Maybe we are supposed to be here. I think to myself as I walk through the parking lot to pick up the kids.  He could be purple and they accept him.  Well, they have to accept him at public school, it’s the law.  But still.  I had no idea it would be such a challenge finding a private school.  If you are paying, they should welcome you. Right?  At least here they don’t discriminate against him. That’s it…it’s the discrimination.  That is why I was so upset at that saint-something private school.

Earlier today, at the last stop, another “Christian” school, I am met with similar reception as the saint-something.  The young woman I met there wasn’t as crass as the other cross-wearing hypocrite, but she made it clear they have never “done” anything like this and I would need to meet with the principal.  I scheduled a meeting for the next day.  I barely got out of the parking lot when they called to reschedule.  She was going to be busy for “awhile”.  I did politely tell them I would call back later to find a time that worked.  But I knew I wouldn’t.  I didn’t want them if they didn’t want us.

My euphoria of getting him out of here has vanished leaving me disheartened and sad.  I hear the classroom door open and the loud children start filling out.  I stand up and see Ryan’s aide and walk towards her to get a report of the day.  Instead she keeps moving quickly and yells towards me to ‘have a nice day’.  What? That’s it? I weave through the kids to classroom door and peer in to see Ryan playing with some blocks.

“Hi.” I say to his teacher. “Everything o.k.? Terri rushed away and didn’t give me a run down of the day.”

His teacher looks at me with a puzzled look . “No, he had a good day. Not sure why she didn’t speak to you.  Maybe she had to pick up her daughter.” She says with a perk in her voice that I am guessing is supposed to make it better.  That ‘mother-to-mother’ thing.  Whatever. She could have told me that. 

I hate not knowing what happened in his day.  The school IEP team didn’t want to do a communication journal from the aide, because I see her after school.  But it’s days like these, and there are many, I have no idea what his day was like.  I can’t expect his teacher to give me a breakdown of every minute, since she has 25 other kids to worry about.

“Yeah, maybe.” I say but with a harshness in my voice.  I see her pick up on my mood, because I am normally very positive and try to be appreciative. I see she has three other moms waiting to speak to her so I let it go and walk over to Ryan.  I stop for a second and stare at him while he’s playing nicely.  Maybe I shouldn’t move him; maybe it isn’t so bad here… at least he isn’t black labeled or treated like he has a disease…

We walk to our car like any other day, yet it isn’t to me. Today is the day I felt the first sting of intolerance, and prejudice.  All because of a word.  What if I told them he had AIDS or cancer? Would they have acted the same? I sigh and realize it doesn’t matter.  I don’t like the reaction I received and now I have to start all over again. 

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