Beware the Snake Oil!

We are looking for additional resources for Braden.  Naturally, this means making lots of phone calls and asking the very basic of questions: what can you do to help my son?  I recently had a business owner make the following claims.

• I can teach your son to turn his dyslexia on and off at will.
• In just a few sessions, I'll do what takes Barton 3 to 5 months.
• I will quickly put him a full year or two ahead of his peers, regardless of where he's at now.

... and then she added the following:

I've been doing this for 30 years.  I used to believe in doing therapy with phonics and OG, but the kids tend to lose what they learn once they quit.  I use hands-on methods, which will fully remediate his disability by reprograming the way he thinks.  I first do a full evaluation to determine his strengths, and then I teach him according to those strengths.  My personal goal is to put your child two years ahead of his peers.

Wonderful, right?  The sweet aroma of success for my son - just an arms reach away and oh so painless was beckoning to me, tempting me with the promise it held.  "Just follow me," it said, "I'll make life easy for him.  I'll take away his pain.  I'll even cure him of his awkward social skills.  No longer will he be a weird kid.  Everyone will love him!"

I knew it was all smoke & mirrors, but I really wanted to believe her.  When I asked the tutor what her rates were, she somehow glossed over the question so that I forgot I ever asked.  When I asked what methods she would use to help my son, she emphasized retraining Braden's brain with her amazing approach.  We were on the phone for about 15 minutes and she didn't give me a single straight answer other than to state she didn't believe in the OG approach.

Plus, she seemed to never have heard of the Decoding Dyslexia movement.

Say whaaat? 

One thing was clear: she knew how to prey upon desperate parents.  There is no miracle cure.  Slow and steady wins the race: always.

So the advice I give is to truly listen to the person on the phone.  Are they interested in hearing your struggles?  Are they interested in hearing your child's story?  Are they interested in the other methods you have used?  What are their opinions of those methods?  Do they offer thoughtful explanations for why the methods may not have worked? 

Most importantly, do they show an interest in helping you find the resources you need for your child?  If there is one thing I have learned about quality professionals within the dyslexic community, it's that they have a genuine passion for what they do, and if they can't help your little dyslexic, they'll want to help you find someone who can. 

If they're heavy on promoting their product, profit is all they're interested in.  Your child's success is not a concern for them.  Remember, if it sounds too good to be true, it is.  If it sounds like a miracle cure, it isn't.  It's snake oil. 

Teachers and Emails and Websites. Oh My!

Now that we're at the end of the school year, I'm completely out of steam.  Yesterday, Braden told me he got a 44% on a vocabulary test I never knew he had, and my response was little more than, "Bummer.  Well... we're almost there, kid!" with a firm pat on the back.

A few months ago, I might have lectured him, written the teacher and asked for a retest, told Braden he needs to tell me when he has these tests so I can help.  Today, I'm all, "Whatever.  Just pass the class and I'll be happy." 

You see, Braden has four teachers.  Each has a website.  Because he doesn't write homework in his agenda (and the teachers won't see to it that he does), this means I have to check four websites for daily updates and homework assignments.  A couple of those sites aren't updated on a regular basis, so getting up-to-date information is a crapshoot. 

In addition to the four sites for his teachers, I have to check a website for his grades and another for his force-books-down-the-kids-throat reading grades.  Then there's Learning Ally, which he is supposed read with every night.  This is a total of seven websites I'm expected to stay on top of... just for my son. 

Kaelin has a total of three websites.  So we're now up to ten websites I have to check to stay on top of the kids' grades and homework assignments. 

[This is where I'd like to recognize parents who have more children under your roofs than I do.  For three kids my son's age, that would be 21 websites!  TWENTY-ONE!  To you parents, I send my most heartfelt fist bump.  You guys are awesome!!]

At the start of the year, I did try.  But I think I quit some time before Christmas... though I may have already been overwhelmed by Halloween.  I'm really not sure.  I just know that every time I wrote a teacher and said, "if this was so important, why didn't I know about it?" he came back with, "if you checked my website, you'd have known."  What can I say to that? 

We parents of dyslexics can argue till we're blue in the face about how teachers need to make sure our kids write in their agendas or how we need reminders, the occasional friendly heads-up regarding major projects and deadlines.  We can argue that our kids understandably hate writing, that they have memory problems and communication shortfalls, and that we need help helping them.  None of it will do any good because while we have two or three kids to manage, they have thirty times that number and other cranky parents.  Both sides could go round for days about who needs to do what or what's fair.

What it boils down to is that teachers have websites now.  Even if those sites are vague and crappy, we are expected to check all of them.  All of them.  Daily. 

Oh, and before you have the chance to ask me why I didn't just print up the assignments every Sunday afternoon before the school week began, I want you to know I was doing that at the start of the year.  But:

• The dog ate the print-outs.
• The cat peed on them.
• The printer broke.
• The printer ran out of ink.
• They were too hard to track.
• Too much paper to keep organized.
• I had to wash my hair that day.
• I shouldn't have to check so many websites.

Anyhow, if you flash forward to today, when we enter the last month of school (thank god), organization and motivation have gone completely out the window.  I think Kaelin went to school with one pink striped sock and one orange sock.  I don't care too much because, hey, they were clean and she was wearing jeans, so nobody will see them anyhow. 

This year, I'm limping across the finish line and I'm dragging the kids behind me. 

And no sooner did I get that last sentence typed out than my phone notified me I had a new email:

I'd like to request a conference at your convenience because Kaelin seems to be struggling with tasks that were previously easy for her. 

*sigh!*

Twenty-nine days, my friends.  Only twenty-nine more days.



Everything has Additional Meaning

Sorry... but today's post is a little ranty.  B had a rough day, and I'm on his side, naturally. 

Braden, Kaelin and I spent the better part of Sunday working on a volcano project that was due today.  As Braden was running out the door, he forgot his trumpet at home.  I don't blame him; he loves science, and carrying the huge volcano project was his priority.  The project along with his thirty pound backpack and trumpet case would have been serious overload going to school this morning.

Right now, it's about 3:00 in the afternoon.  Braden should be in band... and subsequently should be getting in trouble for forgetting his trumpet.  Below is a texted conversation between B and me.  I'm going to assume that if you're reading this blog, you're also familiar with what texts from dyslexics might look like, so I'll also assume you'll pick up on what he's trying to tell me.

 

 

I spoke with Ms. C, and was told the following:

• Braden was playing games on his iPad while in band when he was supposed to be "air playing" a fake trumpet for practice.
• He doesn't know the pass code to his iPad.  So how exactly was he able to play games (instead of fake-play his trumpet) if a teacher didn't log him on?  Someone must've unintentionally allowed him to see his pass code for him to log on unsupervised.
• He refused to go to his remedial reading program before school.  This is the program where they flash words like cat and dog on a computer screen and he's expected to read it, say it, and touch it.  (As an aside, he hates - hates - this program.)
• He's had a rough day all around. 

Why any of those points should matter when I'm calling about a bullying incident is beyond me.

 

As for the bullying issue:

• She doesn't see how the project is damaged. 
• From what she could tell, everything is fixable. 
• She asks that I remind Braden that this is the second time he's had his iPad taken this year, and if it gets taken again, he's no longer allowed to bring it back to school. 

Good to know the school is addressing bullying so effectively.

 

I know Braden has a story, his own version of events.  The words are there and he can't get them out, especially when he's upset.  You can even see through his texts that he relays events in a jumbled up context.  So this poor kid has something he needs to say; it just won't come out.  Unfortunately, B's brand of dyslexia affects his speech, too.  So let me translate what happened from his point of view based on the texts:

• Ms. H (the teacher he has before band) said he could play on his iPad.  (She probably entered the pass code so he could do so.)
• He was not aware that he could pick up his project after band and before coming home.  That's why he brought it with him.
• With no clear motive, the other kids on the band bus started pulling the grass off of his volcano project and ruined it in his eyes.
• He was still playing games with his iPad in band because no teacher - at any point - ever told him he was no longer allowed to play.
• He ended up getting in trouble and getting his iPad taken away.
• He feels like he was first bullied - and when he tried to report it, he was the one who got in trouble.  The other kids essentially got away with picking on him.

This is what life is like when a child literally doesn't see the world the same way everyone else does.  Always remember when working with dyslexics that instructions need to be clear, precise, and consistent:

• Yes, you can play with your iPad while you're in my class, but when you leave my classroom, you need to turn it off.
• Don't forget to take your volcano projects home today.  For now, you can leave them here and pick them up before you catch the bus home.
• I know I let you play with your iPad in band last time, but today I want you to pretend you have a trumpet to practice with.  Please put your iPad under your seat or give it to me.

Every word counts.  Every sentence has meaning beyond your intent.  Be clear.  Be precise.  Be exact in what you want to say.  Take my advice and the issues Braden had today will be minimal in the future.



 









State Testing: Do We Opt Out?

In Texas, we call it the STAAR test.  Your state may call it something else.  I have plenty of other names for it, but we'll just call it the soul-crushing, anxiety-inducing, totally unnecessary state mandated standardized test for now.  You know the test I'm talking about: it's the one on which your child is taught his or her entire future is hinged.  They're told it's the magical future-predicting test, that if they don't pass, they will not just fail at school but that they will fail in life.  They are taught that their self worth and level of intelligence are entirely dependent on how they perform on this test. 

For my son the STAAR test causes extreme anxiety, nights filled with tears, and angry arguments with the teachers throughout the school year when they bark at him to use his strategies.  As the days get closer to the actual STAAR test at the end of the year, the anxiety of the teachers is always thrust upon him and those like him.  It never fails.   

Braden recently took his umpteenth "benchmark" test about a month ago.  (For those of you not in the know, benchmark testing is the testing before the testing to determine how prepared the children are for the real test.)  When he came into the classroom, he lied to his teachers and told them he didn't have his iPad when, in fact, he did.  Strange as it sounds, his iPad is his security blanket... and it's his link to me on the worst days because he can use the school's wireless internet connection to send me a quick message.  (Sneaky little genius!)

When I was informed that he brought his iPad to the test, my jaw hit the floor.  I foolishly sided with the school when they told me that if this benchmark had been the real deal, his actions could have put the school under a formal investigation, that the TEA would be called in, and teachers put under review.  In the words of the Vice Principal, her heart nearly stopped beating!  *Gasp!*  This may seem dramatic, but it's all true - and it's an understandable and genuine fear for the school because it works like this:

If children fail, the teachers fail.  If teachers fail, the school fails.  If the school fails, the district fails.  And nobody - NOBODY - is allowed to fail. 

Some parents here in the Lone Star State have decided to opt out of standardized testing.  Apparently, we can use Section 26 of the Texas Education Code and the Due Process Clause of the 14th Amendment from the U.S. Constitution.  Now I don't know what all of that fancy talk means, but it sounds pretty legit to me.  From what I can tell:

it is my parental right to choose to “opt my child out” of curriculum or instruction that is harmful to children as stated in the Texas Education Code CHAPTER 26. PARENTAL RIGHTS AND RESPONSIBILITIES Sec. A26.010.EXEMPTION FROM INSTRUCTION. (a) A parent is entitled to remove the parent ’s child temporarily from a class or other school activity that conflicts with the parent ’s religious or moral beliefs if the parent presents or delivers to the teacher of the parent ’s child a written statement authorizing the removal of the child from the class or other school activity.
I wish I could take credit for that, but I straight up stole it from the "opt out" link above.

Considering that Braden has diagnosed anxiety directly related to myriad classroom settings, it could be considered morally reprehensible for the school to subject my son to the exact environment that triggers his anxiety.  Hmmm... must ponder that some more.

I'm still on the fence about opting out, though.  Yes, it's good to take a stand regarding such an important issue, but what example would I be setting for my son?  We, as adults, know a genuine issue when we see one.  Children don't necessarily see things the way we do. 

While I see opting out as an important statement, my son may interpret opting out as simply saying "no" when he doesn't want to do something: "I don't like this test, so I'm not gonna' do it... and you can't make me."  Could I end up teaching him this lesson?  Maybe.  So the question - to me - is this:

Do we tell our children it's their right to opt out if they want to and potentially teach them the old "when the going gets tough" cliché, or do we give them a pep talk and to remind them of their true value and worth before sending them off to school to potentially teach them that sometimes a problem presents itself as a mountain when it's really just a hurdle.  After all, these tests don't mean a thing when it comes to life in general, do they?

Do we fight this battle legally, as TAMSA is striving to do... or do those of us without TAMSA's resources fight the battle in the classrooms?

Escríbeme: It's how You say "Write Me."

Yesterday I spoke at a small local advocacy event.  All I knew was that I would be speaking as a local resource on behalf of Decoding Dyslexia and that I was given a full hour for my presentation.  I was told that most attendees would already know what dyslexia is.  Other than that, I had no guidance on how I was to present or what I should say.

I was given three weeks' notice before the day came.  I had plenty of time to prepare.  But on the day before my presentation, I still had nothing.  So as I sat at my desk at work (where I should have been paying invoices) I instead started tweaking an old presentation I used at a previous event.  It wasn't much, but it was a start.

The real meat of my work wasn't done until after I came home, though.  I remembered a night in October when I had been sitting on my bathroom floor, crying and desperately searching the internet at 2:00 in the morning.  I was upset because it felt like I had a story the school wasn't interested in.  The people representing the school - who are supposed to be as invested in my son's education as I am - seemed disinterested.  Ours was just another case they had to push through the system.

I was mentally and physically exhausted, and as a result I fired off emails to anyone and everyone I thought would listen.  The end result was that within about a month's time, I found Decoding Dyslexia and with it, a small portion of the peace I was looking for if for no other reason than because I no longer felt alone.

As I sat wondering what to put in my presentation - and knowing I would have to cater to a large portion of the audience who couldn't speak English -  it occurred to me that I should share my son's story.  Regardless of any cultural or language barriers, we all have a story.  As long as I had a translator, the language gap wouldn't be an issue if we could all share in the same story because, let's face it: all parents of children who have learning difficulties want to share their story and know that someone is out there who can say, "I know what you're going through."  It's just a matter of finding that person.

With the story at the heart of what I wanted to say, my presentation went off without a hitch.  I spoke of dyslexia, but I gave plenty of resources everyone could use, not just the dyslexics.  In closing I promised all of them that if they ever needed anything, language will NOT be an issue.  I promised them that if they emailed me, they would get a response, that I have spoken four languages in my lifetime (some better than others) and I am not intimidated by a barrier so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

The first person to approach me after the presentation was a representative of an organization looking for grass roots movements to donate money to.  She asked me if I would be interested in starting the application process for Decoding Dyslexia in my tiny town.  She was impressed about my determination at making the movement bilingual and she felt her organization could help me do that.

I.  Was.  Floored.  I was absolutely blown away.  I was so shocked, in fact, that I gave her my card and totally forgot to get hers!  So I may have blown it before I've even had a chance to get started!  But that's not my point...

The representative had moved on to speak with others in the room, and a mother approached me.  She was very well dressed and had the nicest, loveliest demeanor!  "I am sorry," she said, "but I am not good at this talk."

"That's okay," I said.  I smiled broadly and as warmly as possible and oh my word!  Someone just asked me if I wanted to apply for a grant!

"My child.  She have this, too."

"Please, write me!" I said.  I was trying to speak as simply as possible so that she would know I wanted to hear her, too.  "Scrivimi," I insisted.  (That's Italian for write me.)  Did I mention that I could possibly get a grant to take this bilingual?  How awesome is that?  I could get an audio recording of the Handbook done in each language!  I could do a professional bilingual video.  *gasp!*  I could even have at-risk kids in juvie diagnosed for FREE!

The woman took my card.  "Your story, it helps me."

"I'm so glad!  Please, write me any time.  Scrivimi."  I smiled.

Looking back on that moment, I feel like such a jerk.  (Jerk isn't exactly the right word for it, as I have a vocabulary full of explicit synonyms which I find more appropriate, but in this forum jerk will have to do.)  I just finished vowing that language would not be an issue for these people if they ever needed me, this woman sucked it up to come speak to me - and that must've been pretty difficult for her, not speaking English n' all, and I came back with write me.  I might as well have told her to have her people call mine.

I was still so shocked about the possibility of taking our little group bilingual - with money - that I overlooked the fact that the opportunity to go bilingual had just presented itself... and I replied in Italian... without the slightest indication that I wanted to hear her story, too.

But don't worry.  I will right this wrong.  My plan includes the following:

1.  I will memorize escríbeme because that means write me in Spanish.  Not in Italian, in Spanish.  Just as I learned Italian by remembering my high school Spanish, so it is time to learn Spanish by leaning on my Italian.  So... it's not scrivimi.  It's escríbeme.  And I'll follow it up with dime tu historia, because Google Translate says that's how you say, "Tell me your story."  Ha!  (But if Google Translate is wrong, please tell me.  I'm starting to feel pre-ty smug over here about my mad Google Spanish skills.)

2.  I will hug mothers who try to break the language barrier.  They want to be heard, too.  They have anxiety.  Most importantly, they need to feel that they have people who can relate to them - especially since they live in a country that's foreign to them.  They need support.  A hug helps them feel heard and understood and supported, and no words are required.

3.  I'm going to get in touch with the mother who approached me.  This event was small.  It was sponsored by one advocate working locally who wanted to hold an event for the parents who hire her.  So I'll ask the advocate if she can email the mother on my behalf.  I want this mother's story.  I want all the stories I can get my hands on.

The possibility of getting a grant is nice, but it's the stories of the parents that keep me going.  It's coming together and sharing our experiences and - when necessary - throwing an arm around another mom's shoulders and saying, "Your kid is fine.  Everything will work out," just before I hand her an extensive list of resources, a copy of the Dyslexia Handbook, and start teaching her how to advocate.

On that note, I want your story, too.  If you're reading this and you live in Texas and have dyslexia or love someone with dyslexia and you have to "fight the man" to get the accommodations you need, send me your story.  I want to compile all of our stories and present them to school boards, state representatives, and advocates.  (Your name and other info will, of course, be kept anonymous.)

I'm serious when I say that as parents, we need to come together with a single, unified voice.  You might not be able to make it to the State Board of Education meetings, but your story can go.  You may not want to sit down with your local congressman, but I want to... and I'd love to take your story with me.

So if you have a story that you need to get off your chest, and if you want to share everything you've been through in your adventures in Dyslexialand - good or bad - send it to me.  I want to make sure your story is heard, too.

Try Harder. Do Better.

Never did it occur to me that on the day after I posted my very first blog entry that I would have another event to write about.  Oh, how naïve I was!  I look back on yesterday like it was... uh... yesterday, and I remember my own innocence at that time, how I truly believed that because my daughter is one of those lucky cookie cutter kids, there would never be a story in this blog with her at the heart of it.  I was so naïve back then... way back yesterday.

But before I get to my daughter, let me tell you a little story about my son so you'll see where I'm coming from.

When Braden was in first grade, I watched him become a puddle of tears as I crushed his self esteem by believing he wasn't trying hard enough when he told me he thought cat rhymed with shoe.  I made him redo myriad homework assignments because his handwriting was illegible, and many of those assignments were spelling words written out hundreds of times (or so it felt to him). 

The amount of guilt I feel today as a parent who understands how much she forced perfection on her child is overwhelming. 

Yup, I said it:  I forced perfection on him.  Don't tell me I didn't.  Don't try to comfort me by telling me it's okay because I didn't know he was dyslexic back then or that the school should have intervened.  However true that may be, it doesn't negate the fact that I hammered him.  "Try harder," I demanded.  "Do better!"  The unintended message was that no matter how hard he tried, his efforts were never good enough.  Now my son is twelve, and I'm working hard to undo the damage that was done, not just by me but by everyone who has ever been involved in his education. 

And so we come to my daughter, who is in the first grade.  So far, she doesn't seem to be dyslexic.  Academically speaking, the kid is pretty amazing.  Her grades are outstanding, and her reading level beyond her years.  She loves books and reading and has no issues with understanding new material.  She is definitely my auto-pilot baby.

While going through her backpack last night, I got her progress report: all As and Bs.  Awesome job, little diva!

But...

Attached to her progress report were the force-books-down-the-kid's-throat reading report.  Kaelin had read more books in the last six weeks than I read in college.  Her overall score was an 82.5. 

I have to say, for a kid whose mom doesn't make her kid participate in the force-books-down-the-kid's-throat program at home, an 82.5 is fan freakin' tastic!  I mean, she essentially did it on her own!  At the bottom of the report, the teacher wrote, "Great job!  Should aim for at least 85." 

So despite Kaelin's achievement, the message was: Do better.  Try harder. 

Mama bear growled a little, and then tossed the reading report aside.  I don't really give a fig.  Her grades are awesome.  She's happy.  I'm happy.  I'm not going to address this with her.  She did great!

Then I got a note.  It was attached to a blank sheet of that brown paper designed to teach kids how to write. 

A note?

Kaelin never gets sent home with notes!





Please have Kaelin redo the questions on pg. 93.  We did these together & the words are in the book.  She needs to learn to do her work correctly the first time.  Thanks! 
(Try harder.  Do better.  Try harder.  Do better.  Try harder.  Do better.  Thanks!) 

Any parent of a dyslexic knows that the agony starts with notes like these.  I have developed a certain sensitivity to notes.  I hate notes.  I detest them.  And notes like these really get my goat.  Want to know why?  It's because my daughter just turned seven years old about two months ago. 

SHE DOES NOT NEED TO DO HER WORK CORRECTLY THE FIRST TIME!

No child has to do anything correctly the first time!  Ever.  Know what else?  They don't have to "do better" on their force-books-down-the-kid's-throat reading reports!  My daughter does what she's capable of on that day.  And if she was having a crappy day or if she just didn't get it, that's okay!  Her grades are good, and I'm not going to ask any more than that from her.

What I'm about to say next is really important, so pay attention:  My children - and yours - are allowed to have an off day.  They are allowed to fail.  They don't have to get anything right the first time! 

I'm not encouraging mediocrity.  Grades are important, and holding children up to a certain standard is healthy, but come on... Let's reverse the scenario: does the teacher always do her work correctly the first time?   

Why do we constantly have to draw attention to the minor mistakes?  Because of this negative attention, children may stop feeling that mistakes are simply mistakes.  They may start feeling like mistakes are representative of who they are. 

Even if we set the mistakes aside, look at Kae's reading report.  The kid did fine!  But the teacher said she needs to do better.  We parents and teachers need to be cautious about how and what we criticize... and how often we do so. 

Going back to the teacher's request, I'll have Kaelin redo the assignment.  Redoing it isn't the issue. Yes, I will point out to Kaelin that she had an off day, that it's okay, and that it was very nice the teacher has given us the chance to fix our mistake... so we need to try especially hard to do our best. 

But know this:  I will never tell my child that she needs to learn to do her work correctly the first time.  I made that mistake with my son, and I'm not going to make that same mistake with my daughter.  Ever.

The Dreaded Valve Oil & Hurt Lungs Incident

"Ma'am," the voicemail message started.  I could already tell by the tone, this was not going to be good.  "This is Mrs. Stephens, the band teacher.  I need to talk to you about your son."

Hmmm... a phone call at a little after two on a Thursday.  Well, I've gotta' give the kid some credit.  We went almost a week without a phone call from the school!  I'm still on the fence over how impressed I should be about this "almost" achievement.  I mean, two days ago Braden called me in tears when he came home and explained that in an effort to fit in, he dumped valve oil on the aisle of the bus so he and his friends could run and slide on it... and then get caught.

Oh man!  I was mortified.  (Is that what I'm supposed to say?)  How terrible that a twelve year old boy would do such a thing!  I will immediately lecture him when I get home.  (And then I'll give him a high five.)  How dare he!  (Why didn't I ever think of that?!!)

I asked my husband to return Mrs. Stephens' call for me.  Yep, I'm a pansy.  It's the end of the school year, and I've had about all I can handle with teacher calls.  I swear they have me on speed dial.  Siri probably has my number memorized on their phones by now.

As it turned out, today's phone call was not about the valve oil incident.  No, today the call was about the fact that Braden told the teacher he couldn't perform in band because his lungs hurt. 

*sigh!*  Really?

Last time I checked, dyslexics get singled out enough to the point that these little excuses pop up.  It happens.  It comes with the territory.  It's part of the unwritten dyslexia checklist.

You see, in Braden's brand of dyslexia, the time and the notes fade in and out of view on the page.  When you couple that with the fact that he refuses to use his colored overlay, well, we have moments like these where "his lungs hurt."  And while we're at it, let's just mix that with the fact that he won't practice at home. 

Let me make a side note here.  While I could make him practice at home, I want him to find his own joys.  So after two hours of math work, spelling, and reading - all of which I already force him to do - why include practicing his trumpet, which should bring him joy?  If he enjoys band enough, he'll make the time.  If he doesn't enjoy it enough, he'll blow it off.  Maybe band is not his thing.  (It's not.)  Maybe it is.  (I have my doubts.)  But it's really up to him to decide if band is something he wants to pursue.  (But I know it's not.)

Anyhow, back to the topic at hand.  His lungs hurt too much to play, eh?  I think that as a teacher one of two things can happen: exasperation at my son's constant and myriad excuses, or a creative attempt at encouraging him to engage.  In the time it took the band teacher to disrupt class, call me, and discuss her concerns, she could have pulled him into a private area to see if he had mastered whatever it was she was looking for.  But what it boils down to is the fact that he didn't want to perform, and she can't make exceptions to go out of her way for every student who doesn't want to perform.  I get that.

After my husband patiently let her speak her piece while adding that she demands Braden write an apology note to the bus driver for the valve oil, my husband had only one thing to say:

Can we just make it to the end of the school year?  Can you do that for me?  I assure you: he will not be in band next year.  So you really don't need to worry about him.  Can we just finish the year?  Please?

Well said, babe!