This is a piece of art recently made by my four-year-old daughter. Her class, in the midst of a study on Eric Carle, painted a multitude of papers with a variety of tools, which they then pooled together and shared to make their own individual collages. There they were, displayed prominently in the hallway at school: The "TIGR" and "DOG." The "BUTRFLI" and "LIZRD." Each a masterful representation of the subject, clearly created with focus and precision. Among them, of course, was my daughter's work.
"DEZIN."
A totally abstract design in a field of realism. "What could it be?" I asked a little too cheerfully. "I don't know," she shrugged, galloping off to stomp in mud puddles. With a panicked grin plastered on my face, I watched her tromp away. And, per the usual, I worried.
April marked the end of a full pschyo-educational evaluation for my daughter. Teachers had expressed concern over fine motor skills and emotional immaturity. I fretted about her social interactions and unpredictable stutter. Getting the evaluation took five months of phone calls and red tape. It's only a slight exaggeration to say that I felt sick the whole time. Finally - finally! - my husband and I sat before a panel of six professionals who'd conducted the evaluation. The psychologist's official verdict?
"She is, as they say, 'Grossly normal.'"
They commenced to describe our daughter effusively and affectionately. Playful. Persistent. Cooperative. Attentive. Funny. Engaged. They saw her. They really saw her. And they made no recommendations for support services.
Our society's skewed expectations for early childhood is another topic for another post. But on that day, hearing those results, I didn't just feel relief about the behaviors and characteristics that had worried me. I felt pride. I had known these things about my daughter all along. Nothing about her changed while I sat in that conference room. What did change was the permission I felt to celebrate my child. In all her goofy, passionate, messy, brilliant glory.
And so, fellow parents and teachers, learn from my journey. Investigate the questions you may have about your child or student. Access the amazing resources that are out there if you need them. But don't wait to embrace the amazing person they are.
Right now.
"DEZIN."
A totally abstract design in a field of realism. "What could it be?" I asked a little too cheerfully. "I don't know," she shrugged, galloping off to stomp in mud puddles. With a panicked grin plastered on my face, I watched her tromp away. And, per the usual, I worried.
April marked the end of a full pschyo-educational evaluation for my daughter. Teachers had expressed concern over fine motor skills and emotional immaturity. I fretted about her social interactions and unpredictable stutter. Getting the evaluation took five months of phone calls and red tape. It's only a slight exaggeration to say that I felt sick the whole time. Finally - finally! - my husband and I sat before a panel of six professionals who'd conducted the evaluation. The psychologist's official verdict?
"She is, as they say, 'Grossly normal.'"
They commenced to describe our daughter effusively and affectionately. Playful. Persistent. Cooperative. Attentive. Funny. Engaged. They saw her. They really saw her. And they made no recommendations for support services.
Our society's skewed expectations for early childhood is another topic for another post. But on that day, hearing those results, I didn't just feel relief about the behaviors and characteristics that had worried me. I felt pride. I had known these things about my daughter all along. Nothing about her changed while I sat in that conference room. What did change was the permission I felt to celebrate my child. In all her goofy, passionate, messy, brilliant glory.
And so, fellow parents and teachers, learn from my journey. Investigate the questions you may have about your child or student. Access the amazing resources that are out there if you need them. But don't wait to embrace the amazing person they are.
Right now.
