Playing Food Police
Jonathan (my 5-year-old brother) was struggling in kindergarten.
“I think he might be on the autism spectrum,” I heard his teacher say to my mom when we went to his classroom to pick him up. The school kicked me out after I got dizzy in class too many times. When they sent me to the nurse’s office for it, my blood pressure would be so low that they would have to call my mom to bring me home and make an emergency doctor’s appointment with Dr. Monroe
.
They decided that I couldn’t go back to school until I was eating three meals a day and had a doctor’s note clearing me to return.
That day the teacher pulled my mom aside, my mom sounded angry.
“He is not, autistic” my mom glared at Jonathan’s teacher.
“He needs testing done if he ever wants to graduate kindergarten. At the very least he has severe learning disabilities.” The teacher told my mom, as Jonathan stared intently at a skid mark on the linoleum floor.
It was another whole year before Jonathan got the testing done. He had to repeat kindergarten. But again, Jonathan wasn’t in immediate danger of dying, so my issues were the ones put front and center, and all my parent’s energy was thrown into playing food police on me.