The letter came with the bills, two fliers, and a reminder that I desperately need to contact a random place for my extended car warranty. I tossed the trash and ripped open the letter. The words burned in my head and my vision blurred.
“Mrs. Fields, this letter is to inform you that your son, Marvin Fields, has an IQ of XX and has an Intellectual Disability.” The letter went on with all sorts of reasoning for this and the need for “immediate intervention” so “the realms of hell and chasms of time won’t implode”. Well, it wasn’t quite worded that way, but it was the general gist of it.
I really didn’t want an IQ test. Not because I am afraid of the results, but because I am afraid of how the world will view the results and treat my son. But why does it matter? Surely people look past that right? Think again.
Let me show you how it already impacts my world with my daughter. Here is what the first grade children did for math work during COVID this past year:
But my daughter is classified as having an Intellectual Disability. Even though I pushed for adapted first grade work, as she is capable with supports in place AND has a right to learn alongside of her peers this is what I got:
I don’t want that for either of my children. They have a right to learn. My son is more than a low score on a piece of paper.
He’s the kid who can take a piece of wood and carve an animal. He put together my new desk today in our bedroom by himself. He fixes items around the house. He draws, paints, and can play piano (he hates the piano, but he’s got some mad skills at it).