005: Outsides

October, 2017

I enter the house, dropping my keys in the tray on the small table near the door and my purse on a nearby chair. The coat rack is empty save for a bright blue windbreaker that I recognize to be Eli's. Wondering if he's actually home or if he just chose to take a different jacket to school this morning, I walk to the kitchen. Surprisingly, when I arrive, I see him sitting at the kitchen table, bent over a notebook. He's still wearing a blue oxford shirt and khakis, his school uniform, but the tie around his neck has been loosened and sleeves rolled up. He's also not wearing his shoes, and I can't help but smile when I spot his green and blue striped socks. However, the smile is short-lived when I notice the visible tension in his shoulders and the tired way in which he is cradling his head.

"Hey," I say, placing my hand on his shoulder before taking a seat across from him, "Are you the only one home?"

He nods. "Mom brought Gwen to the ballet studio to watch Max's lesson and Henry is at some soccer thing. He said he asked Mom if he could go this morning."

I nod, now recalling the phone call Kim and I had shared this morning. She had called me from her seventh floor office, asking if I'd be able to go out for lunch with her. I had originally replied yes, but then Jerry had walked by let me know that Morris had called in sick earlier and that we'd therefore be down one attending. Before I had to hang up, she let me know the agenda for that afternoon as she was working from eight to three while I was on from six until four.

"And what are you working on?"

Once he's both heard and seen what I've said, he drops his eyes back to his paper. "French." He replies flatly, tiredly.

I look on and see that he is, in fact, doing a worksheet on French adjectives and adverbs. We remain silent for a while longer before I tap my fingers in front of him and make sure he sees me. "Are you okay?" I ask.

He stares at me with piercing blue eyes before replying. "I'm fine."

"Eli, please…don't lie to me." I tell my son. "Both Mom and I have noticed something is up. We just want to help you."

Eli stares at me for a moment, his hand tense around his number two pencil, then drops his gaze. "I hate school." He says finally, his voice soft and almost inaudible.

I get his attention and speak. "Did you have a bad day?"

He gives what would be a laugh if not for the wry expression on his face. "More like a bad month, Mom."

I had a feeling.

"Is it your teachers? Classes?" I ask. "Your classmates?"

He nods slowly. "I…It's just so different. I liked my old school. I was with all my friends, I didn't have to take stupid French every day or wear this stupid tie, we had art every day, and I wasn't the only…" he trails off and sighs, "There aren't any other deaf kids in my class or even the school, I bet. No one at my old school even cared; they all talked to me and helped me when I needed it and asked me to repeat something if they didn't understand what I said, but now I'm like…some freak. And the teachers don't even get it. They use the microphone but they still talk so fast and they never even try to face me and I just hate it. It makes me feel so stupid." He finishes. "I hate it, Mom. I really hate it."

This is what I was afraid of. From kindergarten through fifth grade, Max and Eli attended a small private school that is well-known for placing emphasis on each individual student's needs. For example, while Max and Eli are, of course, twins, Max was given extra help with reading but was placed in an advanced mathematics group, while Eli was able to use hearing assistive technology and complete his speech therapy during the school day while still excelling in both reading and 'the arts'. They both did extremely well, the point of testing at seventh and eighth grade levels at the end of their fifth grade year, but as it's only an elementary school, Kim and I were forced to go on the hunt for a middle school for them to attend this fall.

We searched high and low, looking at every type of school imaginable, from Montessori to Day Schools to Waldorf and even a few Christian schools. Of course, we also looked into public schools, but figured that the transition from elementary to middle school would be smoothest if they stayed within the realm of private schools. Finally, and almost ironically after so much searching, we settled on the small middle school that Henry attends, which has a focus on giving students a well-rounded, liberal arts education by utilizing interdisciplinary teaching. They both passed the entrance exam with flying colors and, despite the uniform and leaving many of their friends behind, they were excited to start the year once they got their acceptance letters.

Though we were mainly looking for a school that would fit both of their needs, we tried especially hard to find a middle school that would push Eli without leaving him to fend completely for himself. As a student with a severe hearing loss who doesn't use sign language, communication within the classroom is limited to utilizing what hearing he does have, lip reading when possible, and having his teachers use a small, attachable microphone that syncs to his hearing aids. Though these accommodations are seemingly simple, few private schools in the area are apparently unable to distinguish between hearing impaired and intellectually impaired, which lessened the schools we had to choose from. In the end, we chose to send them to Henry's school because of its challenging academics, not necessarily because they had some sort of an outstanding deaf and hard of hearing program, which they most certainly do not. When we presented out concerns to the head of admissions, he was quick to assure us that Eli would be given every opportunity possible, and that, for some reason, was enough for us. Looking back now, however, I can see that we may have made the wrong decision in bypassing his wellbeing in order to send our children to what seemed to be the best school.

I reach across the table and place my hand atop his. To my pleasure, he doesn't draw back. "First of all: you are not a freak, and you are not stupid. Okay? I don't want you to ever let anyone make you think that you are. There's a reason you were accepted into the Academy, you know." I remind him. He nods slowly in agreement. "I'm going to talk to Mom tonight, and then we'll call your school on Monday to set up a meeting with your teachers, alright? We'll try to figure something out…I don't think we're going to be able to do anything about French class or the uniforms, but we can try to work something out…"

He looks at me warily. "It's just not fair, Mom…" he says after a long moment, "Max has a lot of friends and she's good at her classes and she has ballet and everything…and I'm just…" he shrugs. "Just help me. I don't want to be on the outside anymore."

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and give his hand another squeeze before standing up and opening my arms to him. He obliges and embraces me; his head is almost even with mine save for an inch, and the lump I've just swallowed gets larger when I realize, for the first time in a while, just how much he has grown both inside and out.

"I'll do my best." I promise him once we've stepped back from each other.