When traditions come from a broken place, though, they can still have their unique ceremony and their own kind of charm. We don't think of them as having anything to do with disability until later, if at all.
Today Schuyler came home from her final day of classes, backpack full of the detritus of the fifth grade. She took off her shoes and threw them in her closet, and I'll be surprised if they see the light of day again before September. We went through her stuff and read through the comments written in her yearbook by her friends and teachers. I was happy to see that they pages were mostly full.
And then, as we've done every year of her school life, we got out her speech device and changed a setting on a page of pre-programmed often-used phrases, now telling the world that she is in the sixth grade.
This year, we got to change the school, too.
"I am in the sixth grade."