More Adventures in IEP Land

In thinking about where we are heading down this year's IEP path, I was reviewing some of my notes from past efforts. Man, some of this stuff brings back painful memories. One of the notes I'm reading right now has to do with comments that his then speech teacher was making about Sam. Demona, as I'll call her, was saying that she "wants him to care more" and wants him to "try a little harder". She had him figured out. Sam's problem had nothing to do with the fist sized brain tumor that had been removed years before. She knew a lazy kid when she saw one.

Without knowing Sam, it's hard to put the absurdity of these comments in context.

I asked Demona if she read his neuropsyc evaluation.
"That's a couple of years old.", Demona brushed it aside.
"Yes, but it talks about these issues being with him for the rest of his life. Did you read all of the other evaluations?", I asked. "It all backs it up."
Demona didn't answer. She wasn't going to be bamboozled by years of documentation saying otherwise. She knew the problem. Didn't matter what all of the other teachers said. Didn't matter what all of the other IEPs said.

Over the years, we spent a lot of time figuring out what the right balance of work is for Sam. Effort was never his problem. The issue wasn't (and isn't) getting good grades. The issue is, how can he best learn? Sam, would sit and try to do his assignments from the time he got home until bedtime. But he didn't get it. He didn't understand it. It might as well have been in a foreign language. You couldn't get him to break away even though he was going in circles. He would worry about getting all of his work done. And he would worry that it was done right. Left alone, he would have sat there all night, every night.

And it wouldn't end when he climbed into bed. I remember more than once, tucking him into bed and him looking up at me with that painful expression on his face, saying that maybe I could get him up early in the morning so he could try again. I would try to get him to relax, but I knew it would be futile. I would peek in on him hours later and he would still be awake, whispering to himself, worrying, and pulling at threads on his PJ's and socks. When he would wake up the next morning, he would leave a trail of treads as he went downstairs.

Despite Demona's "professional" opinion, effort was never the issue. Caring was never the issue. Being able to understand what he was looking at was the problem. He worked hard and he wanted to be successful. As his parent, I just wanted to help him learn and see that he gets support learning. It didn't matter to me if it took longer, and I didn't expect it to be made easy for him, just reachable.

So, what's the moral of this story? Beats me, but don't trust the judgement of someone named "Demona".