When Mo entered Early Childhood Special Ed (when she turned three and officially beyond the special needs preschool she went to before that) we had our first IEP meeting.
Personally, I don't think a kid should have to be autistic, or otherwise academically challenging, to have an IEP. Every student probably ought to have one: it makes the parents and teachers focus for a few minutes on what would really bring out the best in that particular kid, and just because a kid is neurologically typical doesn't mean that attention would be wasted.
Anyway, at an IEP, one of the things you discuss is goals. The parents, teachers, therapists, administrators, and so on, all have a say in this, in part because pretty much everyone has to sign off on the finished plan, and because thanks to IDEA (a well-intentioned though often over-reaching piece of legislation), the IEP is legally binding. Technically, if I wanted to spend the money on lawyers, if it rains and Mo gets wet, I can take action if this wasn't in the IEP. And while we have an awesome school district that's been very easy to work with, and a string of really exceptional teachers, there's been a couple times where the moxie of IDEA was useful in dealing with, for instance, the bus company.
But back to that first IEP: She was three years old, had lost virtually all language by 18 months and no much had been regained despite extensive therapy and whatnot. One of the goals on that first IEP was that Mo learn to use scissors.
It's a life skill, we were told. I signed off on it, so did the artist formerly known as Frau Lobster. Scissors, who wouldn't need to use them?
Fast forward the tape to the day when Mo got hold of a pair of scissors and cut her pants into Incredible Hulk remnants; the day she got annoyed with her bangs and started hacking at her hair, cutting the bangs all the way to the root so the only haircut that made it look intentional was somewhere between Annie Lennox and Liza Minnelli.
Or the day Lewis, the bear Em was most attached to, committed hari-kari at Mo's hands.
Meanwhile, the kid could not tie her own shoes. She's smart enough to defeat childproofing measures that baffle adults with engineering backgrounds, yet even times when you could tell she wanted them tied so she could do the next thing, she'd look at the laces the way I look at beautiful women: I want certain things to happen but I have no clue what mechanism causes these things or how it's put in motion.
How many times did I wish I could trade her useless and destructive knowledge of scissors for the ability to tie her own shoes?
Today, Mo tied her own shoe. Singular, one shoe, but damn, its about time! I was so excited I bought her popcorn chicken from Sonic.
1 comment:
I don't know exactly how to say this, but you're a hell of a dad. I see and hear stories about families that have autistic children, but it's your blog that I read most consistently. Every time you write about Mo and Em, it's a picture window into your life and the triumphs and struggles you come across. I don't know if I can say it any better than that, but as far as I can see and know, you're the ideal parent of an autistic daughter. God bless ya.
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