Truer words were never written. There hasn’t been a day that has gone by since Fall 2008 that I hadn’t thought something to this effect. Giving a stranger permission to possibly apply a less-than-perfect label on a perfect-in-my-eyes child was something I never could have prepared myself to accept.
And yet there’s something about signing, about taking the pen in hand and making that mechanical squiggle, saying, “Yes, please classify my child,” that feels like standing over Pandora’s Box, reading the packing list carefully, and then asking for a crowbar. Like we’re setting something big and possibly dangerous in motion without knowing how it works. Simultaneously like we’re doing the right thing for our child, and like we’re selling him down the river.
Thank you, Julie, for saying it best.