I watch as my anxious, autistic 6-year-old steps into his third new school of the year. I watch his flame of red hair and freckled nose as he washes his hands and stands near the fence, not able to join in.
He has rejected two schools so far, crumbling under their pressure and routines. We have a square peg, and the world is a factory of round holes.
There are plenty of machines ready to grind him down, but what if we love his shape? The third school is as lovely as I hoped — muddy play in a backyard accompanied by an energetic grandma who loves to see children learn in their own quirky ways.
Read more on themighty.com