Schrodinger's Cat

In 1935 Erwin Schrodinger proposed a paradox that he used to illustrate a quantum mechanics point concerning the nature of wave particles.  In the paradox, a cat is placed in a steel box.  Also in the box is a Geiger counter, a vial of poison, a radioactive material, and a hammer.  Should the radioactive material decay, the Geiger counter picks up the decay and activates the hammer, which then breaks the vial of poison, releasing it and killing the cat.  Since the radioactive decay involved would be a random process, it is not possible to predict when the poison would be released, killing the cat.  As a result, theoretically, since the cat’s state is tied directly to the decay of the radioactive atom, the cat, like the atom, exists in a condition known as superposition.  It is both alive and dead at the same time.  It exists in both states equally until the box is opened and the cat is actually observed, then it assumes one state or the other. 

In many ways, when we look at proposing special education services for a student and begin to implement them, those services are very similar to the cat in Schrodinger’s experiment.  Are these services going to be effective or not?  We really don’t know.  We may have expectations, but until they are actually tried and evaluated for that child, we don’t know.  Until we open the box, we don’t know if the services are successful or not.  The child is much like the atom in the paradox.  How the child reacts over time is unique to that child – random, or as we describe it – the child is unique.  What happens when the individual child and the services interact will differ in some way from every other child receiving services.

Everyone knows that, right?  We do, but it is also easy to put blinders on ourselves without realizing it.  Over time we come to expect a specific reaction to a specific service from a child with a specific set of special needs.  Sometimes we forget the random variable.  What we sometimes forget is that the child is unique and will respond uniquely to a set of services. 

Often this happens without realizing we are doing it.  As a parent, I’ve seen that happen to my son, Ian.  Being deaf and having coreoathetoid cerebral palsy is not a standard combination of issues.  He followed by about two years a particular student with a similar diagnosis into a class with a specific teacher.  The teacher’s response was that there was no problem, she had taught a student with the same issues.  The problem was that the two students were actually very different people and responded differently to how those services were provided.  This particular teacher, even after numerous discussions, never really understood that particular component of the whole special education equation.  As a parent, it was incredibly frustrating.  As a teacher it can also be very frustrating if you are discounting the random element in the equation.  Why isn’t this service working with this child when it works for a different child?   The reason is that at the core of this equation, every child is unique, and the complexity of being human makes this the hardest of all elements to normalize.

So, as we work with the children we serve, be open to changing the other parts of the special education equation, instead of trying to force a child into an equation that does not work.   Of course you cannot discount tried and true services.  But realize that when all other parts of the ‘standard’ equation are the same, the variable is the child.  You cannot change the child in the equation to make the specific equation work.  When the equation is not working, then it probably is time to look at changing the other elements – the services – so the equation will work for that student.

The Intersection of Hope and Fear

Of all the annual events in the lives of families, probably the one that elicits the biggest release of nervous energy is going back to school day.  I can think of no other event that happens on a yearly basis where hope and fear are so juxtaposed.   The beginning of the school year for a family is something like Columbus casting off from the pier, turning his ships west, and heading out into the great unknown.  What will you find?  What will happen?  Will you find a shortcut to India and the Far East?  Or will you get swallowed up by one of the great sea monsters believed to inhabit the seas beyond the edge of the map? Or will you wind up somewhere else, on some new land that you did not know existed?

    

The start of school is always accompanied by hope.  Education provides the opportunity for success.  Education represents growth and positive change for most of us.  It is the pathway to the bright future.   School is the place where our children meet most of their friends.  In many ways, for families, schools are the central educational and social node for their children for nine months every year.  That school should represent hope and education and should be valued is a mindset that we try to inculcate into our children.

    

The start of school, however, also means fear for families.  Each year is a trip into the unknown.  Each year brings new teachers, new peers, new parents to meet, new educational demands. Will my child successfully navigate these new things or not?  You can hope, but cannot be sure until the days begin to roll by and homework and grades and responses from your children and from the school start to roll in.  Until the new becomes familiar, that fear will stay in place.  The bottom line is that the start of school also represents a huge dose of change into our lives.  Is the year a beginning of an amazing journey, or is it the beginning of a trip into the heart of darkness?  None of us really know that first day.  All we can do is fret about the changes and newness while being hopeful about the potential of what lay ahead.

      

While all of us have experienced this, I believe that no group experiences it more strongly than those families sending their child off to school for the first time.  The arrival of that day is something akin to being hit by one of Zeus’s lightning bolts from Olympus.  As a parent you are now sending that child who you have nurtured and cared for and protected out into the wild on their own.  Further, there is nothing you can do to stop this.  It is an inexorable change, charged to the highest levels with hope and fear for mom and dad.  In many ways, this day can be the most terrifying of all the ‘normal’ days that occur as a parent.   No matter how you prepare for it, the realization is there that you are sending your young child out and into the care of virtual strangers and you are at their mercy.   But you send the child because you must.

      

As the years go by and this annual drama plays itself out again and again, the hope eventually outdistances the fear.  As a family you become comfortable with the schools and realize your child will not suffer through tortures or cruelties that would make Torquemada’s Inquisition look like a circus.  As a family you come to accept that your child is seeing benefits of an education and the folks at the school are, for the most part, really good people who care.  Over time, that hope grows and the fears subside.  Even so, these feelings about the first day never go away completely.   Even when your child is no longer really a child, but is away as a young adult at college, there is still the excitement brought on by hope, coupled with the nervous energy brought on by the fear of the unknown.

      

Embrace the excitement.  Embrace the hope.  Embrace the fear.  The truth is that these feelings reflect much of what makes us human.  These feelings are a large part of what lets us know we are alive.  Hopefully everyone got through that first day successfully.  Hopefully everyone is now back and hard at work, learning, exploring, and growing.  That is school and it is also life.  Welcome back!

Squeezed

This was a very interesting summer for me.  Ian continues to grow more and more into a mature, responsible adult.  I’m still Dad, and still am involved, but his level of independence continues to grow.  Ian’s college grades are good; he has a 3.25 overall GPA, and about 3.9 in his major field.  He has about another year in this program and he will be done with his A.S. degree.  We have also been looking at four year colleges where Ian can go to complete a B.S. degree.  We visited Lenoir-Rhyne University, and have plans to go see others.  I know that 10 years ago, I did not know that we would get here.  The hope was there, but so was the dread that such dreams would not come true.  And Ian REALLY wants to find a college that does not involve commuting from home, but has a dorm involved.  I am so happy about that – it is normal and it means he wants his independence.

  

Unfortunately, my father has had another stroke.  At this point, he won’t be going home.  Instead, my mother has finally accepted the need to move into an assisted living facility where they can be together.  She, with some help, has found a place where they can still have an apartment, but Dad will have access to the services and supports he will need.  This, however, has not been an easy process.  It has involved me, my sister, one of my uncles and an aunt.  Talking and talking and talking to my mother about the need to accept change, and the need to understand that there are certain realities in her and my father’s life that need to be accepted.  It has been something of an ongoing intervention.  

    

We seem to have hit that point where, while having a child with disabilities who is moving out of and away from the need for guidance and support, we now have a set of parents where they need more support and guidance from me and from my sister.  The parent – child roles here are well on their way to being reversed.  My guess is that this will be a permanent new dynamic in my family’s life.  

   

I’ve seen this dynamic happen to other families.  Sometimes it is in families that have children with special needs, and sometimes it isn’t, but it certainly adds to the stress levels in the family.  I guess I’m now part of that ‘tweener group of adults who still have kids to worry about but also need to be worrying about their parents as well.  

    

Where do we go from here?  Really, we just keep moving forward.  My wife and I watch with pride and relief as our son continues on his path toward an independent adulthood.  We also hold our breath watching how things progress with my parents.  We all know the end game for my father – really for all of us at some point in time – but we aren’t really sure what path he will follow in this particular journey.  Will it be quick, or a slow series of steps of decline?   The larger question in many ways to us is how will my mother deal with all this, and how will we be helping her through this process?  Again, multiple paths are available.  Will she become strong and step up, finding that strength in herself, or will she be weighed down by the stress and changes?  We don’t know yet.  We do know that we will be there somehow to help her through.

The Fox That Owns the Place

Ian and I have been back from Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks for less than a week now.  We spent 3 days in Grand Teton and a week in Yellowstone.  In a change from our normal routine and with her principal’s permission, my wife, Sidney, went with us for the first five days.  Then we got her on her flight out of Bozeman, MT and Ian and I continued on to Yellowstone’s northern range.   Yellowstone is a place I have fallen in love with.  Ian enjoys it immensely as does Sidney.  But the second half of this trip was our ‘man’ trip, with just Ian and me. 

Yellowstone is one of those places of constant change, where one visit will be completely different from the next.  We’ve seen 80 degree days and we’ve seen snow.  We’ve seen bright sunshine that leaves you in your shirt sleeves, or cold rain with strong winds that even with gloves and coats leaves you trying to find just a little more warmth.  That is a large part of what I think we love about the place.  No two days are ever the same.

We did some of our usual things – we took a whitewater trip on the Yellowstone River one day, and we spent a bit of time on horseback with a guide.  We were again far enough out that it was just the 3 of us and the horses.  No other people.  But there were plenty of animals.   This year was a big year for moose and for grizzlies, as well as black bear.  The wolves were not as present – we only saw one this visit.  And of course the elk, bison, bighorn, and mule deer were very visible throughout the trip.

But there was one animal that we saw that made the biggest impression on us.  In some ways this critter reminded me of my son.  It was a little fox, and he was missing about a third of his tail.  At some point, he had some bad fortune – a run in with a larger predator maybe – and had a significant segment of what should have been a big bushy tail missing. 

This fox was not in the field or on a hill.  Instead, he was walking right down the middle of the oncoming lane of traffic on the road between Mammoth and Tower Junction in Yellowstone.  He also had a small traffic jam behind him.  The first car in line was a massive white pickup truck – you know – the kind with the dual wheels in the back.  The whole mass of this parade was moving at about 3 miles an hour.  Luckily, there was no one behind us, so we stopped and watched.  As the fox passed us, he actually looked over at us.  I would swear that he had an expression on his face that was half humorous and half self-assurance.  We watched as this parade continued, fox in the lead, for about the next quarter mile, where everyone disappeared over a hill, still moving at about 3 miles an hour.  That night at dinner, we were in hysterics laughing at the sight of this fox.  Ian then went on to describe it to the waitress, who was about his age, and had her laughing, too.

Later that night, as I was lying awake in bed and thinking about the day, it really hit me how much that fox reminded me of Ian.  Despite whatever that fox had been through to cost him his tail, he seemed to be enjoying himself.  Hmm, who do I know that has that kind of mindset?  It certainly isn’t me.  I’m too dour.  But Ian seems to find humor in almost everything, and doesn’t seem to let the things he has to deal with get to him.  But that fox definitely seemed to know what it was doing and where it was trying to go, and it wasn’t going to let something like a big pickup truck deter him from his goal.  Hmm, again, sounds like Ian.  After having one of my, ‘son, are you studying enough?’ lectures all planned, because I was waiting for bad grades to arrive from the college after keeping my mouth shut all semester and just watching what I thought might have been an academic train wreck approaching, I never got to use that lecture.  Ian, I think, knew what had been coming.  When he presented semester grades of all ‘A’s to me, I did my impression of a fish out of water, and I got the same look from him that about two weeks later I got from that fox.

That expression told me that he knew exactly what he was doing.  Disabilities or not, he has a plan and is following it.  Just as that fox was not going to move for that line of traffic, Ian is chugging down his own road, keeping in his lane and doing what he needs to do to get where he wants to go.   That look was also took another one of those steps to make me reevaluate Ian.  He is an adult (I’ve known this for a while – it just is hard to accept in my role as dad).  While he still asks for guidance at times, he is able to make those adult decisions.   He needs me less than he ever has.  This is a hard realization. Not bad a bad realization, but just hard one.  I now keep that picture of the fox on my computer, so that when I start feeling the need to go into helicopter mode and hover, I can pull it up and look at that fox’s expression and think about that day.  It reminds me that the time for hovering is long past.  It also helps me remember that Ian has a plan about where he is going, and he is in control of that plan, not me.