If only we were dealing with just one bad apple. If only…
I’m noticing a trend. One doesn’t have to be highly enlightened or even have above average observation skills to see it either. It’s appallingly obvious.
We autism parents deal with an inordinately high number of bad apples.
Bad apples that do not listen, do not understand, do not empathize, do not sympathize, do not care, do not do their jobs well, do not have any manners, do not show any respect, do not mean what they say, do not say what they mean, do not do what they say, do not say what they do. Bad apples of all shapes and sizes. Bad apples in abundance.
It would be really nice if the bad apples could simply be plucked from the group and tossed to the side like so much garbage, allowed to decay out of sight and out of mind, leaving an open slot for a potentially good apple.
Our current most egregious bad apple is the Special Education Coordinator for Hank’s school. I call her Spitch. I’m sure y’all are smart enough to guess the origins of that moniker. She attends all of Hank’s IEP meetings, four so far this year. She puts a big smile on her face and tells us how much she cares about Hank’s education. I don’t believe a single word that spills out her bad-apple-piehole. We asked for a very specific educational service at the beginning of the year, a service that everyone but her agrees is reasonable and necessary. She has offered several alternative solutions that really are not solutions at all.
I am tired of this game. An entire half of a school year has passed already. Too much time has been wasted, and I’m beginning to think that this was Spitch’s plan all along. Stall, stall, stall…then the year will be over, and she will not have had to imperil her precious budget. I totally fell into her trap, but I’m disentangling myself from her snares.
I have to figure out a way around, over, through this bad apple. I’m enjoying the visual of picking her up and tossing her aside, most likely into heavy traffic where her mealy apple bits get splattered far and wide…or, just dropping her to the bottom of an empty garbage can where she can rot all alone. Can apples cry? Okay, enough with my furtive imagination.
I’m thinking and plotting. This bad apple is going down, one way or another.