My son is leaving the public school system in two months, on June 21st. This milestone is making me nostalgic, but not in a good way. 

Other parents treasure their memories of their children’s first day of kindergarten, when they file into the school and are greeted by a young smiling teacher. They recall the time that their kids scored the winning goal for the soccer team. Groups of parents cheering and a shiny medal. Woot! 

My memories of Ian’s time in public schools come at me at midnight, when I should be sleeping. As I lay awake in bed, I recount all the ways that my son was denied a proper education over the years, all the times that I was discounted, and my own myriad of missteps. I have memories of IEP meetings and administrators, stone faced like Easter Island idols, refusing to give my son help, until I learned the special passwords or hired the right lawyer. I don’t have nostalgia; I have PTSD. 

He’ll attend college full time this fall at age 22. At 18, he wasn’t ready socially, medically, and emotionally. Despite an average to superior IQ, he also wasn’t ready academically and required years of tutoring to catch up, because his prior academic preparation can best be described as tragic. Administrators put him in classrooms with low academic expectations, because of his “autism” label. In hindsight, I should have never let that happen.

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