“He plays with his shoes a lot in class.”
“He did not finish his work today.”
“He’s been very emotional at recess.”
These are words we’ve heard before.
Ben started Kindergarten in the Fall of last year, and hearing these statements again brings back conversations with his preschool teacher. Ben’s teacher raised her concerns about him possibly having Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder –ADHD. She has a son who was diagnosed with the condition at a young age and shared with us how he greatly benefited from early diagnosis and intervention. In the back of my mind, I thought maybe she was projecting onto Ben. She pointed out things her son used to do that she sees in Ben. She shares her son does not sit still when read to. He’d get a toy, jump up and down, or wiggle about while she reads to him. Granted, Ben does the same things at bedtime, but he’s a toddler. He’s only three; I would not expect him to have the focus of an older kid. There’s nothing wrong with having the wiggles, right? Or is there?
Though skeptical, we took her advice and started our journey by calling Child Find. I was warned that it takes them a while to get back to families, but just the same, we left messages requesting an evaluation. In the meantime, we’ve scheduled appointments and spoken to his Pediatrician, who referred us to a Child Behavioral Psychologist. We met with the Psychologist virtually as this was around the time when COVID restrictions were still in place. She interviewed us, asked Ben questions, and observed him play in our family room. The Pediatrician and the Psychologist concluded that he was at par with his developmental milestones and that it was too early to tell. They said,
“Let’s keep a watchful eye on him for now. Otherwise, things look good.”
By the time Child Find returned to us for an appointment months later, two experts had already told us he was fine. Part of me was relieved they found nothing, but deep down, I knew something was off, and a small part wished they had. At that time, we deferred Child Find’s offer to evaluate. Looking back, I wish we had pushed to have him tested.
We’ve kept an eye on him since and even considered holding him back a year to give him more time to mature. We read articles and blogs, sought out anecdotes from friends who redshirted their kids and debated the pros and cons of holding Ben back a year before starting Kindergarten. Ed and I had opposing views. He was coming from the ‘He’ll be the oldest and tallest in his class, he might get teased or bullied’ point of view, while I was coming from the, ‘He’ll be more mature and carry himself better academically and emotionally if we delay’ point of view. I secretly want him to keep up with his sisters, who are academically ahead of their peers. Holding him back a year would give him enough time to catch up and get ahead. Little did we know we would be on this journey for more than just catching up.
Weighing the pros and cons, we decided to have him start kindergarten in the fall when he turns five. Ben was looking forward to attending the “Big Kid” school. We were all excited—excited enough that we had almost forgotten about his symptoms until his teacher reached out and reminded us of concerns that we had buried. Within the first week of Kindergarten, we got a message too familiar to ignore.
“Ben is having a tough time getting his work done. He is a smart boy but cannot stay focused to finish most of his work. I may try moving him somewhere quieter in the coming days and see if this helps him.”
From that moment on, we started documenting everything. There were many more incidents like this, from Ben being distracted in class playing with his shoe to coming home with a half-colored elephant. We saved every email and text message and built a case to ask for assistance. We requested a meeting with the school’s Local Screening Committee (LSC) to start the process.
We had imagined this meeting with the LSC would only be between us, his teacher, and the Special Education Teacher, but it was way more intimidating than that. Ed and I entered a mini-conference room with a projector on the table and Ben’s information cast on the screen with seven other people in the room. Ben’s kindergarten teacher, the guidance counselor, the school psychologist, the special education teacher, the social worker, the principal, and the vice principal were all in attendance. Ed and I were the last ones to enter the room; we sat at the end of the table, overwhelmed by how serious this was. It was a lot but comforting at the same time that these important people would spend their time in this meeting and help our boy. We had high expectations of getting an IEP (Individualized Education Program) or a 504 Plan for him at the end of the meeting but were crushed by their final decision. Despite evidence of struggle and inattention in class, he was passing and meeting minimum cut-offs on standardized tests, the committee decided against further evaluations. On paper, he was fine, but it was evident he needed help. We needed a diagnosis.
On our first LSC meeting day, we submitted the completed Vanderbilt Screening Scale forms—both our parent section and Ben’s kindergarten teacher’s portion—to the pediatrician. Within a week, the doctor called to schedule a follow-up meeting. During the appointment, the pediatrician provided us with a clear roadmap for securing support for Ben at school. Most importantly, she gave us a letter outlining recommended accommodations and officially diagnosed Ben with ADHD – Combined Type. Armed with this diagnosis, we requested another meeting with the committee. A month later, Ben was finally approved for a 504 Plan.
The document outlined specific accommodations designed to help Ben succeed in the classroom. Another meeting was held to review and finalize the plan. The committee adopted all of the pediatrician’s recommendations and added accommodations they believed would help Ben. We got the approval before the school year ended, which set us up for a good start the following school year.
Ben started first grade without a hitch: no concerning emails, only positive remarks. Ed and I started the school year with him confident we had the tools to help him succeed. We realize this is just the beginning, and this milestone did not come without setbacks. Though we sprinted to get accommodations for him before the school year ended, we know this road is not a 100-meter dash to a destination but a lifelong marathon we take with him.
We have a long journey ahead and many hurdles to overcome. Still, we are deeply grateful to everyone who prayed for us, opened our eyes, guided our steps, and offered advice and direction along the way. As we continue this sojourn with Ben, we walk confidently, knowing we have a supportive village to lean on. Thank you!