MY WORD
Overrated Perfection is
By Lisa Palermo Matto
I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE. I WAS A BIT “JUDGY” OF OTHER PARENTS BEFORE I HAD MY OWN CHILDREN. IT WAS EASY TO DO. I WOULD ASSESS A SITUATION FROM AFAR AND THINK I COULD DO A BETTER JOB HANDLING THE PROBLEM AND/OR THE CHILD. THE TRUTH IS, NO ONE HAS A CLUE WHAT IT IS LIKE TO PARENT A CHILD UNTIL YOU ARE BLESSED WITH ONE OR MORE OF YOUR OWN.
T
here is no failproof method on how to parent, and if you have a child or children with exceptional needs, you better be ready to hold on to your hat and fly by the seat of your pants. The audacity of my having judged anyone trying to raise good humans in the world was preposterous. Once my two children came along, with the youngest having Down syndrome, I realized I also needed to stop judging.
When my son was in fourth grade and my daughter in kindergarten, they attended elementary school together. It would be the only time in their school career they would be in the same building simultaneously. On one particular morning, our transition from home to school had been extremely difficult and chaotic. Marlee had flushed her glasses and her pancakes down the toilet. Her backup pair of glasses were with the optometrist being repaired, so she would have to go without until further notice. Casey had bucked brushing his teeth
34 | Exceptional Needs Today | Issue 5
again and was sloppily finishing the previous night’s homework at the breakfast table. There was yelling coming from me, tears coming from Marlee, and grunting coming from Casey. By the time we left for school, we were all exhausted and upset. There was no wave goodbye from either of them, let alone a kiss. “Don’t forget your toothbrush,” I yelled to Casey. I had brought it in the car as I knew he had not brushed them at home. I just couldn’t let that be. “I hate you,” was his reply as he slammed the door. I felt like a failure—the worst parent in the world. I was convinced I was ruining my children. A couple of hours would pass before I received the first of two phone calls from the principal. “Mrs. Matto,” she would begin, “there has been a series of incidents involving Marlee.” “A series of incidents?” I questioned. It seemed that in a matter of seconds, Marlee had managed to slip away from her aide, crumple the art project of one student, and bite the arms of two more. I was mortified. I would need to meet with the
