This is the first of two posts written by John Felageller. In these posts, he reflects on his son’s 8th-grade graduation. Part two will publish in October. - Editor
I casually made the left turn into the parking lot of the local high school, and made my way down to where there were still empty spots available. I had only been here one other time, when I attended a workshop on long-term planning for your special needs child. Today, it was much more crowded, with people streaming out of their cars, making their way into the school entrance near the auditorium. This was not like any other special event during the school year; this was different, with balloons dangling on strings, hands cradling bouquets of flowers, and an air of excitement that was not like any other day. This was graduation day, for my son’s 8th-grade class.
Photo by Katie Vandergriff on disabilityisbeautiful.com
When I finally found a parking spot, I paused for a few minutes before getting out of the car. I was early, and I was also waiting for my girlfriend who would be there soon. Sitting in my car led to memories of years past, memories of raising my son, mostly while still married. The first memory that jumped out was that of his first day of middle school; it seemed like a genuine lifetime ago. In reality, it was less than three years earlier.
It was such a different world, a world before COVID, a world where I was still married and we were still a family.
We stood in the driveway of our shared home on that still warm and sunny late August day. The bus from the special education district was late as usual, which seemed to be a tradition every year during the first week and specifically, the first day of the new school year. We decided to walk our son to school ourselves; it was only a few blocks from where we lived. It was a walk we had taken a million times, whether to go to the park next to the school, or to the public pool and splash zone connected to the park. My son excitedly walked up to the side entrance of the building; our hands barely kept him from tripping over his own feet as we finally saw one of his aides and passed him off.
I recognized my girlfriend’s car and met her as we started our winding path towards the school’s auditorium. I was anxious for a bunch of reasons. First, I was anxious about seeing the parents of kids my son had attended school with for years, kids that he had grown up with, and in many ways, parents we had grown up with as well. COVID had kept me apart from nearly all of these folks, but so did the divorce; what would their reaction be upon seeing me? Did they have thoughts or opinions of me now that I was the divorced dad? What conversations had they had with my son’s mom that I wasn’t privy to? My eyes spotted a couple of familiar moms, both of whom I intentionally avoided since I was honestly too nervous to go there.
One of the moms I noticed was someone we had been relatively close with over the years. I had visited their home more than once, for birthdays. Each time, my son spent time in the TV room, dancing in front of the screen and banging on the floor, as was his usual sensory-seeking activity. Always the dutiful protective dad, I made sure he had enough space to engage his needs, and that the other dad who couldn’t help but stare understood what he was actually watching. Many times I was in this same position at birthday parties and other social gatherings with friends from his school, so at graduation, everyone easily recognized me.
But today, I felt like some kind of odd third wheel.
We made our way to the row in the auditorium where my ex-wife had saved 6 or 7 seats for our group. The group consisted of me and my girlfriend, my ex and her boyfriend, my son’s long-time nanny who we lovingly called “Auntie,” and one of my one-on-one aides from the school who had also known us for years, who worked with my son’s aides (and occasional babysitter) from school. My ex, a very bubbly and happy person most of the time, excitedly reached over to introduce herself to my girlfriend. Her boyfriend, probably after some prompting, got up and extended his hand to me. “Great to meet you.” I extended my hand, remembering this day was about my son and not the man that I felt had taken my place. “You too” was what I could muster, as I settled into my chair.
For the 15 minutes before the ceremony started, the conversation was uncomfortable at best. I wasn’t comfortable being around my ex with her new guy, nor with his nanny or babysitter, as I had not had as much contact with them since my ex and I divorced. Addressing the elephant in the room, my girlfriend made a comment about me trying to be a little more social. I said it was fine; I was there for my son, and I would respect everyone’s role so that we could get through it.
And then when it couldn't have come any sooner, the graduates and school staff made their way on stage.
John Felageller is the Ministry Relations Manager at Joni and Friends Chicago. Previous to that, he spent almost 20 years in education, working with children from infants through middle school, serving in a variety of roles including Teacher, Mentor Teacher, and School Director. John lives in Highwood, IL and is a single father to his son Christopher (ASD). He is a public speaker, multiple podcast guest, and regular contributor to Key Ministry’s Special Needs Family blog, as well as other special needs blogs including Hope Anew and The Mighty. Connect with John on his website.
