Two months ago, I got a call that no parent ever wants to receive. I was sitting in my first therapy appointment in five months. After a devastating relationship loss, a grueling first year at a new job, and a set of new teachers who had not yet read my fifth grade son’s individualized education plan (IEP) two whole months into the school year, I was already at my wits end. I desperately needed a place to vent, and feel supported. I had just exhaled and said my first sentence, when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the number and instantly recognized it as my son’s school.
“Hold on I need to take this. I’m so sorry”.
It was my son’s Spanish teacher calling.
“Hi, I’m in the middle of therapy, is everything ok? Can I call you back or is there an emergency?”. On the other end, I heard, “Yes, there’s an emergency, your son stabbed another student with a pen and I have to talk to both students’ parents.”