Waiting for the Second Week of Zoo Camp

Before immersing Cooper into a full time, structured school day, we decided to test the waters a bit the summer before kindergarten. Capitalizing on his love for animals, we enrolled him in a two week all day, pack your lunch-- zoo camp.

We purchased a brand new backpack and waterbottle, loaded him up with sunscreen, his favorite cookies, and good luck hugs. Dispelled thoughts of him wandering into the tiger compound, sent up a prayer of protection, took a deep breath and said goodbye to a very hesitant little boy.

The first week, we received a phone call from his counselors almost every day. Cooper waited too long to go the the bathroom. Cooper was (uncharacteristically) fighting with another child. Cooper wandered off from the group. Often at pickup, we'd find him hiding behind the blackboard in his classroom. The rest of the kids, were engaged in puzzles and crafts. Cooper was just two lonely little sneakers in the corner of the room. We were a little exasperated. Perhaps this was too much for Cooper. Perhaps the zoo staff needed to be better at engaging all children. It was a tough week.

And then the second week of zoo camp happened. Now when we picked Cooper up, we had to pry him off his counselors as he hugged them goodbye. And they fell in love with him. He chatted happily about the things he had seen and done and learned about. He participated in the the zoo camp show--on a stage with actual lines to say. He won the "Most Creative" award for an eagle costume I continue to preserve to this day. This award, by the way, followed and continues to follow Cooper through his life.

The "second week of zoo camp" entered our family lexicon as a metaphor for handling the inevitable new situations encountered by our oldest child. It reminded us to give Cooper the gift of time as he adjusted to new things without succumbing to parental "freak out". Let him blossom in his own time. Just wait for the second week of zoo camp, we'd say, and often the metaphor held.

And so we breathed a sigh of relief and felt we were as ready as we would ever be for kindergarten.

Faint Whispers...

Even parents have to grow up sometimes and we decided we were ready to have Cooper leave the exclusive confines of our home to experience a world beyond ours.

And so around his 3rd birthday we began to investigate preschools. We were looking for something that felt like home--not too much pressure--an emphasis on fun, but certainly experience expanding. We found it in a small caring preschool run by two women who looked and acted suspiciously like Grammy. Here was a place we could feel comfortable leaving our child --for a limited period of time and with more than occasional involvement. (We did so well on the involvement part that the teachers still recall my husband as fondly and as proudly as my kids.)

Cooper cried for months when we dropped him off but often recovered by the time we were out the door. He seemed comfortable with the adults and children and fell into the rhythm of routine. He enjoyed building with any materials on hand, drawing, story time, and dress up.

His teachers were very fond of him and treated him lovingly. The school felt more like a family with each child accepted and embraced as a member. And like all good grandmothers, idiosyncrasies were put up with, sometimes mildly rebuked, and ultimately fed with a cookie and a hug.

We received some gentle feedback. Cooper was often frightened of things that were new to him. He had a very hard time with the school photographer on picture day. He was shy and often engaged in companion play rather than true involvement. He was happiest doing his own thing and often had to be persuaded to join circle time or a learning activity. He was very reluctant to share with the group.

None of the information caused us great concern. Perhaps in retrospect, we should have paid closer attention. We should have heard the faint whispers of challenges to come.

But for now we were content with Cooper's preschool experience. He was shy and a little reluctant but he had made friends. We had made friends--some we would count on as our best friends and remain with us today. These are the people we came to count on as trusted advisors, allies, and advocates who knew Cooper from the beginning.

Cooper graduated from three years of preschool in a cap and gown no less. He participated in the festivities and received the "Most Creative" Award. Some of the kids he met here would stay with Cooper as he moved on.

Not a cloud in the sky...

Cooper arrived one week early after an uncomplicated pregnancy at the end of a long, hot summer in Philadelphia and giving a new meaning to Labor Day Weekend. His birth felt easy, natural, and celebratory and Cooper was perfect.

We brought him home thrilled beyond measure and with the trepidation of most first time parents (even those in their late thirties) who realize the baby did not come with an instruction manual.

Someone famous once said that if we do indeed get to come back into this world, he wanted to come back as an Italian baby. We doted on Cooper and so did our families especially the Italian side which hadn't seen a baby in the family for 10 years. Cooper's best friend quickly became his Noni and she instantly became his advocate, safe haven, and chief spoiler. When anything of major import happened like eating solid food, getting a new tooth, or using the potty--Grammy was duly informed and appropriately awed.

Cooper hit every developmental hurtle on time. He was a tall, thin, and healthy baby. Strangers would remark on his beauty. He knew most of his numbers and letters at 3. He adored being read to and would often "read" books to himself. His favorite companion was our grouchy, old toothless german shepherd who tolerated him above all other humans.

He was shy and cautious but always comfortable in the water and at home on the beach. He had an unusual fear of doctors and hospitals. Our pediatrician noted this as out of the ordinary for his age. He also, inexplicably, developed a fear of flower shops--any flower shop. We would inevitably have to leave them shortly after arriving with him howling all the way.

When his sister arrived 26 months after he did, we were thankful for two happy, healthy children. His sister's demeanor was very laid back and we often referred to her as Zen baby in comparison. There were very few jealous moments and brother and sister were fast and immediate soul mates. Cooper protected his sister and his sister understood (and in her own way, protected)Cooper.

Although far from perfect, we were a happy and close family. We are not really traditional people but we had conventional expectations about learning and preparing our kids for their chosen lives. Our future seemed bright without a cloud on the horizon.

If Cooper were a time of day, he would be twilight.

We have rules and ceremony and expectations around our days and nights but twilight is a magical and shadow filled time. At worst, we miss it completely. At best, we stop, appreciate its mystery, and perhaps notice something we haven't before.

Cooper, my twilight son, does not fit in with the well trodden world of the "average" kid nor does he really fit with the world of the exceptionally challenged child. He occupies an "in between" place. It is home to him and an adventure to understand for those who love him.

Cooper endured preschool, was overwhelmed by kindergarten, and experienced defeat in first grade. Always a tentative child, we witnessed him spiral downward into fear, anxiety, and negative self judgement. Raised in a loving and happy home, Cooper at the age of 7 was ill at ease and desperately unhappy.

Quick, easily available, accepted solutions were unhelpful, perhaps destructive. Multiple meetings with school left us no better off and Cooper no better understood. A parade of therapists, learning experts, tutors, and psychiatrists gave us the full spectrum of experience from hope with glimpses of valuable insight to confusion with conflicting information to anger with pat answers and uninspiring diagnostic opinion.

In the end, there were no simple answers. No magic formulas. No step by step guide. Loving Cooper was just not enough.

At this point, I picture my family on a road hand in hand in hand. The road is utterly foreign to us with no map and no signs. We know where we hope the road will lead although that may change. We know it is up to us to choose our traveling companions wisely. We know we will have to be clear and strong in our beliefs. We look at our son and realize that we must trust him to guide us. We turn to the road and it is twilight. Cooper's journey begins.