Extraído do jornal Washington Post e do site: http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/parenting/wp/2015/07/15/when-parenting-twice-exceptional-kids-not-everything-needs-to-be-fixed/
My 12-year-old son looked me in the eye and said, “I’m sorry,
Mom.” He told me how badly he felt for overreacting—monopolizing the office
staff, smacking his Rubik’s Cube against the floor, making the school counselor
call me to pick him up because of a headache. It wasn’t the first time he’d
gotten upset, nor was it the first time the school counselor had called. But
the eye contact, the accountability and the eloquence with which he articulated
his frustration caught me off guard.
“I hate being this way,” he said, laying his head on his arm.
My son is twice exceptional or 2e. “Twice exceptional” refers to
children with advanced cognitive abilities (gifted) and significant learning or
social-emotional deficits, such as ADHD, Asperger’s syndrome or Autism Spectrum
Disorder (think: Temple Grandin, Albert Einstein, Alan Turing, to
name a few famous examples).
This extremely uneven development—or asynchrony—can lead to deep
frustration, stress, and emotional anguish for a child, and his parents.
Imagine an 8-year-old who patiently explains the theory of relativity to a
group of adults, yet storms off the soccer field in a fit because a teammate
doesn’t pass the ball. Anxiety, impulsiveness, hyperactivity, sensory issues
and obsessive-compulsive disorder are common challenges for twice-exceptional kids.
The National Education Association wrote in “The Twice Exceptional Dilemma,” a 30-page
report issued in 2006, that “[Twice-exceptional students] represent a potential
national resource whose future contributions to society are largely contingent
upon offering them appropriate educational experiences. Without appropriate
education and services, their discoveries, innovations, breakthroughs,
leadership, and other gifts to American society go unrealized.”
The toll on the self-esteem of any child who is different can be
enormous. Twice-exceptional kids are easily misunderstood. Social/emotional
issues, such as feelings of failure, worthlessness, anger, depression, and
isolation are not uncommon among these kids. At parent-teacher conferences at
my son’s school, I repeatedly heard, “In my [blank] years of teaching, I’ve
never had a kid like this.” This translated into, I have no idea how to work with your child. When
I’d ask the teacher what services were available, the answer was always the
same: none they were aware of.
Contrary to film portrayals of many notable twice-exceptional
people, my son was well aware of his differences. But no matter how he tried,
he couldn’t squeeze into “the box.” I would have ripped the cardboard edges
apart with my teeth if I could have. But I couldn’t. As he got older, we
discovered chess, strategy card games, and a specialized science program where
his natural abilities made him feel “good” instead of “not good enough.” We
were also fortunate to find a middle school where his challenges were
accommodated and the focus was on his strengths.
The day he wanted me to bring him medicine for a headache (15 minutes
after I’d dropped him off), he was stuck on that solution so the
suggestion of water and rest tipped him over the edge. When I got to school, he
already knew where things went wrong. “I get into this spiral,” he said, “and I
can’t get out of it.” He laid his head on his arm. “Why can’t I be like
everybody else?”
There had been many times in the past 12 years when I’d
wondered that, too. But with patience and education, I’d come to understand the
extraordinarily bright and challenging person that is my son. He’d had a rough
morning. I’d had rough mornings, too. Not everything is a problem that needs to
be fixed. He isn’t a problem that needs to be fixed. It had taken me a
long time to get that. I wanted him to get that, too.
“I don’t want you to be like everyone anyone else,” I said, “You
are perfectly yourself. You’re doing the best you can. That’s all any of us can
do. And that is enough.”
He lifted his head off his arm, looked me in the eye, and
smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
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