I Fit in: Pour Your Heart Out

“I wouldn’t want to go to school there,” my oldest said, of the school where their karate lessons take place, as we were driving home.

“It’s okay for karate, but it’s not nice, like our school. I definitely wouldn’t want to go there,” he informed me, as if there were any question about my boys actually switching schools.

My youngest chimed in, “It’s old and our school is new, I like our school better.”

And then came my middle’s quiet voice, from the very back of the van. “I like our school. I fit in at our school.”

I bit my lip, not sure where this was coming from or how to respond, but he continued, with pauses between each sentence.

“Remember that school I went to a long time ago?….

That school and the other school, I didn’t fit in….

I tried to be good and my brain wouldn’t let me….

At that school my brother went to after me….

And the other school….

The one before this school….

They didn’t like me there….

But I do good at this school…

I fit in at this school.”

I took a deep breath and told him, “Yes, you do an awesome job at this school! I’m so proud of you!”

And with that, my boys moved on to discussing which events they wanted to compete in for their upcoming karate tournament, as if what their brother said hadn’t just hurt my heart.

Because what he said was true.

We never really talked about it TO him. Or even around him.

He was only four when he was at the school where he “tried to be good but {his} brain wouldn’t let {him.}” He was often in trouble, though they did do their best to work with him.

And he was only five at that second school, where he said they didn’t like him. And really, that was how I felt, too. That as soon as they realized that he wasn’t an easy child, they didn’t do anything to try to help him, they were just building a case for him to leave, which we did, after less than half a school year.

All of that was before his diagnosis of ADHD and PDD-NOS. I knew there was something going on there, that made everyday kid things more challenging for my son.

And since his diagnosis and since choosing to medicate, things have gotten so much easier for him.

He’s able to work to his potential and show that he’s a smart cookie. We almost never hear anything negative about his behavior from school… his teacher this year told me that she absolutely loves him  and that he’s so sweet, which is what I knew all along, but what was hard for others to see before.

I’m glad he’s doing so well. I’m so proud of him.

But somehow, because this year and the last two school years have been great for him, I figured he didn’t really remember much about the two years before then.

Those preschool years, my oldest doesn’t really remember much about his. My youngest does, but really only about last year, since it wasn’t that long ago. So, I thought maybe my middle just didn’t have many memories of those hard days.

Yet, he does. And what he remembers is not fitting in.

Dwelling on it makes me want to cry, to figure out how to go back in time and fix things for him, to explain it all away, to make those memories happier somehow, to do anything I possibly could to make it better.

I know I can’t, though.

So, I’m trying not to dwell on that.

Instead, I’ll be happy that now he feels like he’s in a place where he fits in.

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