Sophie was applying her third layer of mascara (mostly to her lashes) and muttering under her breath.
“I’m taking a big risk today.”
“What?” I asked, looking away from traffic for a second.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
“No, tell me,” I urged. “Did you say, `I’m taking a big risk today’?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, because cheer tryouts begin this afternoon?”
“No, because choir auditions are today at school. Can I put on a song?”
She grabbed my phone and cranked High School Musical, as if on cue.
This is high school — so far, anyway — for Sophie. There’s a lot of good. And there’s some not-so-good. Yesterday I hung up the phone with the director of special ed for the school and wondered, am I doing this even remotely right? Am I asking for enough? Too much? What does this guy think — of me, of Sophie? He laughed a little when I said Sophie was trying out for cheer. What did that mean? Pride? Nerves? Something else?
My current requests: I asked if the speech therapist could work with Sophie on non-verbal social cues, with the hope of limiting what can only be called stalking. If you are the object of Sophie’s affection, watch the fuck out. If you are a teenage boy trying to navigate high school and Sophie simultaneously, I feel for you. But I’m also not your hugest fan when I hear that your phone — texts, Snapchat, Instagram — is suddenly “not working.” I do, however, get it. But could someone else — like an adult — get it, and try to fix it, or at least smooth it over?
Isn’t there any way for the best buddies group to find Sophie some peers to have meaningful friendships with? I asked the special ed director. He said yes, acting like I hadn’t been begging for this at meetings all year. (To be fair, he’s only been at the school since January, so he’s only heard me beg once or twice. The rest of the team has been hearing it all year.)
We’ll see. Sophie is still happy at school — my main goal. It’s only freshman year. Eventually she’ll make it onto the cast of a school play or even onto the cheer line, right? She’ll make a real friend, yes?
Yesterday a friend of mine posted on Facebook, asking if anyone with a kid at her daughter’s high school would be willing to sit with her kid — who has special needs — at an event for seniors. I saw that and cringed and realized that that “yes” is not a given.
My friend’s post concluded:
I also understand this is your senior’s final hurrah, too. I respect their privilege to enjoy their last few weeks without feeling the need to embrace an outsider. No guilt. No pressure. Truly. I’m so excited for this chapter to close. Cheers, friends. We’ve lived through 4 years.
I hate to think that all Sophie will do is live through the next 3-plus years. But I’m at a loss. What should I expect? What should I do? I need help.
And so, friends, I’m crowdsourcing. Tell me your stories — here in the comments, on Facebook, message me at amysilvermanaz@gmail.com and I’ll put together a post. What worked for your high school-aged kid? What didn’t work?
What should inclusion in high school look like, anyway?