
Ki o tsuke!
Calls sensei, and twenty children snap to attention, facing the front and awaiting instruction. All but one young man: my son. He is standing at the end, facing the wrong direction, his gi practically falling off and swinging his belt as if it were a lasso. There is a long pause as it becomes obvious that he neither recognizes the verbal command nor the social cues that his behavior is inappropriate.
It is difficult for me to watch. Part of me wants to jump in and direct him, give him the extra attention he needs to be successful, or maybe just protect him from the impatient stares of the entire room. Strange thing to protect him from, since I am clearly the only one of the two of us who has noticed. But that is part of why we signed him up. This class has the physical activity and physical games he loves with a little of the sitting still, standing at attention, and listening to verbal and social cues he struggles with.
Over the years my daughter has been involved, I have seen other children like him who just don’t seem to get it, and perhaps more aggravatingly don’t seem to even notice they don’t get it. I’ve seen their enthusiasm despite regular corrections, seen their excitement as they slowly gain rank and seen their more eccentric behaviors gradually decrease as they grow and mature.
More remarkably, however, I have seen a room full of children from the age of four to sixteen who simply accept these quirky children for who they are. The brown belts spend a little extra time helping them with their gi, tying their belt and redirecting their attention, but no one seems to actually mind the ones who don’t fit in, who make the class stand at attention while they spin in circles or who ultimately are responsible for the entire room doing push ups.
These are your dojo brothers.
Sensei emphasizes, and he doesn’t allow anything but respect.
It is an environment I felt was safe to put my son into, although I knew it would be challenging for him and those responsible for teaching him. It is somewhat sad to say, but I have not always felt the same about our church, or his involvement with the programs he so much wants to be a part of.
Still, he is my son. I don’t really want to sit back and watch him “grow out of it.” I want to “fix” him, make him “normal,” help him not to experience the social stigmas he doesn’t seem to be aware of anyway. Sometimes I even try, and we spend hours battling each other as I try to take this little square peg and force it into a little round hole and get frustrated with the little peg who somehow should respond to the hammering some other way.
I am getting better at letting him be himself. At not being repulsed by his saliva covered hands. At taking comments like “For him, he was good…” as a compliment worthy of praise for my young man. At setting my expectations somewhere he can reach rather than where I think he should be.
But as I sat and watched him in karate last night, an odd thought popped into my mind…a new label for my son.
Weird, unsocialized homeschooler.
It doesn’t matter that he is only two months into kindergarten. I see him someday as the subject of other people’s conversations and I hear all the comments I’ve read in the numerous “Yeah, but…” concerns regarding homeschooling.
I knew a homeschooled kid once. Sure he was smart, but he just didn’t fit in. He was weird. He just didn’t get the social cues.
Coming from a quirky family, having not fit in especially well in school and being married to a man who most assuredly did not fit into the school enviornment, I have always wondered whether such comments say more about homeschoolers or the public/private school graduates passing judgment.
The fact is, since he is homeschooled, that will likely always be blamed for any social deficiencies which persist in him until adolescence and beyond. It doesn’t matter that while he doesn’t seem to “get” sitting still, his sister is leading class. It doesn’t matter that while I’m brainstorming ways to make it possible for him to participate in game time in AWANAs, my three year old is getting praise for her vocabulary, listening skills and maturity heaped upon her. It also doesn’t matter how far he has come over the years and the fact that he has come from unmanageable to merely weird in just five years.
Society has a single standard, and since he doesn’t have any obvious and visible disabilities, I fear his “otherness” will always be blamed on his parents’ educational choices. And that leaves us with a dilemma. Mostly I fret alternately about how to force my little square peg into his little round hole or at what kind of damage I’m doing when I try too hard. But I can no more make that hole square than I can the peg round.
So where does that leave us?
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