I Want Him to Be Treated Like Everyone Else, But Make No Mistake: He Is Different

Last week, during one of Nathan’s t-ball games, I posted the following on my personal Facebook page:

“So far tonight, one kid has run to the pitcher’s mound instead of the base, and one kid has forgotten to run from second to third. AND NEITHER ONE WAS MY KID!”

It was a nod to the fact that even though Nathan is a hot mess on the t-ball field, he’s not the only one who runs the wrong way, or forgets to run, or cheeses at the crowd after making a hit (actually…that’s not true – he IS the only one who does THAT).

Before we registered Nathan for t-ball (with great trepidation), our friend Candace assured us that Nathan would be fine and all the other kids would do Wacky Things, too, because it’s t-ball and they’re only five and six years old. She was right, though I haven’t yet seen another kid escape through the gap in the outfield fence into the woods during a game.

Twice.

But Candace was, if not wrong, not wholly correct, either, because Nathan is different from the other kids in that he does All the Wacky Things, not just an isolated wacky thing here or there. When a kid runs the wrong way, you think he got confused. When a kid is playing in the dirt, you think he’s bored. When a kid wanders away from his position, you think he was distracted. When a kid does all of those things and more – clearly marching to the beat of a different drum – then you can see he’s different.

I want my children to be true to their unique selves, embracing their distinctive potpourri of qualities without fear or the pressure to conform too closely.

But by the same token, I want them to be accepted and included as part of the bigger world around them, and one way we do that is by allowing and encouraging them to participate in that bigger world. In recent history, Sarah Kate has done softball, swimming, church choir, show choir and theater, and band; Nathan attended private preschool, tried soccer and now t-ball, and attempted a week of Vacation Bible School.

I realize now that for Sarah Kate, inclusion has always come fairly easily.

A few accommodations here and there were all it took to include her, because in every other way she was just like her peers, and everyone knew – or learned very quickly – what Her Deal was. For Nathan, it’s much more complicated. Physically, he can do most or all of what he needs to do to participate, but he lacks important developmental skills to connect with the team and coaches in the ways he needs in order to be truly integrated. He doesn’t always respond appropriately to cues, and because his speech is delayed, it’s often difficult to ascertain what he doesn’t understand and what he’s actively choosing to ignore.

There’s no doubt he plays dumb at times.

No. Doubt.

He has a stubborn streak, as well. Stubbornness isn’t unique in young children, but knowing how to react to it as a parent (or teacher or coach) presents a challenge. If you weren’t certain your child was willfully obstinate, rather than just confused, how willing would you be to punish his obstinacy? That’s a struggle we face many times each week.

Participating in group activities with all (or mostly) typical children has other headaches, as well. Nathan became a VBS dropout this summer because his teacher didn’t know how to manage his impetuous behavior. He gets a milk carton in the lunchroom like his classmates, but I supply a straw every day for him to drink it because he doesn’t have the fine motor skills to manage drinking directly from the carton.

And then there’s the bodily functions…I had to pick him up early from religious education on Sunday because he had pooped in his pullup. Other five-year-olds have accidents, of course, but they are just that…accidents. If Nathan makes it through religious education or t-ball or Mass or recess at school without peeing or pooping in his pants, it’s less a function of self-control and more a matter of us or his teacher or his coach simply getting lucky. Or unlucky, as his speech therapist has found out three sessions in a row (Or is he doing it on purpose? Impossible to say.)

People always say to us, “Lots of kids do that…”

Which is true, as far as it goes; taken individually, none of the quirks I mentioned above (or the myriad others I didn’t) are all that quirky. Lots of kids have accidents, lots of kids run the wrong way in t-ball, lots of kids have fine motor issues, and so on, at this age. And, to be fair, Nathan can do some things like read, name all the letters of the alphabet and their sounds, count to 20, and so, which not all kids his age can do yet.

But when so many quirks come together in one kid, he stands out.

In some ways, his quirks are wonderful – he doesn’t care if he doesn’t make it to first base, because he’s just happy grinning at the crowd as he runs by, and I love that he’s never gotten upset in a game like some of the others. But in other ways, his quirks are disruptive – his propensity to head for that gap in the outfield fence that leads to the woods is getting less amusing each time he does it.

After last night’s t-ball game, Nathan’s coach herded all the kids into a huddle for the final spirit cheer of “Go Red Sox!” and, as he has been every time before, Nathan was the last one to appear and stick his tiny arm into the circle. In that moment, before he joined his team, the image of his little body, standing just apart from them – literally “on the fringe” – seemed a perfect metaphor for our attempts at inclusion.

He wasn’t excluded; he just stood out.