The perfect fit...

When I was a kid we lost everything we owned during Hurricane Alicia.  I remember my mother yelling at my sister and I to grab some things right before we evacuated our home.  The carpet was squishy under our feet as water was already beginning to come in.  So like any sensible minded ten year old I grabbed my French phone and my tap shoes.

Yeah, not much has changed about me in thirty-plus years.  I'd probably grab similar useful items today.

After the waters receded and we surveyed the damage we were left with near to nothing.  Since we had evacuated during the night this also meant that my sister and I didn't have any shoes.  Well, I had my tap shoes, but other than that I was shoeless.  Our neighbor had just returned from a trip to Mexico and had brought back several pairs of Mexican huaraches.  They are made of woven leather, and to say that they squeak is an understatement of gigantic proportions.   To me they were the ugliest shoes in all of creation, but to my sister they were the best thing since her polyester Snoopy dress.  She adored those squeaky leather shoes.  They were, in her opinion, the perfect fit.  Did I mention that they are not exactly fashionable?  And they squeak.  I remember the mortification I felt walking into Palais Royal, my sister and I squeaking our way to the back of the store where the shoe department was.

Today I got a phone call from Sara's teacher of six years.  I adore this woman and I think she hung the moon when it comes to Special Education specialists- she is committed to her students and passionate about what she does.  The phone call didn't go well, in fact it went poorly.  There is an upcoming ARD (Sara's last for her public school career) and we are to discuss her transition.  As in transition into "you don't go to school anymore so you need something productive to do- GOOD LUCK!"   Because really, there isn't much out there.  There are a few programs, but none of them are a fit for Sara.  Public transportation unaccompanied by an adult?  I don't think so.  Classes on a junior college campus without an aide?  Yeah, no.  Day-hab/respite care?  Hell to the no.  

It's not that we don't have a plan, we do, but it doesn't seem to fit the school district's definition of "productive".  I am wondering if they know my child as well as I thought they did after being with her for six years.  She's an introvert, does not initiate, but waits for instruction.  She is very trusting and childlike- gullible, so I can't see just setting her loose in the world as a safe option.  She has been working with me in the workshop and seems to love it.  Why can't that be good enough?  Why does she need to "fit" in a position that clearly doesn't fit her?   What happened to looking at the child as an individual?  My daughter was compared to three other students during the course of the phone call.  Three other students that are nothing like Sara.   To compare them was like comparing the opinions of those shoes between my sister and myself.

Navigating the road for her becomes more challenging the older she gets, as I knew it would.  One of the things that comforts me is that I know my girl, I know what she needs, what she loves, and what she wants.  She wants to be around her family, time with friends, nights out, movies, a boyfriend, photography and to create things.  She wants to be happy.  I'm confident that we have found a way to make that a reality for her, even if it doesn't look like what the district thinks "productive transitioning" looks like.

Sara's transition plan is a lot like those huaraches.  You have one side that sees the beauty in the craftsmanship, the simplicity of design, the comfort of the leather.  The other side only sees an ugly, squeaky pair of shoes- that for them are far from the perfect fit.  But for Sara nothing could fit better.