Please do not speak to my mentally disabled daughter without introducing yourself to me. It isn’t appropriate.
Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard — in the faculty lunchroom and at parents’ meetings — that I’m a real bitch, and it is true.
You’d be a real bitch too if your 10-year-old son attempted suicide at school after a classmate — who had a history of bullying children to the point of contemplating suicide — coerced a group of boys into trying to kill him but the principal determined it was just “a game that got out of hand” and “told them not to do it again” as the only consequence.
You’d be pretty bitchy too if you were told your disabled daughter would have full inclusion, but you learned in March that she’d been removed from eighty percent of her classes without your knowledge.
You’d be a real bitch too if you met with officials to discuss the issue and had a heartwarming, affirming session at which the whole group formulated a good plan for moving forward — but the school officials met again later without you (and without even telling you) and came up with a different plan, which is the one they implemented.
And you’d be especially bitchy if you met with the district officials to try to fix the fact that both of your children were being neither socialized nor educated — and the associate superintendent’s response was to say that you are the problem because you are so “critical” that you’ve created a hostile environment at the school.
So, yes. I’m a real bitch. But here’s the thing, if you sneak behind my back to talk to my disabled daughter, and then run away the moment I turn around to see who she is talking to, I’m going to be a hell of lot more bitchy.
See, my daughter trusts people (kinda like I used to before I spent a year in the nightmare that was Muir Lake School). She assumes all people are good and kind and will treat her well. Heck, she thinks all the children at Muir Lake are her “friends,” even though she literally never received one phone call, one birthday party invite, or any other invite. She’s kinda naive that way.
So it’s my job to protect her from strangers. And no matter who you may think you are, if I don’t know you and you don’t introduce yourself to me, you are a stranger.
All I’m asking is that you speak to me also when you speak to her. I’m not trying to keep her from you*. I just want my relationship as the parent of a mentally disabled daughter to be respected. I promise I’ll do the polite Canadian thing and smile, even if I have to do it through gritted teeth. For her sake if nothing else.
But if you sneak around me to talk to her (and yes, it’s happened more than once, and before today), I will see you as a predator. And treat you accordingly.
*Actually, there are a couple of administrators I do not trust and do not want EVER talking to either of my children, under any circumstances, but they know who they are, and I trust they know better than to attempt it.
Tags: Muir Lake School