The meeting went better than expected. Ms. Shay ran the show and called people to account. Mrs. Bruce could not get away with saying Thorin was not her student. But what she did do was lie about her role; she said she had been facilitating inclusive practices. When asked if she had provided class plans to Ms. Alice for modification, she said she did provide them.
Ms. Alice responded, “That’s not true. You do not give me lesson plans.”
Go Ms. Alice! From the look on her face, I could see she was as about done with Mrs. Bruce as we were.
Ms. Shay asked, “Why aren’t you providing the plans?”
Mrs. Bruce didn’t say anything, but Ms. Alice did. “You don’t do your plans until the day of class.”
Ms. Alice went on to explain she had facilitated inclusive classrooms in the past. She outlined how an inclusive classroom operated and explained the roles of the teachers and Ed Techs. She was clearly excited by being in a role she was supremely qualified to fill. Her enthusiasm was contagious. I would ask questions of her from the paraprofessional book that I had on my lap. Ms. Shay, the district person, took copious notes, smiled, nodded, and said, “Great stuff!” I saw the principal, who was seated to my left, lean in to write down the title of the book I was holding.
As the meeting drew to a close, I became less enthusiastic. The responsibility of planning the classroom and coordinating with the summer school teachers was given to Mrs. Bruce and Mr. Trask—Mrs. Do Nothing and Mr. Know Nothing. Ward and I tried to be positive. Ms. Alice had been assigned as Thorin’s Ed Tech for summer school, which would begin in a month and half.
Two days later, I was called into a meeting at work and told I had been laid off along with sixteen other people.
Given how plans in the past hadn’t shaken out the way promised, I went to the school the day before summer school started while Thorin visited with Bubba. I found the summer teacher, and she told me she hadn’t heard from Mrs. Bruce or Mr. Trask about a plan. I knew those two wouldn’t be able to pull that kind of coordinating off. Ms. Alice should have been placed in charge, but she hadn’t; even though she had more education and experience, she had the title Ed Tech.
In lieu of receiving plans for Thorin, this summer school teacher had taken it upon herself to create a plan for Thorin. Each day, Thorin would be allowed to attend the morning meeting, and in the late morning, he would join the regular class for an experiential science project. The remaining three hours of the day, he would work alone with an Ed Tech in another room.
When I heard the plan, I notified Ms. Shay and the principal that Thorin would not be attending summer school. We fell for it again! I think one of our worst characteristics as parents was our enduring hope the school would do right by Thorin. We were banging our heads against a brick wall. The school could not do better by Thorin whether it was because of their ignorance or their resistance. Or both.
When Ms. Alice arrived for summer school, she heard what happened. Then, she did an amazing thing. In forty-five minutes, she created an inclusive summer experience that she got the teachers to happily accept. The next day, Thorin and I went to check it out. He agreed to try it.
Soon the insomnia, the crying, the school refusal, and wetting himself started. He began wetting the bed at home, too. I was called to the school by one of the receptionists who told me Thorin had wet himself three times that morning.
Ms. Alice was out sick that day, and I was met by a substitute aide. She explained what had transpired during the morning. As Thorin went to get his things from his locker, she said kindly, “I don’t think he wants to be here.” The simplicity of her statement struck me. That may have been the truest thing ever expressed about Thorin in the school.
When he got into the car with me, Thorin said, “I will wet and wet to leave.”
“Oh, Thorin . . .”
He cried, “No, Mommy! You do more for me, please.”
That was a mouthful for any kid but more so for Thorin. It was if the sheer frustration of two years were pushed out of his mouth, demanding I do something.
I told Thorin I had to make a quick call. I stepped out of the car and moved several feet away. Ward answered.
“I want to tell Thorin right now that we are homeschooling.”
“Do it.”
“We’re okay?”
“We’re okay.”
When I got back in the car, I turned to face Thorin. “Okay you don’t have to go to school anymore.”
“Good! Thank you!”
“We’ll do school at home. You can learn reading, writing, and math, everything with me.”
It was done. It felt wonderful. That calm that had eluded me for so long was back. That night, Ward and I talked about the logistics of homeschooling. We had started saving money ever since Thorin came into our life. That money was being put aside for his future when we weren’t here.
Ward pointed out, “You don’t have a job. Thorin’s future is now.”
“Can we do this?”
“Yes. You homeschool. We live on less money. That’s not such a big problem.”
We rented and didn’t have car payments. All of sudden, it seemed like a low-risk proposition with high rewards.
I emailed the school the next morning that Thorin was not returning and would be homeschooled. I went to the school alone to get Thorin’s materials from Mrs. Holt and Ms. Alice. Mrs. Holt handed me his speech folder.
“Tell Thorin I will miss him, okay?”
“Of course I will.”
Ms. Alice handed me his writing and reading folders. She also gave me a plastic bag filled with laminated cards, each with a
