Thank you to Those who Don’t Give Up

He had just turned three years old. It was Mother’s Day weekend. My third one.

I picked him up from daycare and she said…’He refused to put his hand in paint and I don’t do art projects for kids. You don’t care about my work.’

I remember watching all the kids toddle up to their moms carrying little messily wrapped packages.

Huge smiles from the kids, so excited to show off their homemade gift.

My son was sitting in the dirt driveway. Picking up the sand, sifting it through his hands, watching it fall. Repeat.

I don’t think he even knew I was there.

I was crushed. I was angry. I was stunned. Hurt too.

I scooped up my son, buckled him in his car seat and home we went. That ride wasn’t the first I drove with tears streaming down my face. Staring forward.

So he couldn’t see me. Not that he would have noticed anyways. I think the most recent evaluation said…’he shows no empathy.’

Every minute or so I’d sneak a peak in the rear view mirror, willing him to say something. Anything.

Silence.

That day is burned in my memory.

I’m still angry about it. I mean, come on, he was three…not six. All kids need help with art at age three. She couldn’t have held a paint brush in his hand for two strokes or poured some glue on a piece of paper?

Hell, I would have taken a blank piece. Anything actually.

My son has never done art. He’s never had a drawing or project sent home.

And as he got older I appreciated not seeing fake work. It’s funny though.

As parents. We don’t know what we want half the time. I think we just want it to be easier really. For our kids. For our hearts.

My son is now eight.

This photo was sent to me today. He’s trying. Now I know it was probably 60 seconds with cheering, clapping and encouragement. But who cares.

I love that he tried. And I’m thankful for the people in his life that still try with him.

Thank you to the people who don’t give up on kids like mine. It means more than you’ll ever know to parents like me.

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