Reevaluate, for the first time
As every year, I received an invitation to Pearlsky’s classroom for a Cinco de Mayo lunch. They do a special family lunch a few times a year. I go. I hate going.
It is tough just walking through the high school. The hallways are always full of normal kids. I have to make my way to Pearlsky’s classroom, where all the kids are higher functioning than she is. But I go, the dutiful special-needs-special-meal-mother that I am.
I am in the room a few minutes and a woman walks up to me and asks “Are you Pearlsky’s father?” I say “yes” and offer a handshake.
I am Dr. Smith, the school psychologist and I will be doing Pearlsky’s psych reevaluation
You do realize she has never had anything like this done, right?
Yes.
Then why are you calling it a “reevaluation”?
I asked again, just got funny looks. This really is the woman I trust to psychologically evaluate Pearlsky. For what end? Who knows.
I am in line for the buffet of what appears to be Mexican food that, we are told, was made with the help of the students.
The woman on line in front of me comes up to a large bowl of tortilla chips and there does not appear to be tongs or any “proper” way to take some. She looks around, then looks at me, and asks “Do you think it’s ok to use my fingers?”
“You do realize that the kids were very intimately involved in making the salsa and everything else. Picture that. Now ask me again if I am worried about your fingers.”
She used her fingers.
While on line, I see this on the wall:
Number 3 is “One person talks at a time”
This is the largest sign in the room.
I hope and pray Pearlsky can’t read.
I smiled. I kissed Pearlsky. I got a slice of pizza on the way back to work.
You are such a good dad and a better human being than most.
Thanks, Gimky. Glad I didn’t mention that after the pizza I kicked a puppy. 😉
I wish that I’d been one of the mothers in the room, and I would have pulled a small flask of margaritas out of my purse and poured you one in a Dixie Cup. Then we could have grabbed our girls and run out.
Psychologist. The psychologist assigned to our son (which we didn’t ask for, and I’m confused about the need for) would turn up occasionally, observe a little bit, tell us supposed lore about Autistic children that has nothing to do with the way our son is, then go away. At least he did no real harm I suppose, apart from consuming funding.
Well, I was a high school principal for 30 years and thankfully retired in 2006. Public schools have a fundamental incapacity to understand kids with severe and complex needs. A speech therapist worked with my son daily and got NOWHERE in 8 years, didn’t know crap about transitioning from tube to oral. His physical therapist tugged and pulled and we all know stretching spastic muscles increases spasticity. The dumb stander exacerbated his scoliosis. We fired our OT because she want surgery on his wrists for hygiene purposes. The problem is these “therapists” and teachers were all trained in schools where the severely disabled are in such a small minority.
The worst part of this fiasco is that I was the principal of the school he was planted at; powerless because of clueless sped administrators who control the purse strings. Oh, yeah, we had psych evals years…the bearded psychopath took Adam for a 10 minute stroll in his wheelchair and wrote a 7 page report.
I’m so sorry for those negative experiences. For the record, though, not all public school therapists (or teachers or administrators) can be lumped together in one group. There are some of us who have different training, backgrounds, and perspectives, the latter of which I personally work especially diligently to expand on a daily basis.
Holy crud. And THAT’S the fancy – schmancy specialist who is supposed to determine Pearlsky’s cognitive abilities? I wonder if she mistakingly thought she had evaluated Pearlsky in the past, or if
she just didn’t get the difference between an evaluation and a reevaluation. Either way, yikes.
I’m oh – so – sure the students were in fact given the opportunity to fully participate in the food preparation. It reminds me of a time in pre – K when Monkey came home with a set of paint handprints. Forget the fact that: 1. He couldn’t open his left hand – like, at all; 2. Putting his hand in paint would have caused a sensory overload – induced fit that would have left paint splatters and probably some blood on the paper; and 3. The handprints were clearly much bigger than Monkey’s. but hey, the specialist is always right…right?
I get the whole hating being around “normal” kids for activities like that. Really.
…yeah, ^ me. Sorry about that…
Your a great person….although my daughter Ana is in a wonderful school decated to children from toddler till elderly specially for various special needs; I do know the pain of seeing typical children Ana’s age in my younger kids school and I can’t help briefly thinking of the life experiences she will not have. Your a good daddy…..your presence made her happy!
My favourite part was when you smiled and kissed your daughter, that’s all that matters there, she is loved and cared for.
I completely agree 🙂
Don’t you know better than to try and correct a psychologist? They are ALWAYS right. Always.
And now I’ll hazard a guess that there’s a notation about you in her file, saying you have issues with women that probably result from your early toilet training.