With all of these distractions, we missed the fact Thorin was stealing the school blind. I think it was around the second week of school when he came home with a red sweatshirt that was not his. I was so used to being judged by professionals about my parenting abilities my first thought was, What the hell? They didn’t think I dressed him in enough layers?
I took the sweatshirt back the next morning and explained, “We do not need this. Thank you!”
On a daily basis, I was pulling clothes out of his backpack and returning them. I was feeling totally judged through the articles of clothing they were giving Thorin. I was a confused when I found a pink, frilly top in his backpack. Why on earth do they think he needs that?
Ward finally figured it out when he picked up Thorin from school one day and noticed he was cramming a sweater that wasn’t his into his backpack. Then it clicked: All the clothing he brought home hadn’t been given to him. He was taking it!
Ward asked, “Have you been taking things that aren’t yours?”
“Yesith!”
“Thorin you can’t do that.”
“Yesith, can.”
“Okay, yes you have been. But you have to stop now.”
Holy crap! How could I tell “them” that “The Hitter, Scratcher, Screamer” was also “The Klepto”? The next day I explained to the staff what we thought had been going on. They found the confusion mildly amusing and shared an observation they found puzzling. Thorin always seemed to be pulling things out of the lost-and-found box in the hall, insisting they were his. I assured them we were working on it.
As his thievery came to an end, I brought suspicion on myself the following month. I had agreed to volunteer at a weekend school event to try to engage with other mothers. It wasn’t like these women were The Real Housewives of Portland, Maine, exactly, but they weren’t what you could call friendly. During my volunteer shift, I was supposed to greet people coming in and hand them a flyer on the day’s events. Next to me were two racks filled with clothing. I assumed it was a clothing giveaway, so I started picking clothes that would fit Thorin. I had a pile going. One of the mothers came over to check in with me.
When she saw my stack of clothes, she said, “Wow! You found a lot in there.”
“I hope my son likes them.”
“Ah, that’s lost-and-found clothing.”
I started laughing nervously. “Oh, I misunderstood! I thought they were free clothes!”
She looked at me blankly.
“This must look funny—not ha-ha funny—but weird funny. I’m putting these back right now!” At that moment, I totally related to Thorin’s confusion about the lost and found.
As the school year progressed, we were encouraged by things happening at school. One morning, in particular, I had brought Thorin to school late so I walked him to his classroom. I thought I could quickly sneak him in and dash out. We entered the classroom, as quietly as possible, but one kid turned around and yelled, “Thorin!”
Bedlam ensued. Twenty-two kindergartners rose as one and ran toward us. I instinctively grabbed Thorin and backed up closer to the door. Screaming his name, they descended upon him. Ms. Charles and Lo-Lo flew into action—each calling out things, such as “Stop! Back to your seats!”
But, the kindergartners didn’t stop. He soon became lost in a huddle of five- and six-year-olds. I couldn’t see his face at one point and joined the other two adults in pulling the kids off him. Everyone settled back down after much direction by Ms. Charles: “No more! Let him sit down. Stop touching him. We’re going to get going again.” Thorin made his way to his desk and sat down. I never left my spot by the door.
Lo-Lo walked back to me. Smiling she said, “Overwhelming isn’t it?”
I nodded. “I guess any change really throws kids, huh?”
“Not changes, Thorin. That happens all the time.”
Without thinking I blurted, “Holy crap! He’s like Elvis!”
This made Ward and me feel relieved. We had worried about bullying, but instead Thorin was treated like a rock star. We assumed Thorin felt the same way about it.
I left the executive-director position at the film festival. I needed a job that was less demanding so I could focus more time on Thorin. I became a parent coach for a company that had previously sold a penile enhancement product. Yes, gross. On the face of, it seemed like a bad idea, but I did agree with the tenants of the parenting program they were now hawking. I was good at my job, and it was nice being a cog in a wheel rather than the wheel. My supervisor was in her thirties and said things such as, “Let’s co-create that idea.”
In an attempt to engage at the school, I volunteered to head up a parents’ advisory committee that was in need of a chair. The principal thanked me profusely. I was making a positive impression!
At our first meeting, we discussed areas we could develop for more support. I had an immediate thought that could help build inroads for Thorin and other children with disabilities at the school.
“I have an idea! What if we had a disability committee that did outreach and events just like the diversity committee does?”
It was as if I asked if anyone wanted to drop acid. No one responded. I was shocked.
“Um, no one thinks that’s a good idea?” I continued.
Finally, the principal said, “We don’t need that. We’re doing fine.”
A parent I had earlier pegged as a brownnoser chimed in, “I think we do a great job!”
I felt alone and could only imagine how Thorin felt at school. These same parents who were so careful in their approach to race and multiculturalism
