I see you, tired and embarrassed and trying not to meet my eye as you scuttle in to pick up your sweet cherub who has been sent to the office again for whatever-it-was-this-time. We're fine, he's fine, I'm fine, I'll deal with this, you want to say to me except you don't really want to talk to me.
I hear your worry and defensiveness on the other end of the phone when I call and introduce myself as the school counselor. You listen and you are polite as I explain my call, the behaviors we're seeing, the concerns we have, but it's hard to go there, isn't it?
You know, when I call, that I've seen your little cherub, too, don't you? That I've seen the one with the turbo brain who is driving everyone crazy because he can't stop talking, moving? I want you to know that I love him. I'd like to help him rein it in a bit so his teacher doesn't lose her mind, but I never want him to lose his zip. He may be the next Robin Williams. And the one digging in her heels and sticking out her tongue and refusing to participate? I want you to know that I love her. I'd like to help her feel safe and respected so she can respond in turn, but I never want her to lose her spirit. She'll stand strong against injustice one day. And the quirky one, the one who doesn't quite fit in, who says and does things that the other kids think are odd? I want you to know that I love him. I'd like to help him connect and find his friendship niche, but I never want him to lose his uniqueness. He may be the next Picasso, the next Bill Gates. And the quiet one in the nurse's office, who never gives anybody any trouble except for the amount of time she spends out of class with a stomach ache? I want you to know that I love her. I'd like to help her feel secure and brave enough to stand against her worries, but I never want her to lose her sensitivity. She'll extend a hand of mercy one day, of peace.
I see you and I hear you, mom. I want to tell you I'm sorry when I jump too quickly into the problems, the concerns. Because first I want to tell you that I'm proud of you. You are a good mom. A good mom. You are doing a good job. And your kid is a good kid. A good kid. Sometimes life gets rough and those little cherubs act like heathens and you don't know why or what to do. I get that.
You may think I have it all together because...well...I'm not really sure why. Maybe because I'm the one on the other end of the phone call and because I have some initials after my name and because I nod a lot and say things like, "So, how does that make you feel?" But here's a secret. I have cherubs who act like heathens, too, and I don't always know why or what to do, either.
And sometimes I go to a training or a conference or read a book and I learn something so exciting, so relevant that I'm like "Shazaam!" and I call you and tell you, "Your little cherub who is acting like a heathen? I have it figured out! Stop doing X right now and start doing Y!" And you feel gobsmacked and hear, "You're doing everything wrong and screwing everything up."
And I'm sorry. Because first I want to tell you that I admire you. What you are you doing in parenting this child is holy work. It is holy work raising this complicated, sometimes difficult, demanding, very tiny person. And you love him with your whole life and you carry on your shoulders so many worries, hopes, dreams, fears. And then you send that tiny person - whose brain is still developing and won't be fully developed until age 25 (TWENTY-FIVE! They really are mentally challenged until well after graduation, aren't they?) - to school where suddenly he is expected to perform certain tasks in certain ways and is evaluated and compared to other little cherubs. And it's heckuva hard, isn't it?
I see you, Mom. And I hear you. When I call to review this year, to discuss summer, to plan for next year and we talk about social skills groups and anger management classes and psychoeducational evaluations and counseling I am also calling to say well done, soldier. You made it through another school year, and that ain't no joke. I am your biggest fan and cheerleader. Because your kid, that kid in the principal's office and the nurse's office and hiding under the table? He's incredible. He's so unique and wonderful and amazing. He's not a bad kid. He's not crazy. He's not even a heathen. He just needs a little extra support, a little extra help, a little extra grace. And you know what that means? It means God's got big plans.
Big plans!
So carry on, soldier. I see you. And I got your back.
The School Counselor.
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