Head Games: A Year Later, I’m Still Wondering if Sophie Has the Cognitive Abilities of a 3-Year-Old
posted Friday April 13th, 2012
I am afraid I have permanent brain damage.
I thought by now it would be out of my head, but more than a year later, I’m still sitting at that conference table at that school, hearing that school psychologist say it. I’m asking her pointed, doubting questions about the battery of tests she’s just given Sophie, who is almost 8, when she cuts me off, obviously both frustrated and proud, and announces to a packed room: “According to my results, Sophie has the cognitive abilities of a three-year-old.”
No one says a word. Not Sophie’s lawyer or the district’s lawyer; not the classroom teacher or the special education teacher or any of the therapists or the principal or the district’s special education expert. My eyes well up, my throat closes. I don’t have anything to say, either.
Since that day, it hasn’t been mentioned. I tried once or twice with the teacher, who acted like she didn’t hear me. She, like everyone else at the school, is afraid of getting in trouble. I get the politics. But I don’t have to like them. And so I told Sophie’s lawyer to ban the school psychologist from any future meetings about Sophie. That comment doesn’t matter one bit to Sophie’s future, her lawyer assured me. It was just a dumb thing that woman said. Forget about her.
But I can’t ban her from my head. She’s set up residence there, poking at me all the time, raising doubts. Making fun.
“Aw, looks like Sophie still loves Elmo!” the school psychologist comments, hovering in the playroom near the toy baskets.
“I see she’s watching Blues Clues again,” she says, passing by the TV.
“Good luck finding Sophie an Olivia the Pig shirt that’ll fit,” she taunts, as I search on the Internet for a tee shirt or pajamas. “They only make them for toddlers.”
“Look at that!” she said this morning, as we headed out for school. “Sophie’s wearing an old backpack today — from pre-school!”
“Oh no,” she stage whispers, a ghostly apparition in the chair next to mine at the parent/teacher conference. “That’s not an E for excellence on that report card, that’s just a polite way of saying F. What do you expect, Mom? You really think a kid with the cognitive abilities of a 3-year-old can pass even a modified third grade spelling test?”
And then she cackles.
She wasn’t at Sophie’s IEP meeting last week, not in person anyway. But she was there — her test results tucked neatly into Sophie’s permanent record, she hung over the room and watched the discussion. The meeting went pretty smoothly. No one challenged our request to continue with the classroom aide, my biggest worry. Everyone agreed Sophie was doing really well socially and (within reason) academically and we tweaked some of her goals regarding computer use (she needs to get better at it) and writing (she is going to work next year on crafting stories with a “beginning, middle and end”).
Then came the page of the long document devoted to the AIMS test. There was a space left for someone to check whether Sophie will take the regular AIMS (our standardized test here in Arizona) or an “alternative” version.
To clarify, I am not in support of the AIMS test for any kid, not after watching the constant drills that have replaced real teaching in her school. And yeah, I feel like it’s even less relevant for Sophie. But I’d done some homework and learned that the “alternative” test is for kids with severe cognitive challenges. I wondered if, to the school, that’s Sophie.
So I sat on the edge of my seat as the special education teacher pulled the AIMS page out of the pile, explaining she hadn’t checked a box because she wanted to talk to me about it.
“Sophie doesn’t qualify to take the alternative test,” she began, ready to defend the school’s decision to give Sophie the harder test (with accommodations).
I interrupted. “I’m fine with her taking the regular test!” I said. “To be honest, I was worried you’d want her to take the other.”
The principal looked surprised. “Why would you think that?” someone asked.
“Because,” I said, sitting up as straight as I could, trying to keep my voice steady, “last year we sat at this table and your school psychologist said Sophie has the cognitive abilities of a three-year-old!”
This time I did hear someone suck wind and chuckle from the other end of the table. I think it was Sophie’s adaptive PE teacher, the one who tells me Sophie will someday live on her own and who this year asked Sophie for her suggestions about what her IEP goals should be (the other therapists looked amused when she mentioned it), but I didn’t turn to look.
At the same time, the head of the district’s special education department (a BMOC, apparently, he runs the whole show) snapped up and he asked, “Who said that?” Sophie’s lawyer patted me on the shoulder and announced to the room in a soothing voice, “That’s all water under the bridge.”
Not to me. “I’ll be happy to tell you after the meeting!” I said to the guy before shutting my trap. He never did ask. I’ve thought about writing him a note, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. This man could make Sophie’s school life really tough at a time it’s going relatively well.
And really, it doesn’t matter. The (brain) damage is done.
Kind of like when Lucas’ geneticist said “he’ll never walk or talk, and he’ll die young.”
He’s 6 now, walking, running and he won’t shut the hell up.
I don’t like anyone making generalizations or setting limitations for our special kiddos. They can all fuck off, as far as I’m concerned.
Amy, you’re doing well and you’re doing good. Go treat yourself to a big ol’ Bob Hug from a worthy surrogate.
Oh wait – so the brain damage isn’t actually TBI? It’s a haunting memory that hurts? (not trying to be an ass; just wanting to clarify since I got all excited thinking you have TBI too)
I’m with the previous commenter all the way
I don’t know why but this post made me really sad when I know that the climax is actually a very good thing. I guess because right now I am fighting to get Masha into Gen Ed Kindy with modifications and support… and everyone is treating me like I am in some sort of denial about my girl. (I am not, I understand her strengths and weaknesses very well.)
Isn’t it crazy how someone can say something and it warps you, like some sort of mental car crash, for a long long time.
No, not TBI. Metaphorical.
The BMOC didn’t need to ask her name. He already knows who she is, or better yet, knows that her (harmful) input isn’t needed here.
In my tenth year of teaching, I have never been more frustrated with IEP meetings than this year (I co-teach). More than half of them haven’t even been attended by a parent. (Think of a 16-year-old boy sitting through this process all by himself!) One parent played with her iPhone through the entire meeting.
I know why my expectations are so high, Amy. It’s your fault
because (from your example) I see how earnestly and energetically we must advocate not just for our own children but for what’s right and good in classrooms, on campuses, and in the world.
I agree with the adaptive PE teacher (ours is one of the best teachers on campus — funny how testing and teaching are so often at odds). Soon, Sophie will be sitting in those meetings, too, and that psychologist will be the one sucking wind.
Dare I say, that when this guy enters your brain you need to say to him in your head what would’ve been my response to him in that g-d mtg -”f – you”! It’s powerfully therapeutic.
On a more serious note (not that I really don’t talk like that in my own head but you may be more ladylike) –
Intellectualism is rampant in this country in particular and I am becoming more and more opinionated about it as I go along.
Who says that having a certain amount of “cognitive abilities” is even important? It’s a crock of s… that they sell us to promote the business of intellectual factories they call schools.Look at how they teach and what they teach. Most kids today are intellectually burnt out by 1th grade and teachers are stripped of their personal gifts by a system that values “measuring”. The world is full of people who are not high IQ, full of them. Are they not contributing members? Do we not need people who have all kinds of interests and abilities? Of course we do.
Sophie is a beautiful, sparkling spirit who has gifts to share and a future that will be full and you know what- academics will not play any role at all in that process unless we let it.
Guess you got me going there…..
I should’ve just said – Hugs to you Amy. You are way too hard on yourself and not nearly hard enough on those jerks. xo
starrlife, I’m so glad it got you going. We do absolutely need everybody. And no fetus asks to have outstanding cognitive skills any more than they ask to have Down syndrome. (And Amy, as I’ll never be anybody’s mom, you can toss my whole perspective out, too, if I’m being offensive or clueless.)
Is my brain “better” because I can explain it? If I can function more easily and be safer in this nutty world, obviously it’s less work and worry for my loved ones, but there’s nothing inherently superior about me. I’m missing out on things Sophie is experiencing just as surely as the other way around.
I know this is far from being the point, Amy, but I love Blue’s Clues, and I remember when Sophie was just starting to walk, and now she runs faster than bigger kids (and probably faster than I could run back when I could run) and is as creative as anyone in her family.
Not many kids can read and write at 3 — I could, but that wasn’t “normal,” either — so if that’s Sophie’s brain, it’s amazing, and I’ve never ever believed what that psychologist said.
It’s like those people at the adult center who didn’t know Robrt’s mom can play gin. Or what we have to (I think) ask ourselves about people on, for example, the autism spectrum — is there a particular reason they have to understand us instead of the other way around? Whose journey is harder? And which one is going to expand our horizons more?
Got me going, too, apparently.
Thanks KM- Right on the head. WooHoo- we got it going !