Lifesaving
My husband and I adopted our twin boys when they were a mere seven months old. Ever since, people have been telling us how much one son looks like my husband and how the other looks like me.
TwinBoyA jumped into kindergarten with great enthusiasm. TwinBoyB hated the very idea of kindergarten. By second grade, TwinBoyB was sitting in the hallway getting additional help with math, while TwinBoyA was in another classroom, freaking out over timed math tests. Their handwriting was illegible and on Open House nights at school, I could compare their schoolwork on display with their classmates' work and see that they were lagging behind.
By fifth grade, I realized that things had gradually gone from disconcerting to seriously wrong. The second week of school, TwinBoyB's teacher called to say that TwinBoyB was failing every subject. We had his ears cleaned out and his eyes checked and bought him glasses and tethered him to the kitchen table for grueling homework sessions, but he struggled through the year. TwinBoyA had a compassionate, encouraging teacher, and he did great work (despite his scrawling handwriting with no spaces between the words and no regard for margins). That's why I didn't realize until the end of the year just how bad things were for him socially.
I asked him yesterday, "So, did the kids call you names the whole year last year?" He paused and looked out the window at the flat gray sky. He said, "Well, they didn't really call me names. They just made fun of me." I said, "Was it just the last year or two?" And he said, "Well, really the last three years."
And what I have to ask myself is this: Did I not notice them drowning? Couldn't I see their heads bobbing underwater? When the other kids splashed them until they couldn't breathe and pressed their faces into the water, why didn't someone intervene? Why didn't I intervene? Why didn't I see that it wasn't good-natured fun, but cruelty? How could a mother not see that her children were tiring and about to go under?
Well, I did finally pluck them out of the water. And I didn't even push anyone else under, though by then, I was tempted. I once overhead my son being mocked and ridiculed and I wanted to knock together the heads of the culprits. But I thought, it's all part of growing up.
No more. I won't let them sink or swim. Not until they are stronger swimmers, able to swim against the current and smart enough to avoid the jellyfish and driftwood. And the bullies.
I'm still reading a book about learning disabilities and as I read it ("A Mind at a Time", by Mel Levine) I cringe. What I have attributed to quirky genetics and annoying personality traits are probably actual learning disabilities, neurological impairments. I wonder how much of this is genetic? I wonder why the teachers at our acclaimed schools never investigated further? I wonder if my boys will actually grow up to be productive members of society? Or did I leave them floudering too long?
Our adopted sons do not look like my husband. Or me. They don't think like us, talk like us, walk like us, or resemble us in any way. But we are family and we will stick together, lashing ourselves to our life-raft if need be. I will not let these kids drown.
That's my job, the job I accepted without actually reading the contract. . . the one that says in fine print, "Please note. No refunds, no returns, no do-overs. Good luck and don't call us when you find out how poorly prepared you are."
TwinBoyA jumped into kindergarten with great enthusiasm. TwinBoyB hated the very idea of kindergarten. By second grade, TwinBoyB was sitting in the hallway getting additional help with math, while TwinBoyA was in another classroom, freaking out over timed math tests. Their handwriting was illegible and on Open House nights at school, I could compare their schoolwork on display with their classmates' work and see that they were lagging behind.
By fifth grade, I realized that things had gradually gone from disconcerting to seriously wrong. The second week of school, TwinBoyB's teacher called to say that TwinBoyB was failing every subject. We had his ears cleaned out and his eyes checked and bought him glasses and tethered him to the kitchen table for grueling homework sessions, but he struggled through the year. TwinBoyA had a compassionate, encouraging teacher, and he did great work (despite his scrawling handwriting with no spaces between the words and no regard for margins). That's why I didn't realize until the end of the year just how bad things were for him socially.
I asked him yesterday, "So, did the kids call you names the whole year last year?" He paused and looked out the window at the flat gray sky. He said, "Well, they didn't really call me names. They just made fun of me." I said, "Was it just the last year or two?" And he said, "Well, really the last three years."
And what I have to ask myself is this: Did I not notice them drowning? Couldn't I see their heads bobbing underwater? When the other kids splashed them until they couldn't breathe and pressed their faces into the water, why didn't someone intervene? Why didn't I intervene? Why didn't I see that it wasn't good-natured fun, but cruelty? How could a mother not see that her children were tiring and about to go under?
Well, I did finally pluck them out of the water. And I didn't even push anyone else under, though by then, I was tempted. I once overhead my son being mocked and ridiculed and I wanted to knock together the heads of the culprits. But I thought, it's all part of growing up.
No more. I won't let them sink or swim. Not until they are stronger swimmers, able to swim against the current and smart enough to avoid the jellyfish and driftwood. And the bullies.
I'm still reading a book about learning disabilities and as I read it ("A Mind at a Time", by Mel Levine) I cringe. What I have attributed to quirky genetics and annoying personality traits are probably actual learning disabilities, neurological impairments. I wonder how much of this is genetic? I wonder why the teachers at our acclaimed schools never investigated further? I wonder if my boys will actually grow up to be productive members of society? Or did I leave them floudering too long?
Our adopted sons do not look like my husband. Or me. They don't think like us, talk like us, walk like us, or resemble us in any way. But we are family and we will stick together, lashing ourselves to our life-raft if need be. I will not let these kids drown.
That's my job, the job I accepted without actually reading the contract. . . the one that says in fine print, "Please note. No refunds, no returns, no do-overs. Good luck and don't call us when you find out how poorly prepared you are."
posted by Melodee at Friday, January 07, 2005
4 Comments:
Yes, I believe your boys will grow up and be productive members of society....because they have you looking out for them. It is so easy to miss the distress signals, when they aren't given very clearly. You have seen them now though, so it is not too late.
It sounds to me like you are a great mom. It's so hard, you know? Several times we've brushed aside our daughter's complaints that her stomach hurts or whatever, only to find that she's actually sick. There's just no way to do it right all the time.
I've been reading "A Mind at a Time" too. It's the Staff Development Book Group book at my job this year and we've been discussing it at staff meetings. A lot of the teachers have found it an eye-opener. Including me.
Having a mom like you puts those boys on a level way above so many other children. They are fortunate to have someone looking out for them so diligently and lovingly.
I don't know if anyone is truly prepared for what parenting throws at them. But we can soak up the goodness, learn from the badness, shower our children with love, and grow in so many ways during the process.
Suzanne
I've read through a few posts and have enjoyed your writing - your use of tone in this was excellent.
Only de-lurking to admire! I may link to you so I can keep track.
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