For the last three years I have lamented
my son’s choice to attend the neighborhood high school. I thought then, and still do, that there were
better choices for him both in the district and in non-traditional
options. Every year it was the same
heated discussion, and every year my son’s mental well-being outweighed my
maternal instinct and better knowledge.
But I always knew at the end of it there would be a high school
graduation complete with senior pictures, invitations, yearbook and class ring.
I admit that I probably should have put
my foot down hard and not given him any options, but I didn't for a handful of
reasons including, bullying, isolation, depression, and happiness. My son was miserable at the school, but he
knew people there. There are many
shoulda, coulda, woulda moments; but no one else lived in my home and watched a
happy, brilliant child crumble. It was
me who looked into those once-bright eyes to see desperation, fear, hurt and
anger. It was me who heard this child
beg to stay in that school just so he didn’t have to start over – again. It was me holding an emotionally battered and
broken boy in my arms as he sobbed and beat himself up again and again. Each and every time I did one of those things
it broke my heart and my will; I could not knowingly subject my child to more
of the same. Moving him to a different
school, while best in many ways, would have been the worst thing emotionally
and psychologically. So he stayed, and
we moved mountains to make sure he could.
Earlier this week my son floated the
idea that he leave school and not graduate with his class. He still intended to get his diploma, just
through alternative means. You see he is
feeling overwhelmed and, in his words, stupid; he is failing his junior year
and he shouldn’t be. He missed a bit of
school this year due to injury, he got behind and has never been able to catch
up. A lot of that rests on his
shoulders, and he accepts, and bears, the responsibility willingly. As a parent I place some of that on the
shoulders of the teachers; the ones who would not work with him. The ones who, when approached for help
because he missed the lesson, told him they taught it once he needed to get
notes from someone. The ones who told
him to come for tutorials then didn’t show up – on five different
occasions. And the ones who, because he
missed the classroom portion, moved him to the hallway for the activity portion of
the lesson. And to the one who saw the
struggle and the effort and offered a hand, I am grateful.
So now that I have the opportunity to
put my son in a different environment to finish high school, why does it bother
me? He doesn’t care about graduating in
cap and gown with friends and family watching.
Why does it matter to me? When he
told me that all he was trying to do was finish school to make me happy, why
did I cry? Why is my heart broken that
after buying a class ring, my son won’t be graduating from that very school? Is it because we fought so hard to keep him
in that school and now it’s for nothing?
Is it because of the inevitable comparisons to other kids’ high school
happenings and college planning? Or is
it because I feel as though I have failed to do the right thing for my child
and now feel like I don’t know what the right thing is?
I truly don’t have the answer. What I do know is that I cried myself to
sleep that night, mourning the loss of his dreams and my dreams for him. I’m working on a new dream and although I’m not
certain what our next step is or how we get there.
