In one of the many classrooms that I’ve taught in over the past 20 years, I had an amazing student in my class. He was confident, self-assured, and friendly. All of the other students liked him. He was very smart, had a great sense of humor, and made others feel at ease. On the first day of school, he asked if he could have a few moments to speak with the other students. Those moments made all the difference in the world for my class.
He introduced himself and then told them that he had a condition called Tourette’s Syndrome. He said that it caused different uncontrollable movements in his body and uncontrollable small noises. As he was speaking, the students could see what he was referring to and even hear an occasional noise interjected in the words. He then asked if anyone had any questions. There were a few moments of awkward silence. Mostly, I think, because the students weren’t expecting such a frank and honest discussion. Then a student asked a question. He answered. Then another question and another answer. Soon the students were satisfied and we began the lesson. It was never an issue in the class.
At times, he had to practically sit on his arm in order to write. The students asked about that the first time they saw it happen. He explained that it had taken some time, but he had finally discovered that this made it easier to write when the movements were particularly strong. He assured them that it didn’t hurt and that brought them comfort.
He was so amazing at making others comfortable with Tourette’s. The comfort came from his efficient way of educating people. He wasn’t overly dramatic. Nor was it peppered with pity. He didn’t see it as a problem. I was in awe of his confidence. I was in awe of his parents for raising and nurturing such a wonderful young man. They had helped him develop such a wonderful sense of self and an amazing passion for life. They didn’t focus on a “disability” –they focused on their son.
I was in awe of him 15 years ago when he was my student. Then it was because I impressed with his confidence, intelligence, and ability to accept and move on from the Tourette’s. He didn’t let it become his life, it was simply a part of him. While this is the same approach I took for myself with the schizophrenia, he was my model for how to handle a situation when it is happening to your own child. It’s one thing to choose to handle something for yourself in a certain way, but it’s totally different to help your young child choose the path. Those moments he took on the first day of school were part of that approach to life.
15 years later those moments from the beginning of class on the first day of school are again making all the difference. As I watch younger son’s shoulders, arms, chest, and head move uncontrollably, I do have some tears streaking down my face because I know it will be a more challenging road for him, but I also know that he will be all the stronger for it. He will continue to be the smart, confident, funny, inquisitive, mischievous, adorable young man he already is. His classmates will get used to it and eventually not even hear his little noises or notice his movements. They’ll only know the amazing young man I know.
ohbloodyhell8 