A Mile in my Shoes
I watch the conversation flow. I watch the accusations fly. I feel it in my stomach every time it’s mentioned. Those kids…. The ones who explode. The ones who throw things. The ones who hit, kick, bite, run, and make it impossible for their peers to enjoy a normal day at school. I listen to the blame get thrown at the bratty kids, at the parents who aren’t involved and at the schools who don’t kick them out. I listen. I read. I cry. I hurt. I stay silent. I am a mom to one of those kids. One of those little people who I couldn’t wait to have and show the world. One of those babies that smiled, cooed, and laughed. A toddler that was very different from my other child. Something I chalked up to different personalities for different kids. A child that is less social, less flexible, more impulsive, and more afraid. A child that will run or fight as if his life depends on it. A child that was raised the same way as my other “normal” child. A child that can bre