What's up doc?

Thought I'd chime in about our little trip to preschool on Friday. I've mentioned in this space before that Michael is a bit, shall we say, passionate at times. He often gets overstimulated in group situations and melts down for all to see. The resulting tantrums, complete with screaming, running and sometimes even rolling around on the floor, leads to ample embarrassment for Mommy and Daddy. There are numerous other oddities that Michael demonstrates, but like any good father in denial, I have refused to acknowledge them.

A few months ago we had Michael evaluated by a pediatric specialist, and he chose the term "pervasive developmental disorder" to describe Michael's behavior. Apparently he opted against my very technical term of "satanic screaming fit." I was rather proud of this description, but apparently the good doctor disagreed. A guy gets a degree and he thinks he knows things!

Anyhoo, we took Michael to a local elementary school for evaluation by the school district. Michael ventured off with several therapists for some one-on-one testing, complete with a hearing test, vision test, etc. They warned us beforehand to "be prepared," and that it might get "a little crazy" with all of the kids waiting to be tested. Now, I should say that I have a very loud internal alarm that sounds whenever I hear the phrase "it might get a little crazy" regarding testing.

You see, I was forced to undergo fertility testing when we were attempting to bring forth life into this wonderful world. I had extensive knowledge of this testing procedure, having watched several episodes of "Friends," and "All my Children." I knew all about the nice cushy rooms filled with "adult entertainment" that I could utilize at my leisure.

What I didn't know is that this is all a huge crock of you-know-what. In real life I found myself rushed into a crowded, dingy waiting room at six in the morning filled with several detoxing mass murderers awaiting a drug screening. When it was my turn, as it were, a scowling lady handed me a plastic cup and pointed to a small bathroom located directly behind a desk seating around 300 women. In my usual suave manner, I proceeded to drop the cup and run out of the office crying for my mommy.

So anyway, I was prepared for the worst last week when we brought Michael in for testing. It turns out I had no need to worry. The tests were done in a large open section of the school by several very nice therapists. Michael thoroughly enjoyed himself. The post-test interview contained very few surprises. Michael showed some delays in several of the categories, and they want him to undergo further evaluations in a couple of weeks.

If he continues to show delays, then he will qualify for a special preschool where trained teachers will work with him and his "satanic screaming fits," should they occur. This will save him from getting into trouble every day and being labeled as a "bad" kid. It should be noted that Michael is not a "bad" kid. Far from it. He's actually a pleaser, who never intentionally gets into trouble. He merely gets overstimulated in group situations and loses control. There is a huge distinction here. He is not the kid who pulls hair and throws things against the wall simply to be mean. He is always very well behaved until the overstimulation kicks in. Sadly, it is something that unless you have a child with this problem, you might never adequately understand.

Now we enter the twilight zone portion of the story. It should be noted that this very detail that I am about to describe is what separates my life from many others. When all appears well, there is always a catch.

After arriving home with our spirits soaring, April took a moment to review the sheets of information the school provided. One of the sheets contained all of Michael's personal information. On the "date of birth" line it read - July 23, 2003. A full year before Michael was actually born! His age did not read 3.5 as it should, but rather 4.5. So it appears they thought he was nearly five years old! Why they didn't rate him as borderline mentally disabled, I will never know.

We plan to call the school today, so check this site for further updates!

For now, this is your 56-year-old buddy Dave signing off!

Be good kiddies!

- Dave