‘My son’s parent-teacher interview had me in tears’

"I sat down in front of his PE teacher, and she said, ‘I think you need to hear this’."

As the meme goes, I’m the parent of a neurodivergent child so of course I go to parent-teacher interviews ready for the worst.  

Things aren’t always easy for families like ours. 

Sometimes our children get bullied or struggle to make friends. I know kids who never want to leave the house. 

And at school, plenty of them get in trouble for just being themselves. 

Henry*, my eldest, is fine at home.

He’s independent, and even though he’s nearly 13, he still tolerates his little brothers, as long as they do not, under any circumstance, touch his LEGO. 

He mostly does what I ask him unless he’s struck with inspiration to build. I know he’s not cleaning his room when I hear him humming happily and rummaging through a bucket of plastic bricks. 

School is where things go off the rails, and I hear all about it on a fortnightly basis during regular calls with the school. 

The other week was parent-teacher interviews, and I thought I knew what to expect. 

"Henry is a good kid but…"

Imagine my surprise when the PE teacher confided something totally unprecedented. 

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Image: Supplied

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Mum in tears over parent-teacher interviews

Although Henry has been in school for eight years, this was our first high school parent-teacher interview. 

The experience is intense: your kid has a different teacher for every subject, so you’ve got eight speed-dating sessions on interview night.   

The time limit is six minutes and the giant screen in the gym counting down the seconds is a constant reminder.

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You can cut the tension with a knife; parents practically spit across the table as they rattle off questions. Then the buzzer sounds and everyone has to move on. 

Henry’s teachers made the usual speeches: he struggles with focus, his humming disrupts the class. He’s smart; if only he applied himself, he’d do well. 

I know exactly what these teachers are saying – this isn’t my first advocating-for-my-kid rodeo. Although I’m always willing to work with teachers, I resent this kind of talk. 

Let me translate: if Henry didn’t have ADHD, if he wasn’t on the spectrum, school would be going really well for him.

Pilar and her husband. Image: supplied

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Parent-teacher interviews for neurodivergent kids are hard

That interview night was an hour of the same script. It’s ok, I can take it. I’ve been listening to educators talk about Henry for nearly 13 years. I can work with constructive feedback and deflect negative comments. 

What I’m not ready for is when someone says something kind. 

The PE teacher was the final interview of the night. I was annoyed because she was running late, having a social catch-up with another mum.

I tried to stay calm, but that clock was ticking. My husband nudged me. I thought I was being chill, but impatience seeped from my skin like a visible gas. 

Finally, our turn.

“Henry often gets overwhelmed in class,” she said. “The gym is echoey, sometimes he wanders out the open doors. He never goes far; I think he just needs a break.”

"School is the wrong-shaped box for neurodivergent kids"

Calm came over me. This woman was more compassionate than the other teachers. 

“I think you should know this, though. There are kids in the class that look out for him. They tell me when he’s gone outside, they keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t go too far.

"They make sure they pick him for their teams so he doesn’t get left out. They pass him the ball and give him a chance.”

I didn’t know what to say. Who are these kind children?

I burst into tears. My husband patted my back but didn’t understand.

I’m always poised for bad news or a fire to put out. I don’t know what to do when I hear that children I don’t even know notice my son and are helping to make his way easier. 

School is the wrong-shaped box for neurodivergent kids.

That’s why Henry often seems to be hanging on by his fingernails. But he’s wonderful and smart and funny and when he finds his place in the world to shine, you won’t be able to look straight at him. His light will hurt your eyes. 

Originally published as ‘My son’s parent-teacher interview had me in tears’