There Has to Be Some Way to Fix This.
It’s not often that I hold a check for more than $15,000 in my hands. I’m not hugely interested in money, but it is a bit terrifying just to hold a check that large.
It’s even harder to give it away.
But this week, along with a contract and an IEP, I handed the full year’s tuition to the admissions person at Dylan’s new private school. It was the miniscule savings we’d had for college, plus a small loan. And it was all crammed into one tiny piece of paper that I gave away.
And that’s when I started to panic.
It started with the discussion about Dylan’s Spanish class, which I don’t want him to take. I don’t know how he will handle verb conjugation and endless memorization since he can’t even remember to wash his face.
So I had asked (long before signing the contract) if we could get him into sign language class (movement! yay!) instead. Now, we were revisiting the issue, with my money gone and no promises yet made about Spanish.
“I’m not sure what they are planning to do with sign language,” said the admissions counselor politely. “I’m not sure if we have someone assigned to teach that.”
“But your website says that you have sign language!” My voice was starting to sound shrill.
“I know. And they should take it off if they’re not going to offer it. Either way, I think that is going to be an upper level class,” she said.
“Can’t he take sign language with the high school kids, like he’s doing with algebra?” I asked, as calmly as I could.
“I will have to ask them about that,” she said. “The people who can answer that are on vacation this week, but I’ll let you known as soon as I know.”
“Okay,” I said. Then we talked for another hour about all kinds of irrelevant stuff. (I really like the admissions person.)
And then I went home and wrote an insanely panicky email:
It is daunting to hear, as I hand over $15,000, that not only could Dylan be left IN Spanish, but the alternative (sign language) mentioned on your website does not actually exist. Also, the language program web page says that Spanish is ‘offered’ at every level – but it does NOT say that it is ‘required.’ There has to be some way to fix this.
I swear that I am working on my anxiety issues. But sending an email, for me, is sometimes the equivalent of dumping all of my anxiety into one big lump and saying to someone else: What are YOU going to do about it?
And I know this. Yet, there, I did it again.
At 9:01 the next morning, the admissions person called me, as panicked as I had been the day before. She wanted to assure me that she would do everything in her powers to get Dylan into sign language, if a class exists.
“I just really don’t know yet,” she said, as hopefully as she could.
Then I spent the next hour apologizing for my own anxieties, and being reassured that everything was okay.
I should have been able to do that for myself.