a proposal for beginning well {since it’s the first day of school}

Okay, let’s admit it:  When it comes to our kids, we can be fierce.  Protective, sensitive, and commanding, even.  As a group, we’ve been knocked around a bit by “the system,” and we can smell the runaround from a mile away.  We’re not new to advocating, and we’re seasoned fighters.  One of us says, “But now, mess with my kids, and,” and another of us nods in agreement.  It’s these realities about us and our parenting that make us strong, committed, invested, resourceful, and willing to hang in despite formidable odds.  As a community, we can, will, and have harnessed this Dragonish Force to build an excellent school for our children.

But the same facts that offer us considerable collective strength could, if not carefully guarded, also cause us to crumble from within.

Every time my children start at a new school, I have to start all over establishing a relationship with educators and specialists, and it hasn’t always been easy.  I guess teachers and administrators encounter so many different kinds of parents that it takes a while for them to figure out which kind I am, whether or not I’m invested, educated, aware, resourceful, reasonable, and patient (among many other things) and to what degree.   Generally, I’m a very positive, open person.  I try to be kind and compassionate to everyone, but mess with my kids, and…Well, you know.

When my daughter Riley entered sixth grade, I gave her core teachers exactly two weeks to discover and read all of her paperwork—IEP, medical orders, etc—before I asked for a conference. I wanted to be sure they were aware of her needs.  I waited one week, and only one, before I sent an email to the team, introducing myself and throwing out that since my greatest concern was that she would not be able to take notes well (motor planning, and all that), I had purchased a small voice recorder for her to bring to class, and I wonder if she could go ahead and start recording classes?  I told them we could call an IEP meeting about this, of course, but I preferred that she not miss any important instruction.  They kindly and promptly replied that they would be happy to discuss the recording possibility at their next team meeting, but that in the interim, I should not worry.  Apparently all of the kids were just learning note taking, and all of the teachers would be posting their notes online for easy accessibility.  Excellent.  Except I looked every day, and one of the teachers never  posted any notes.   I waited.  And I waited.  I remembered the advice I have given for years to groups of parents transitioning their kids from Pre-K classrooms to elementary-level programs: Don’t begin with the assumption that you have to fight.  Go in to the first meeting believing these professionals intend to do their best for your student.  Believe that until you have good reason to believe otherwise.  I knew that beginning on the offensive can undermine the strenth of the team.  I had heard some of my favorite teachers say that it immediately puts them on the defensive and makes them less comfortable suggesting new approaches. So, I repeated this mantra in my head: Be patient.  Believe the best.  Be patient.  Believe the best.  And I waited.  Days gave way to a week.  And another.  Still, no notes.  And my daughter, with her compromised communication abilities, could not tell me anything she was learning in that class when I asked.  A week later, the teacher gave a quiz, and my daughter  failed it.  I was not happy.  And I became that parent.  I called an IEP team meeting and took all of my binders to school—all of my documentation—and plunked it on the table in front of me.  I pushed a piece of paper across the table.  Here’s what I want.  Not only now did I want printed notes, I also wanted copies of the textbooks.  I wanted them to allow her to record class lectures.  I wanted study guides before tests.

In retrospect, I know that my approach to this whole situation wasn’t all bad.  Sometimes as parents of exceptional children, especially in the traditional school setting, we have to show our claws a little to see our children receive the interventions they need. Sometimes, our IEP teams have not been teams at all.  Sometimes, no one reads the paperwork unless you call a conference.   But my approach wasn’t all good either.  Here’s what I discovered:

I didn’t have all of the information before I went into “crazy mom” mode.  I looked across the table, and the teacher in question looked a little stunned.  As we talked, I could tell he was a friendly guy.  He explained that it was his first year teaching Social Studies, but that he wanted it to be fun.  “My class doesn’t involve a lot of note taking,” he said.  “We have discussions, do activities; it isn’t all sitting and listening.  And I’m not so worried about the tests.  I give them the option to correct them later and raise the grade.”

I didn’t ask enough questions before I started making demands.  In the meeting, I asked the question that was most immediately on my mind: Hmm, so how is my daughter supposed to learn anything concrete?  Her challenges make it hard for her to make inferences.  Asking the question opened up a whole discussion about how to help Riley learn concrete things in new ways, an approach that would be good for her socially and help her build skills in weak areas.  Some of my demands would have forced her teacher to use methods that would actually be less meaningful to her in the longterm.  At the same time, her teachers readily agreed that other things on my list were important.

I didn’t give our teachers enough time to learn the students before I jumped in.  Riley’s teacher explained that in the first month of school, the sixth grade teachers really give the kids a lot of room to learn the ropes.  “This is all new to them,” he said.  “In the first week, we’re mostly just trying to help them learn how to open lockers and change classes and balance the new expectations that come with middle school.  We try to get to know them first, before we take in all the impressions of teachers they have had in the past.”  I realized that the teachers had more patience with the students than I had shown with them in those early weeks.  I had gone against my own good advice and had assumed my daughter would be overlooked and that no one would read her paperwork.  I had expected to have to prove myself as a parent.  And so, from the beginning, my behavior set things in motion to see those expectations become a reality.   In truth, the teachers were trying to learn their students and get to know them first, to give them a chance to make a fresh start.  They wanted to believe the best and expect the most before they had good reason not to do so.

It is always a good thing to advocate for our children, always important to be sure that we do everything we can to give them the best opportunity for success.  The fierce dedication we have to our kids is one of the things that gives us, our children, and now their new school a very strong foundation for building.  And at DCCS, we have the rare opportunity to decide to work together well from the very first day the doors open:  today.  We have the opportunity to build something very special.  At this school, we have one assurance from the start:  Everyone invested—from Board members, to administrators, to teachers, to staff members, to parents–cares about our children and their needs.  Everyone wants to see our children succeed and grow and learn.  That’s the reason this school exists.  Yes, we can expect that all the paperwork will be read and that the interventions needed will be offered.  But we’re all involved in something new—new to the students, new to the staff, and new to us—and learning each other and tweaking our processes will take time.  In order to see it all unfold in the most constructive way, we all may need to retrain our thinking a bit and retract the parental claws for a while.  Ultimately, what we’re doing here will be better still if we can resolve together to be patient; believe the best; ask questions first, before making demands (our teachers welcome emails!); and give our teachers ample time to learn their students before we come in plunking down all our documentation.

So, in light of all this, I think  it makes sense, on the very first day of school, to propose a CIP for all of us, the families who love these extraordinary DRAGONS.  I know, it’s an IEP they each have (or will), but I honestly couldn’t figure out how to make those letters say what I wanted, because ultimately, this is about community investment that leads to an excellent individual education for every student.

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Community Investment Program

Name: Dragon Families

School: Dynamic Community Charter School

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Present Level(s) of Achievement and Functional Performance:  As a community, the DCCS Dragon families have assembled in parent committees and offered their resources and talents to help build an innovative educational environment in which our students can thrive.  When faced with a considerable challenge to raise $100,000 in one month to open our school on time, Dragon families joined the Board and other members of the community at large to raise over $105,000.  Dragon families remained unified and committed.  Some Dragon families still need to get involved.  Dragon families still need to practice community investment in every way possible, including but not limited to exploring long term fundraising opportunities.

Dragon families need to do everything they can to support our school from the beginning, as it opens, and also as it continues to grow, change, develop, and make progress.  Dragon families need to recognize and continue to understand their very significant role in buiding our Dynamic Community.

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Annual Goal

Functional Goal

Dynamic Community Charter School Dragon families will exercise patience and offer gracious support to our professional staff and our Board of Directors as we embark on our first school year together.

Benchmarks or Short-Term Objectives

1. Given a missed detail, such as an intervention not immediately recognized or remembered, parent will exercise patience in 4 out of 5 trials.  Parent will remember that waiting for a brief time (which is actually an active, not a passive behavior) allows challenged individuals a better opportunity to succeed.

2. Given an initially confusing exchange, conversation, or gap in communication, parent will believe that the professional staff at Dynamic Community has the best interests of every student at heart in 4 out of 5 trials.  Many of us have experienced advocacy as a battle instead of a team effort.  At Dynamic, we’re building a school where advocacy for all of our children is a community effort.  This isn’t “the same old thing,” so let’s not treat it that way.  Parent will remember that with eccentricity, “awkwardness,” and difficulties with communication come brilliance, resourcefulness, and exceptional potential.  These hidden qualities are more readily discovered in a safe, accepting environment.

3. Given unforeseen “hiccups” in scheduling or initially unmet expectations, parent will ask questions before making assumptions about what has been decided, planned, or intended in 4 out of 5 trials.  Parent will remember that if every day at home carries with it unanticipated challenges, “unreasonable” meltdowns, and small, but significant, gains, then every day for our new school will also include the same.

4. Given a list of significant goals and measures of progress, parent will remember and practice  the “one step at a time” or “first this, then that” approach to improvement in 4 out of 5 trials.

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Describe how progress toward the annual goal will be measured: Data collection by way of smiles on the faces of our staff members, Board members, and invested members of our community; through the amount of enthusiasm with which we mutually celebrate even the smallest milestones and evidence of progress among us; in the success, progress, and thriving of every DCCS student.