No tears, but plenty of pride

Last night I didn't cry.

I even brought Kleenex just to make sure I'd have some if I did cry.

But I didn't cry.

Instead, I felt a tremendous amount of pride.

Somewhere between 9 and 9:45 p.m. last night, my son became a high school graduate.

He officially received a "certificate of achievement." He will not receive a diploma until he finishes the STRIVE program, which he'll begin in August.

He marched into the stadium along with about 600 other graduates of Parkview High School.  They came in wearing their blue-and-white robes and caps with tassels in the Parkview colors of orange, blue, and white, while a recorded loop of "Pomp and Circumstance" played over the PA system.

He sat and listened to several speeches by adults and teenagers encouraging them as they left Parkview and went forth into the world.  One young man talked about windshields and rear view mirrors--how windshields allowed you to look forward and rear view mirrors let you look back, but that it wasn't healthy to spend all your time looking in the rear view mirror.  A young lady spoke of her desire to become a Marine Corps officer.  And another young man sang Neil Young's "Forever Young" as his graduation speech.

It took probably about a half hour, maybe a little more, for all the names to be called and for each student to walk across the stage, shake the hands of the people there, and get their picture taken (and which I will probably receive the chance to order in the next few weeks.)

I took some crocheting with me and I worked on a crochet basket.  That was my antidote against being bored while waiting for the ceremony to begin and while listening to the speeches.

Inevitably, I drew comparisons between my own high school graduation in 1981 and my son's in 2017.

Mine was held indoors at the Mahaffey Theater at the old Bayfront Center in St. Petersburg, and I think mine was in the morning.  I remember walking down the aisle rather quickly instead of at a processional pace.  We all sat on stage behind our speakers.  The valedictorian of our class is a Facebook friend; I told him that the only thing I remembered about his speech was the phrase, "Remember 12th period?" He was referring to the days when our school was on double sessions with the freshmen/sophomores going to school in the afternoon and the juniors/seniors going to school in the morning.  Because of the sound system and the acoustics, I couldn't hear his speech.

Our chorus sang, "I Sing the Body Electric" from the movie "Fame", which was appropriate because it was the song the characters sang at their graduation.

As a member of National Honor Society, I got to wear a set of yellow honor cords, which I still have. In my graduation program, my name is marked as a NHS member and also as graduating in the top ten percent of my class.  (I was #4 and I was either the top-ranked or second-ranked girl.)

At Matthew's graduation, there were other honor cords:  science, languages, and others I can't remember, and NHS members wore sashes.   The class officers, valedictorian, and salutatorian got to graduate first.

In the graduation program, I saw a list of names that reflected the diversity that my graduating class didn't have:  Nguyen, Patel, Tran, Li, and a number of Hispanic names.  That's a reflection of the ethnic diversity that characterizes my area of Gwinnett County, Georgia.  (There was one year where my son was the only white child in his class.  Autism does not discriminate on the basis of ethnicity.)

And the crowd received the order that no graduation crowd ever follows:  "Please hold your applause until everyone has graduated."  You could tell where each graduate's family was sitting because you could hear the cheers from that section as their graduate's name was called.

My graduating didn't throw our hats or turn our tassels.  Matthew's class did, although Matthew was advised not to, because he might lose his tassel.

When the ceremony was over and the parents rushed the field, I was concerned that I wasn't going to be able to find Matthew.  And then I saw him, standing alone, looking around, and I yelled at him, "Don't move!"

And when I got down on the field, I gave him a very big mother-hug.

We took his picture, and then went to the cafeteria, where he got his certificate.

Just like that, it was over.  Fifteen years of classes and school buildings and teachers.

IEP meetings are not yet over.  I still have them as part of Matthew's participation in the STRIVE program.

But here was the thing that touched me the most, both at the graduation rehearsal yesterday and graduation last night:

The non-special ed students that told Matthew congratulations and hugged him.

Matthew, in addition to being in an autism class, also took drama and worked in the Java Jungle, the coffee shop in the cafeteria.  So there were plenty of students who knew him and liked him.

In 1981, the year I graduated from high school, I don't recall the special ed students being integrated into the life of the school.  In fact, I didn't know anyone with special needs.  The federal mainstreaming law had just been passed in the mid-1970's and I'm sure that its effects were still working its way into our school system.

Yesterday, when I went to Matthew's graduation rehearsal, I saw at least one student using a cane.  And who knows how many other students were dealing with disabilities that I couldn't see.

And after that rehearsal, Matthew spoke to several students; just as he did when we were leaving Parkview after the ceremony.

He was part of the life of his high school, not just shoved into a back classroom and ignored.

I am pleased.

And I am proud.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Proud aunt brag

She's probably the first person I loved before they were even born.  Now my niece is 21 and today, she graduates with her degree in behavioral sciences.  

She looks like her mom (which means she's beautiful).

For her first four years, she was mostly raised by her mom and her Nana (my mother).  She also spent a lot of time with her great-grandmother.  

When she was four, her mom--my sister--got married again.  And I think it's a tribute to her stepfather that my niece asked him, could you adopt me?  It's also a tribute to him that he did. 

She's been enjoying her college years with her friends, loves her Gamma Phi Beta sisters, and has decided to pursue a career in psychology.  For right now, she'll be doing graduate studies to thoroughly prepare for her profession.

Enjoy your day today.  Your present is in the mail. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

 

Graduation and guardianship

This week, two life-changing moments met at the crossroads of irony and coincidence.

Yesterday, I got an email from Matthew's teacher asking if we had ordered his cap and gown yet. I'm in the middle of a somewhat busy week, and my first reaction was, "arrrgh, not another thing I have to do."

And then it hit me:  cap and gown.

As in, Matthew's high school graduation.

I put the order in for a gown that will fit someone 6'1 and approximately 120 pounds (probably less.)

High school graduation comes as a rite of passage, and for most high school seniors, it's the moment where they start thinking of themselves as "adults".  They go to college, get jobs, date, marry, etc. We consider them "grown-ups" and expect them to (eventually) be out on their own, living on their own, being independent.

The irony?

Today Frank, Matthew and I were at a court hearing where we took those rights away from Matthew.
Because Matthew has autism, we've had him evaluated to see if he's legally competent to handle his own affairs, and the opinion is that no, he is not.  I agree with that opinion.  Since Matthew is 18, the law considers him an adult, and therefore, legally responsible for the consequences of his actions, whether for good or for ill, whether he understands those consequences or not.  However, if an interested party can show that it's in Matthew's best interests to have a guardian appointed to look after his interests, the law will allow for the appointment of a guardian.

Frank and I filed paperwork in December to be appointed as Matthew's legal guardians.  Our court hearing was today, and our petition for guardianship was granted.  As of today, my legal standing in regards to Matthew is not that of "parent".  It is that of "legal guardian".  When a person becomes the ward of a legal guardian, they give up the right to control their own property and the right to make certain important decisions.  Matthew cannot enter into any legal agreements or contracts (including marriage) without my permission/approval.  And among other things, if we move to another state or move Matthew to another state, we have to get permission from the court to do so.

So all the stuff that comes with high school graduation--freedom, independence, etc--will not come with Matthew's high school graduation.  Instead, he'll still live at home, still with his parents making decisions on his behalf.  In Matthew's case, it's the right thing to do, because as smart as he is, and as capable as he is, legally, he just isn't competent to handle those types of freedoms.

It's extremely odd to hear a judge state, regarding your child, that "the court finds that he lacks sufficient capacity to . . ."  Although you know it's true, and you know you're doing the right thing, to hear it worded in such a way, from an officer of the court, just sounds so, well, final.

This week, we ordered a cap and gown for a graduation.

This week, we legally took rights away from our son, for his own protection.

How ironic it is that they both happened in the same week, on back-to-back days.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

The beginning of the end . . .

This week marked the beginning of the end.

Matthew got on a bus for his senior year in high school.

Next year at this time, he'll be getting on a bus to go to a different program, for life skills and job skills, run by the Gwinnett County Public Schools, called STRIVE.

So on Monday, when he got on that bus, it was the last "first day of school" for him.

In just a few weeks, it'll be the last open house.

Then it'll be the last Thanksgiving break.

Then the last Christmas break.

The last Special Olympics stuff he'll do this year.

In May, he'll be one of the ones honored at our church's Senior Honors Night.  And on May 24, 2017, it will be his last day of school.

Sometime during the first few months of 2017, I will do my last IEP meeting before he graduates.  (I will probably be doing IEPs for his time in STRIVE.)

The song "Sunrise, Sunset" has suddenly become more poignant for me this year.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.