You know how people are always saying… “it’s with mixed emotions”, and fully aware of what they mean when they say it?
Today I watched first hand what it feels like to have mixed emotions, and try to process it… through the eyes of a five-year-old.
It was the first day of summer school.
This morning I relived that chaos of a hustle trying to get three kids under the age of 5 out the door to be on time for two different drop offs.
Alex needed a lunch.
The boys were confused why they didn’t need a lunch (they are used to 6 hour days).
Jack couldn’t understand why Ms. Nicole couldn’t pick them up on the bus, and spoke with sincere advocacy that he was a big kid who didn’t need me to drop him off.
I couldn’t find Jack’s backpack, but because they only needed masks and a water bottle, it wasn’t a big deal to combine their belongings into one bag, which logically appeased Jack despite that Luca’s name was on said bag.
When I had to wake Luca up, Jack declared with glee “Luca, come down stairs, we get to go to school today!”
Luca did join us in the kitchen shortly after, with a confused smile on his face.
My wife helped get all three kids in the car, and we were 8 minutes earlier to depart than I had hoped/planned.
After we dropped Alli at school, I explained to the boys what would happen, so they could be prepared. I shared that we would pull up to school, right in front of the door, like the bus would have. When we arrived, they would have their foreheads checked to make sure they weren’t sick, and then their new teachers would help walk them into the building.
Jack was excited. Luca, not as excited, started to get weepy eyed. I assured him that Miss K. would be inside and he would be safe (as his amazing teacher was also our nanny during the last few months, so we had scored fortunate familiarity to make this transition easier). It was as we pulled up to school that the tears started flowing.
It caught me off guard because something was different about it. He was clearly happy to be at school, but something was upsetting him.
After the car was in park, I put my mask on, and made my way around to the back of the car to unbuckle their seat belts. Luca came out of his seat willingly, and even let the nurse take his temperature. He said “school” a number of times and you could see the joy and excitement in his eyes.
But then a teacher he has not met, in a mask, asked to escort him in side. He looked at me with those same excited eyes, and fearful tears escaped them. I reassured him Miss K. would be inside, but he stood frozen - the definition of mixed emotions. As he worked to process his choice- to stay with me where he felt safe, but miss out on what he missed so desperately - or to face the fear in the sincere want to return to the classroom, Miss K. appeared in the doorway.
That boy SPRINTED - with feet so fast it was as if the emotions evaporated in thin air- to the friend/teacher he trusted and needed so much. Tears continued to fall with each step he took, but you could see him choose the uncomfortable fear because he knew in that moment what he needed more than to be safe with his Mom.
Jack happily followed behind him, glowing smile from ear to ear.
I spent 60 minutes in the parking lot, listening to “Untamed” by Glennon Doyle, answering emails and getting work done at the same time.
When the hour was up, the boys exited the building, and Luca was still in his mixed emotions. This time, the tears that escaped his eyes were those of happy tears to have returned, but also sad to have to leave so soon.
It was so powerful. Miss K. reassured me he had been present, and working hard in the classroom without tears. Jack couldn’t wait to share the worksheet he proudly carried in both hands, and was simply elated.
One of the things I’ve learned with autism, for all those Big Brother fans out there, is you always must “expect the unexpected”. Despite that the twins have the same diagnosis, almost everything about them is different: the way they act, the way they learn, the way they grow- you name it. It’s almost as if they live life unfiltered - without care or comparison.
While they were in class, and I listened to Doyle’s audio book, she spoke about how at age 10 we learn how to categorize ourselves, and determine how it is we expect to act. I hope my boys learn to live life unfiltered with such muscle memory, that it becomes a strategy, and a tool they use to be true to who they are. Never finding a box to fit in… never learning the embarrassment of judgement from others. I hope that both because of and despite their diagnosis, they continue to live this life untamed, as Glennon titled her novel, as Luca had just as we arrived in that parking lot, feeling every emotion as strongly as when he was asked to leave it.
As we exited the parking lot, I too had mixed emotions.
I have been publicly advocating that our twins need to go back to school, to receive the medically diagnosed assistance deemed necessary by the doctors and administrators from the moment I learned school would not open. My grateful heart was thankful for the little summer school opened, providing an hour a day three times a week, but still felt that the 6 hours 4 times a week their IEP stated explained this wasn’t enough.
Today, however, after watching Luca work through his mourning of the school time he had lost, and his joy to be returning, my grateful heart is merely that. I am thankful for today, and for the time they will be in the classroom. I am hopeful that sharing our story will continue to open hearts and minds to understand why children like ours, both those with special needs and those who are gifted, are among a smaller population who need the classroom more than others. I will continue to advocate on their behalf, because I know in my heart they need it to erase the regressions we’ve witnessed over the last 6 months.
But today, with mixed emotions, my heart is smiling and grateful for these boys, and for their ability to be in school at all.