group)
if she would join me which she graciously agreed to do. I loved her perspective and her approach. She saw Coleman through the lens of potential,
and I needed someone like that with me.
I loved the Scituate program immediately.
There were roughly 13 kids in the class – that alone I knew Coleman
would love. And they moved around the
building quite frequently – another thing he would love. And they had gym together! And art! And a garden!
And it was in our community. It
was just one of those things that felt right.
As we toured the program, Katy and I kept smiling at each other like ooh he would love this! Towards the end, we sat with the two teachers
that led the Scituate group. Unfortunately, they told us, based on a review
of his records, Coleman was not considered a good fit for the program. They were concerned about his behaviors. I let out a sigh of disappointment as I searched
for the words to say. “He’s really a
good boy” is what came out first. And
then “I think maybe he finds the long ride to school and lack of peer
engagement frustrating and is bored to tears with one-on-one discreet trials.” We talked a bit about that, about Coleman’s
overall health and the implications, and then Katy chimed in. “I think Coleman needs someone to believe in
him. He needs someone to give him a chance
to prove that he can be more than he is. He is a little guy that has faced a mountain
of obstacles. I truly think if you just
meet him you will feel differently.” Can
you imagine for a moment how beautiful it was to listen to those words? To hear someone, who believes in your boy as
much as you do, implore others to believe in him too? She is a gift, I tell you. A gift.
The Scituate team listened.
“Ok. We’ll meet him. But no promises.”
They called me the next day:
Can you come tomorrow with Coleman?”
Holy bananas, I was hoping I would have time to prep my guy – give him
some story, get him used to the idea, I don’t know – just somehow make sure he
was on his A-Game – but there was no time, and I was lucky that had agreed to
see him at all, so I responded “Of course” and we agreed to meet the next
morning at 9.
You know I went full-on Prayer girl, right? I leaned on everyone I knew – even put it on
Facebook – to please say a prayer for my guy.
And we tried to be all butterflies and rainbows about it with Coleman. “Hey, you know, tomorrow we’re going to meet
some new friends!” I was all positive,
all good energy, like I was taking him on a trip to Disney. I'm not ashamed to say I even used the social group as a way
to get him to want to go: “It’s sort of
like a new social group! New kids and a
new place! It will be fun!” Anything.
Just let him be on his best behavior.
And he was. It was
flat out amazing. He was happy,
happy. Loved being there. Loved the
kids. And a second visit the following week
was the same. He loved being there. And they seemed to love him too. As we walked toward the door to leave after
that second visit, the team said “You were right. We think he’ll be a great match and we’d love
to have him. We’ll be in touch with a formal
letter and we hope you’ll accept.”
We did and in December, Coleman bid farewell to the teachers
and staff he has known for the last four and a half years and on Jan 6th
began his first day at Scituate High School.
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