Yup
Some people say that getting R, my son with special needs, to graduate from high school was a mistake. Instead of a high school diploma, we should have pursued a completion cetificate. They have a point - I've sometimes wondered too. The thing is, if you get a diploma, the school district assumes you are fine and gives you no more support. Those with completion certificates have special programs available to them until they are 26. But then I remember how he had lost all motivation to go to school in tenth grade. He would sit in class and not do a thing. It was only when he suddenly made graduation (and a graduation party just like his sister's) a goal, that he set his mind to earning the credits. He needed a lot of handholding, but he did it. I remember the moment when we were standing in front of the graduation venue before the ceremony, "Graduation is permanent," he said brightly, "no one can take it away!" Even now, when he's at a loose end and back in the "nothing to wake up for" mode, the thought that he graduated gives him a boost of self esteem.
In addition to the big backyard party that R had been inviting people to for years in advance, we organized a smaller lunch to thank his teachers and other special education professionals who had seen him through the arduous years of school. For the venue, we selected a popular local restaurant that served American, slightly non-traditional fare. Here's how our interaction with the Z, the owner cum chef, went.
Day one: We go over to the restaurant to meet Z and explain what we are looking for. Z suggests certain dishes that to try that day, so we can make up our minds. At the mention of whiskey salmon, R flips out .. he's terrified of alcohol and always suspicious that people are trying to sneak alcohol into his food. The whiskey salmon tastes great, as Z promised, so we choose that as one of the items and assure R that he can eat just the chicken and vegetables. We settle on a date and let Z know. Z says very little. He doesn't take any notes as far as I can see, he doesn't ask for an advance payment, he doesn't give us any form or even his card to document our agreement.
Day 10, two weeks before the party: I call the restaurant to give them the final number of guests. Z comes to the phone, I explain why I'm calling and give him the number of guests. He says "yup". I confirm the date and time with him again (how do I know he remembers anything since we didn't pay and he didn't give us a contract). "Yup".
Day 17, one week before the party: I'm getting nervous. What if we get to the restaurant with our 35 guests and find no party set up? I find another excuse to call. I will tell Z that I'm bringing a cake. Z listens and says ...you got it..."yup".
The day of the party: We get there and and breathe a sigh of relief. Z is nowhere in sight but their large room is all set up for our party. There is a separate table in the back for the cake. The is one waitress completely dedicated to us. She moves around the room expertly, taking and delivering drink orders with a smile. Everyone is well taken care of, busy chatting, happy to see R after years or meet colleagues they haven't seen in a while. As the guests serve themselves from the buffet, the waitress comes up to me discretely, "Z wants to know if you would like a piece of salmon without whiskey."
Not often in my life have I been so unexpectedly touched. All this guy ever said was "yup". And yet he had noticed, remembered, understood everything that was important about this particular kid and this particular day... and had found his own particular way to show it.
In addition to the big backyard party that R had been inviting people to for years in advance, we organized a smaller lunch to thank his teachers and other special education professionals who had seen him through the arduous years of school. For the venue, we selected a popular local restaurant that served American, slightly non-traditional fare. Here's how our interaction with the Z, the owner cum chef, went.
Day one: We go over to the restaurant to meet Z and explain what we are looking for. Z suggests certain dishes that to try that day, so we can make up our minds. At the mention of whiskey salmon, R flips out .. he's terrified of alcohol and always suspicious that people are trying to sneak alcohol into his food. The whiskey salmon tastes great, as Z promised, so we choose that as one of the items and assure R that he can eat just the chicken and vegetables. We settle on a date and let Z know. Z says very little. He doesn't take any notes as far as I can see, he doesn't ask for an advance payment, he doesn't give us any form or even his card to document our agreement.
Day 10, two weeks before the party: I call the restaurant to give them the final number of guests. Z comes to the phone, I explain why I'm calling and give him the number of guests. He says "yup". I confirm the date and time with him again (how do I know he remembers anything since we didn't pay and he didn't give us a contract). "Yup".
Day 17, one week before the party: I'm getting nervous. What if we get to the restaurant with our 35 guests and find no party set up? I find another excuse to call. I will tell Z that I'm bringing a cake. Z listens and says ...you got it..."yup".
The day of the party: We get there and and breathe a sigh of relief. Z is nowhere in sight but their large room is all set up for our party. There is a separate table in the back for the cake. The is one waitress completely dedicated to us. She moves around the room expertly, taking and delivering drink orders with a smile. Everyone is well taken care of, busy chatting, happy to see R after years or meet colleagues they haven't seen in a while. As the guests serve themselves from the buffet, the waitress comes up to me discretely, "Z wants to know if you would like a piece of salmon without whiskey."
Not often in my life have I been so unexpectedly touched. All this guy ever said was "yup". And yet he had noticed, remembered, understood everything that was important about this particular kid and this particular day... and had found his own particular way to show it.
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