There was pomp and circumstance. Hooping and hollering. Fist-pumping and joy-jumping.
Last week, my wife and I attended the graduation of our son, Adam, at Landmark College, a leading school for students who learn differently. This is a rare college--a college that teaches, preaches, implements, and emphasizes those key words: students who learn. Our kids did learn there--they learned to study, to access college level material, to take exams, to turn in papers and projects. They learned to empathize and sympathize with others who learn differently.
They also learned to overcome all the naysayers--people who, along the way, said they could not do it. Sometimes that naysayer was the public school teacher or the administrator or the district's special education attorney or expert witness.
Heck, they learned to overcome their own parents, when we had moments of doubt. Yes, we had those moments, even as we insisted that Adam get his Associate of Arts degree. Okay, insistence was combined with a little parental carrot (call it a little bribery if you want): the promise of his own car.
Most importantly, they learned to overcome their own fears and frustrations.
Every step of the way has been an accomplishment for Adam and us. We remember the day the school district sent home two notes from two different departments: one said Adam qualified for the gifted program, the other told us he needed after-school remediation because he was failing his classes (a classic definition of his learning issues). We remember the special-education experts who thought he would do just fine in a school that simply passed him grade-to-grade regardless of whether he actually learned.
Then there were the individuals who felt otherwise: the early intervention specialist who told us when Adam was 18 months old to intervene and advocate every day of his life; the lawyer who taught us when Adam was in second grade to fight for a fair and appropriate education.
To further his education, our 15-year-old Adam moved 1500 miles away from home to Brehm Academy. The director there told us that Adam could and would learn. A coach demanded accountability in the classroom if Adam wanted to play on the hardwood courts of the basketball team. And a teacher taught Adam and his classmates an academic understanding of their disabilities--and told him that he could go to college.
By his own determination and will, Adam learned to drive and to hold a job. He got an internship with the local police department and as a Red Cross-certified summer lifeguard.
By his own choice, and with courage to start anew, he moved to different school, in Vermont. Again the coach stepped to the plate, demanding good performance in the classroom if Adam wanted to be a starting baseball player. And it was a professor in film and media that helped him learn that their good relationship did not mean a good grade--a good grade required hard work. Finally, there was a professor who took students to Botswana, where they learned that science was learnable and exciting.
Students like my son earned their college degrees the old-fashioned way: through hard work. Through perseverance, determination, and courage. In my family, we would use the Yiddish word koach--sometimes translated as strength, or as intestinal fortitude, or simply guts.
What's next?
We can't say.
But, in his kishkies, his insides, Adam knows. He knows he can learn and establish close personal relations. And he knows he can succeed.
Now that's a special college graduation for our special kids.
And it's one that should be available to all parents, and to all children. The old saying that it takes a village to raise a child no longer applies--it takes a city, and very often a country. When that happens, any child can succeed. Even ones that were so often told they'd be left behind. Just ask Adam.
Rabbi Steven A. Fox is the Chief Executive of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the Reform Movement's Rabbinic leadership organization, and a resident of Montclair, New Jersey.