April 20, 2011

Spring


I have a love/hate relationship with spring in Texas.

I love it for the storms that roll in during the late afternoons, setting off a flurry of emailed warnings and text messages and little tornado icons in the corner of every local television broadcast. Giant walls of clouds shamble in from the west, flashing lightning and setting off car alarms with great grumbles of thunder. The tornado sirens wail in the distance, cranking up a few seconds apart as they're triggered in town after town, running from Frisco and Allen to the north, down through Plano and Richardson, slightly out of sync so that they sound like a choir of tormented ghosts. After a while, the wailing stops, and for a brief moment I am disappointed that the danger is over.

But no, the siren has stopped so that the monstrous voice can intone, clearly and with divine authority, "Seek shelter immediately! Seek shelter immediately!" And suddenly I am thrilled again, feeling that tingle that suggests that the world might still be an exciting place, and it might carry danger and death, or it might just be full of lightning and thunder and waves of horizontal rain from time to time. I ignore the mathematics of tornados, because if I think about the incredibly remote chances of actually experiencing one, even in Texas, then I'll be aware that it really is just rain, and thunder and lightning, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I love the storms, as only a renter can.

I kind of hate spring, too.

Spring is the season of IEP meetings, where we stretch Schuyler's monster out on a table and examine it, looking for signs of weakness that might be exploited, places where its hide might be pierced, even though every year we find that it is as inpenetrable as ever. Every spring, I find the enthusiasm and the "Why not?" of Schuyler's school has diminished just a little more, and the pragmatism and the downturned eyes and the "Here's why not..." has grown a little stronger in the passing year.

No one's talking about graduation anymore.

Spring is the season of the TAKS test, the Texas manifestation of No Child Left Alive, which for special needs kids invariably means "the test that you spend weeks preparing for even though you are probably going to fail it and no one believes you can pass it anyway, but Jesus Howard Christ, we are going to be ready for this motherfucker anyway, and sorry all your typical friends passed it but you didn't, but then again, you're DIFFERENT, and this is one more solid illustration of exactly how much that ISN'T a good thing, because you're not in Holland, you're in a place where you are measured against neurotypical kids, and it's not fair but it's the law, so let's take this shitty test, shall we?"

Schuyler did not pass the reading or math portions of the TAKS, we learned today. She didn't even come close.

I didn't tell her. I'm not sure if I ever will.

Well, I'm not so much worried about what comes next. Julie called the school principal (because we are Those Parents) a few minutes after I got the call from Schuyler's home room teacher telling me the bad TAKS news, in tones suggesting that the very best moment she could imagine in her future might be the one in which this phone call was over. The principal was supportive and reassuring, as she has always been.

I don't believe the school would try to hold Schuyler back from moving on to the next grade level, especially since I believe that their goals for her have shifted subtly from "she's going to graduate one day" to something more like "we're going to do the very best we can to teach her by exposing her as much information as we can, and maybe, just maybe, she'll absorb enough that her future will be, well, we don't know exactly, but maybe something good". They've become realists, in ways that we as Schuyler's Official Designated Overbelievers cannot.

I hate the test because it re-enforces something that Schuyler already knows. It tells her not to overbelieve. It tells her, and her teachers, and us, and I hope she refuses to listen but I wonder.

Spring is the season when we talk about all these things, and so in a very real sense, it's the season in which I despair.

This spring has been harder than most, with the added factor of possible seizures, the ones I've written about so much that I just don't want to anymore, and which will hopefully get THEIR spring portrait taken soon by Schuyler's neurologist. It's been hard for Schuyler because she's scared and frustrated and confused, she doesn't understand what is (maybe) happening to her body and her brain, which she thinks is mad at her. But her anxiety passes, and she finds joy in the world around her. She is anxiety-free ninety percent of the time, which I find comforting, even though last year it was probably ninety-five percent. I try not to project what next spring's percentage might be.

Of my own percentages, I dare not stop and take measure. Over the past six months or so, I have found that if I keep moving, if I just focus on Schuyler and try to toss the occasional bone to the dogs in my head so they don't bark so much, I'm okay. And that's enough for now.

One thing I love about spring is how it promises summer. Schuyler becomes impatient with school in a way that is extremely typical, I suspect. She begins asking about the pool, which inexplicably won't open for another few weeks, and when we walk through Target, she gravitates toward the swim suits, begging for a new one even though she simply cannot choose just one that she likes. Her skin already starts tanning, although this year she is left with strange little pale rings on her arms from the wristbands that she wears to discreetly address her drooling. She sees commercials on television for the newest roller coaster at Six Flags and says "Oh yeah!" before breathlessly begging to go, soon, tomorrow, now.

Schuyler's feelings about spring are pretty simple. She experiences spring and she thinks of the future. Unlike me, it doesn't scare the hell out of her. In that respect, I envy her, deeply.

21 comments:

amylia said...

"[...] It really is just rain, and thunder and lightning, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

ah, if only the same could be said of so many things.

Beautiful, poignant post, as ever (sad, too).

Thank you for this.

Elizabeth said...

Beautiful post -- I'm reminded of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem about spring which, for me, has always been the perfectly contrary poem. It's called "Spring" -- check it out.

Strength and courage with your heads down, is what I say about the rest. I know I have no real business saying so, but I think Schuyler will be fine despite the cruel and absurd machinations of the Powers That Be.

Rosanne said...

Rob, those tests measure only one thing, really: the child's ability to take tests. Schuyler is not a good test taker. You knew that before. You didn't expect her to be a good test taker. These tests really do not measure cognitive ability, nor do they compare her in any way to her "typical" friends.

Forget the tests. Let her go through high school with an IEP that says she can keep going, despite the tests. Maybe she'll stay an extra year, maybe not. She'll be in band, she'll develop friends. She will grow into whoever the adult Schuyler is meant to be.

Her future is still open and waiting. Be discouraged about the tests and then move on. When she's interviewed on her first book tour, she can laugh and then have her device say "Yeah and I never passed a single one of those bogus state tests!" It could happen.

Amy Lynn said...

Rob, I'm a sucky test taker, too. I was in advanced classes in elementary school, and got a whopping 30% every year on my reading comprehension standardized tests. Those things in no way define Schuyler's abilities.

Robert Hudson said...

Yeah, I know. The thing is, I'm not sure Schuyler would get that distinction, you know? On a fundamental level, she took some tests and she failed them. We can try our best to explain why that doesn't matter, but it's tricky, because school definitely matters. It's probably asking a lot for her to have the nuance to grasp that THIS test is bullshit, but the others that she takes in school are important.

kcdibble said...

Will Schuyler have to re-test? I'm sure that would add considerable stress to her (and you).

Becky Burdine said...

My brother, who really is a freakin genius, has ADHD, is dyslexic and can't take a test to save his life. School was a nightmare, but he made it through, and became an engineer. He's great at figuring out how things work because he sees the world differently.

The point is, he flunked a lot fo those comphrension exams in grade school. So tell that story to Schuyler if it would help. But I wouldn't tell her about the results at all. What would it accomplish? And I would argue with the school that these tests aren't relevant for her or how she needs to learn so she's not taking them anymore.

Also, I know you hate thinking about it, but absence seizures would really mess with your ability to take one of those test. The whole scenario isn't fair in any way.

I know you know all this, and it's easy for me to say given that no one would even think my child could take a test let alone insist on it.

I think we all understand and share your pain and wish we could help somehow. 8(

On another note, you captured perfectly how I feel about storms.

Robert Hudson said...

"Will Schuyler have to re-test? I'm sure that would add considerable stress to her (and you)."

We're going to meet with members of Schuyler's team in the next week or two to determine that. The retests take place in about a month.

Nicole P said...

I love that she's still wearing those wristbands. I thought they may be just a passing fad. But they're so super cool.

I wish there were words of comfort to lend, but I know there aren't. So, you know, I'll just say, I'm here for you if you need a friendly ear to vent with.

Robert Hudson said...

She wears them every day. She is meticulous about them.

Jenny said...

Even now, when Max is currently doing great in his special ed classroom, I am dreading the hell out of his IEP.

I wasn't sure why.

His teachers love him snd I think his teachers are great... but I was still dreading it.

This post really helped me figure out why. Because no matter how upbeat they are, they still have to go over all the ways Max is behind and different. Even though I live with it every day I try to focus on the things he can do. It hurts to see it spelled clinically like that.

Annie said...

Rob, I have 2 neuro-typical tests and I have never ever ever told them how they have done on the NCLB test given here. (And they do well). But I tell them what I believe: These tests, test only how good a job your school is doing. It's not your problem and you don't need to even think about how you do on this test at all." Don't you think Schuyler could get that idea.

Robert Hudson said...

That's pretty close to what we tell her. We ask her to do her best like she does in ever other aspect of school and leave it at that. No idea what they plan to tell her at school, though. I'm actually not entirely sure that WE are supposed to know how she did yet.

Anonymous said...

I read this last night and it was in my head all day today. This is one of the most beautifully written blog posts I've read in a long time.

This is only my second spring with an IEP, and I was already feeling the same sick dread you're describing here as I waited for ours this week.

I agree with everyone else who points out that tests measure test-taking ability. Test-taking skills are very useful for navigating the public education system, and that's nothing to sneeze at, but test scores are not predictors of future happiness, or success, or much of anything else.

But. No matter how much I believe all that, no matter how much I rationalize away the validity of the tests and villainize the test-creators and test-administrators and test-scorers, it still hurts like hell every time my kid is tested and found lacking.

Thanks for writing this.

Saorse Eilidh Care Lykins said...

Truly lovely, as usual. Yet another monster for your family. Over my years of parenting and educating children, both with Winter and my normal kiddos, I have learned one constant lesson: so many things are more important than education. What kind of people they become in their hearts and how they feel about themselves will carry them further in life than any piece of paper. YOU know what Schuyler can really do in a normal environment. Tell her that while it is important to DO her very best at everything in life, she doesn't have to BE the best at everything.

I have passed along The Stylish Blogger Award to you. You can see what it is on my blog. If you choose not to pass it on, that is absolutely fine. My choosing your blog rests in my belief that the things that you express here are important for helping people understand children like Schuyler and Winter; I wanted to bring a few more people to your site.

Anonymous said...

Rob!

Jim from CT here. How the hell are ya, buddy?

Schuyler looks more beautiful and more like Julie every time I see her pictures.

I am sorry to read that seizures may be starting.

This might not be news to you but the TV news in our area carried a story about a new treatment being tried, with some success, that cuts sugar out of the diet. This forces the body to produce and the brain to burn Ketones instead of Glucose. In some cases this has had a dramatic reductive effect on seizure occurrence and severity.

The treatment must be supervised by a nutritionalist to limit the possibility of malnurishment.

I am not sure if this will help or not with The Chubbin but I thought I would pass it on.

Either way, my best to you and your ladies.

Your friend and old workmate Jim/Hank.

P.S.
I will get that book signed, dammit!
Just you come as close to CT as PA and see if I don't. LOL.

Robert Hudson said...

Jim! I actually got all teary-eyed when I saw it was you. I am apparently turning into a weepy old woman. Please give my best to the fam.

Anonymous said...

I miss you too, buddy.

I gave MY best to my wife last night, does that count?

Heh, heh, heh... (I know how you HATE when I use the ellipsis incorrectly LOL)

Nettie teared up when I showed her the more recent pics of your beautiful little girl, pardon me, your beautiful young woman… not Julie… your OTHER beautiful young woman.

I guess that means that you are turning into a pretty, young-ish, petite asian woman. Nothing wrong with that. The more the better.

Anonymous said...

Hi Rob.

This is Annette

Jim showed me the pictures of Schuyler playing soccer and I have to know where she got such long legs.

I can't believe she is 11. Schuyler is absolutely beautiful, Rob.

Keri said...

Rob, can Schuyler opt out of these tests? One of the reasons I homeschool is because of the standard testings done in schools but I know parents have the right to decline their child to take the test here in Vermont. I don't know about Texas, though...

Robert Hudson said...

She can't opt out, no. She can take a modified test with fewer answers and clearer wording (which always makes me wonder if the regular version is intentionally obtuse), but she has to take it.