It is a blur.
Smudged in my eyes and ears by my then five-year-old son’s crying.
Shrieking. No attempts at shielding his fear and horror as he stood in a corner.
Surrounded by men, towering over him, keeping him there.
I reached between them and relieved my son of their imprisonment.
Another day, another time, called to school because of his behavior.
Shrieking. No attempts at shielding his fear and horror as he stood in a corner.
My heart beat now, stuttering, rising still in my chest, ten years later.
“He insisted on swinging” someone said as I held his quivering, still
Crying self on my lap. Intuitively I rocked him, held his ear to my heart.
Smudged in my eyes and ears by the cause of his being held prisoner
In a corner with a school psychologist and an administrator as jailers
Was his desire to swing? A roar, again, in my ears.
Wait his desire to swing? On that swing, to the north of the slide?
My daughter reported seeing him dragged across campus.
(later I would learn swinging calms the vestibular sense for spectrum kids)
It is a blur. I question my accuracy but I remember quite clearly.
Another day, another time, called to school because of his behavior.
This was all because he wanted to swing.
“He insisted on swinging” someone said as I held his quivering, still
And he wanted routine.
He begged his teacher to let him stay with the other children.
Another day, another time, called to school because of his behavior.
Sent home, again. Not educated, again. My fault they inferred, again.
And he needed to feel safe. “I like him” his teacher said
“He doesn’t behave like this at home.” I said.
Silent glares. My then five-year-old son’s crying.
Crying self on my lap. Intuitively I rocked him, held his ear to my heart.
Smudged in my eyes and ears by my then five-year-old son’s crying.
And he was punished. He begged his teacher -
For something kindergarten educators.
Shrieking. No attempts at shielding his -
Another day, another time, called to school because of his behavior.
Should have recognized. It is a blur.
My heart beat now, stuttering, rising still in my chest, ten years later.
School psychologist. Notorious. Don’t tell me he couldn’t see what this was.
Must have recognized
Oh my. You bring up memories of my five-year old ADHD son in kindergarten and my 13-year old ADHD granddaughter recently terrorized by middle school Administrators. Awaken people! 💔
Posted by: Pam Reeves | April 05, 2018 at 11:01 AM