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Sparkle (1)
Note: please be advised that names have been changed to safeguard my son's anonymity.
Earlier this week I stumbled across an education blog that suggested boys who struggle in school lack close friendships. Developmental psychologist Niobe Way proposed that boys experience a "crisis of connection" caused in part by societal messages that close friendships are for girls only, and that the boys who seek them are sissies. The blog went on to link young males' crises in connection to academic failure, substance abuse, gang participation and general emotional malaise. None of this struck me as particularly thought-provoking -- until I read Way's assertion that seating a boy next to his best friend in the classroom could improve his school performance.
A year ago, I sat in a Parent-Teacher conference with my son Luca, then twelve. Those of you who have read my earlier posts know that Luca is a complicated child. He has received multiple diagnoses -- Bipolar Disorder NOS, ADHD, Anxiety Disorder NOS, Tic Disorder NOS, Disruptive Behavior Disorder NOS, and a question mark after Asperger's -- none of which fully fit Luca. Medication, therapy, social skills groups: We've tried them all. None of these interventions has produced any long-lasting positive change and some of them -- like the therapist who lobbied me to build a boy-cave for Luca directly outside my bedroom door -- have been truly wacky.
For many parents of special needs children, the biannual Parent-Teacher conference is a wild ride, and in my case one that I anticipate with bilious dread. The conference that I refer to here came in the middle of a particularly bumpy year, a year peppered with frequent teacher phone calls to inform me of "incidents" or meetings to discuss "concerns."
I braced myself while Luca read aloud his self-evaluation. As the teacher and the School Director delicately unpacked their comments, the profound loneliness lurking underneath Luca's trademark dismissiveness bubbled up.
"I don't like sitting with kids at lunch. People try to talk to me, and I don't know what to say," said Luca. "So I don't say anything."
"What do you mean, you don't know what to say?" I chirped in that nudging-Mom way, which really meant: Here are some kids who might want to get to know you! Can't you at least act friendly?!
Luca shot me a you-don't-get-it look.
"I mean, I don't know the right things to say."
"But, you have lots of things to--"
The School Director interrupted me with a polite but firm you-don't-get-it look.
"I think that's a really good strategy for you right now, Luca," he said, meaning, this is that strategy we've worked out together but now it's time to let your mom in on it. "Some kids are used to you arguing with them. You're working hard on learning how to say things so they can listen. If you think you can't get your point across without arguing, it's probably better not to say anything for awhile."
I stared at the School Director and thought: this is where we are? You're telling Luca that his best shot at social success is to nottalk to his peers? At all?
Then I stared at my beautiful, tawny-skinned boy with his golden-brown hair and thick dark eyelashes, the boy who, as a toddler, dazzled adults with his child-star looks and verbal finesse. I imagined him now, on the cusp of adolescence, sitting silently on the grass in a circle of kids, watching them banter casually, trying so hard to find a way in.
I imagined him replaying in his mind various times he'd tried to mimic their effortless bantering, only to have the wrong words -- sometimes truly egregious words -- blast out of his mouth. I imagined what it was like for him to interject a comment, hoping for a favorable response, only to witness this instead: One kid's face turns red, another child cries, someone else yells, "Shut up, Luca!" And as a wave of disgruntled 12-year-old faces turn towards him, he thinks to himself: why keep trying to fit in if I'm just going to fail?
Luca must have been afraid I was going to utter some dumb Mom comment, offer some lame piece of encouragement, because he turned to me and said:
"Mom, this is why I don't like to go on field trips. Because nobody wants to be my bus buddy." Pause. "No one wants to sit next to me."
And then I
