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?
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.