Being different can be hard.

It’s all well and good for adults to preach about the virtue of diversity…how boring the world would be if we were all the same…our differences make us special…and on and on it goes.  But kids?  Kids usually want to fit in with their peers, especially when we’re talking about tweens and teens.

Some kids simply prefer to fly under the radar, but there are times when school throws a hot white spotlight on a student in the classroom.

Each school year can be like a minefield – long, uneventful hours mixed in with the occasional detonation that blows you away. Assignments pop up, ripping the bandages off old and new wounds alike.  It’s these hidden land mines that spur you into emergency mode, scrambling to protect your kid while trying not to become that parent.

In the early years this often took the shape of “child of the week” or “star student.”  The request for baby pictures was tricky – we have them for Bear, but my earliest photos of T-man are from when he was ten months old.  Thankfully he never seemed put out that his pictures weren’t quite as babyish as his classmates’.

That wasn’t the only roadblock, though.  The questionnaires weren’t any better for our son: when was his first smile?  the first time he rolled over?  when he started to crawl?  You can’t send those pages back with an enormous WE DON’T KNOW scrawled across them, but you also can’t ignore the assignment.  Because being star student was a coveted honor for my kids.

Once we made it to the upper elementary grades I waited for that dreaded family tree assignment, assuming it would be the next bullet to dodge.  I neglected to factor in fifth grade science and the study of genetic traits.

Genetic traits?  In fifth grade??  I’m certain that didn’t show up for me until middle school.  Then again, being old as dirt, it probably did.  Everything else is accelerated in academics these days; why not science?

So T-man’s science class recently began their unit on heredity and genetics.  I remember being fascinated by this particular area myself…dominant and recessive, the way two recessive genes could overcome a dominant trait…T-man seemed interested, too.

We didn’t run into trouble until he brought home an assignment to compare at least three genetic traits with other family members.

T-man had created a chart with each of our names along with the genetic traits tongue curling, eye color, and hair color.  I asked him about the assignment details, though, since T-man’s comparisons didn’t really seem to reinforce the concept they were studying.  He simply replied he was just supposed to fill it in.

Eventually T-man shared that he’d actually raised his hand in class when the assignment was given, asking what you should do if you were adopted.  (Big kudos for stepping up and asking his question.  And in front of the class, too.)  He said that his teacher told him to simply complete the chart with our family’s information.

The teacher wasn’t the problem, though.  The silver bullet came when T-man asked the question and his classmates turned to him exclaiming, “You’re adopted?!”  He described it as one of those moments when your heart skips a beat, a feeling I know all too well, and the look on his face at the memory was heartbreaking.  Because in that one exclamation his classmates made T-man feel abnormal and ashamed.

On a side note, seeing as most of these children have met both me AND BrightSide by now, I’d say they’ve clearly missed the point of those genetics lessons.  It shouldn’t have been a shock and awe moment to learn our genetic material didn’t produce our handsome T-man…

We talked with him for a while, and when T-man went to bed I decided to e-mail the science teacher about his assignment.   This is when I stumbled into my massive open mouth, insert foot moment of the day.

I try to be super careful when it comes to approaching teachers about their work.  I remember all too well those parents who jumped down my throat, asserting that they knew what was best for my classroom, so I was meticulous about this e-mail.  I didn’t want to seem angry because I genuinely felt it was an innocent oversight, and I certainly didn’t want to sound condescending.

But it was time to advocate for my kid.

So I sent a carefully worded message with a three-pronged approach.  (Wow, that sounds nerdy!)  

  1. It was an interesting assignment, and she had no way of knowing it would make T-man uncomfortable.
  2. Assignments like these are difficult for children from any nontraditional family (adoption, foster homes, divorced parents, kids being raised by a single parent or grandparents).
  3. I suggested an alternative assignment (allowing the student to choose any biologically related group for comparison) then thanked her for all of her hard work.  (‘Cuz, you know…TEACHING.)

I sent the e-mail at 10:40pm and figured it was handled, but guess who checks her school e-mail after 10:00 at night?  ‘Cuz, you know…TEACHERS, y’all.  Sheesh.

My first reaction was concern because, despite my best efforts, this dedicated woman still felt the need to apologize profusely.

Her second paragraph provoked new waves of anxiety.  Apparently she’d spent time in class discussing a variety of situations students might be in.  Circumstances like being raised by another family member, having step parents or siblings, or not living with the biological family. The teacher had planned to speak with T-man privately, but then he asked his question and seemed satisfied with her answer.  (Again, public faces.  The kid’s a master, people.)

I can’t be surprised, really.  You get that spotlight thrown on you and it’s deer-in-the-headlights time.  All T-man focused on was being odd man out amongst his peers, so of course that feeling was front and center in his mind.  And that’s what came out at home.

I don’t regret contacting the teacher.  But next time I’ll be sure to ask what happened in the classroom from her perspective before diving in with my own commentary.