Dear teacher,
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Before I met you, and really got to know you, I despised your existence. In my head, you were the image of evil. How could someone claim my non-verbal, un-social, un-regulated, timid, tiny little guy would be “okay?” Clearly, you were blowing smoke.
There was no way you were going to get my kid to participate in your circle time, much less learn his letters. I was never going to take your advice on potty training or any other milestone he hadn’t reached yet. Because, in my head, I had already accepted, he couldn’t do that. We had professionals constantly telling us all the things he’d never do, all the deficits he’d have, and all the struggles he’d always face. So why, dear teacher, would you possibly tell me otherwise? Why would you sit there and tell me all the things my son is capable of when I already had it in my head he couldn’t be?
That is why every time I start to say “thank you,” I cannot bring myself to it. Because thank you doesn’t feel like nearly enough. How can two words sum up two and a half years of magic you brought to my child’s life? How can two words express the endless amount of gratitude I have felt watching my son exceed all expectations? How can two words share the amount of love my son has felt in all this time? Although thank you is rightly in order, it is just the tip of the iceberg.
I struggle with how to thank the person that took the most terrifying of situations and turned it into pure excitement; you literally turned fear into joy. And that is just what you did for me. Not to mention all the things you did for my son.
My son entered your classroom in his own world. He rarely let his parents and twin in his autism arena he had created for himself. He did not make eye contact or follow directions. And yet, somehow, you managed to break down those walls he had been building since birth and weasel your way in. I watched him go from completely ignoring your existence to running into class to greet you with a smile. I watched as he stopped building his walls back up and let his guard down every day when he entered your room. I watched as you became his constant, as your classroom became his safe place, and as he began to truly trust another person in his tiny world. And then I watched his tiny world become bigger and bigger.
Do not be mistaken, I know why his world began to grow. I know he worked his little tail end off in therapies, both in and out of school. I know he deserves more credit than can be given out. But, let’s give credit where credit is due. His world ultimately began to grow because of you.
You are, and will always be, more than just his first teacher. You were the first person who believed in him. You were his first cheerleader. For so long, it was just us, his parents, on the sideline cheering him on as the rest of the world tore him down. But you picked up the pom-poms and joined our cheering section. You cheered for his first word, his first phrase, his first sentence. You cheered the first time he went potty, the first time he chose a snack, the first time he wrote his name.
More importantly, you cheered when there were setbacks, too. You cheered for him during meltdowns and new behaviors. You cheered for him when he was on sensory overload and when he screamed at you. You cheered for him when his mamas didn’t have another ounce of cheering left in them that week. You cheered when no one else did. You were his first advocate. The first person who fought for what you knew he could accomplish, even when (sometimes) you had to go up against his mama bears.
You saw the potential in him and didn’t let anyone tell you he couldn’t. “If he wants to do it, he will get there,” you’d say,” and if he doesn’t want to, we will help him get there.” You didn’t even let those big brown eyes of his tell you what he couldn’t do. Above all else, what you were, that no one else ever stepped up to be, was our partner. You never let us feel alone. You answered way too many emails [sorry, not sorry], had endless conversations about our kid (some not even related to his education) and always made yourself available for everything in between. You let us know about the good days and the bad. You never left our side. As his parents, it has been a constant up-hill battle since his diagnosis, a constant “us against them” fight for every service and provider we knew he needed. But not with you. On his very first day, you pulled me in for a hug. You took in a crying (okay, blubbering) mom and haven’t let go since.
All of those reasons, and so many more, is why thank you will never be enough. You set the bar high – his second teacher, and third, and fourth, and even twentieth have some big shoes to fill. You taught him more in his preschool years than we ever thought possible. Most importantly, though, you taught our son how he deserves to be treated. You taught him how to love and trust another person. You taught him how to be proud of himself. You taught him he is worthy of every opportunity he could ever dream about. You taught him he can achieve anything.
So, although so much feels left unsaid, thank you.
Special thank you to today’s guest blogger: Steffanie Enderle
I am a mom of three wonderfully crazy and amazing children and a wife to an incredible woman. When I am not being a personal chauffeur to preschool, therapies, gymnastics classes, and play date; I work part-time with individuals who have multiple disabilities in an outstanding care facility. My hobbies are eating ice cream and taking naps – neither of which I ever get to do alone!
