By: Jessica Thompson
The vibrant hallways of middle school, adorned with colorful lockers, have become a source of anxiety for me as a parent. I could never have foreseen how such a seemingly cheerful environment could evoke such dread within my heart.
Reflecting on my own middle school experience, those years were filled with joy and carefree moments. My biggest concerns revolved around collecting my favorite toys and perfecting my hairstyle for school pictures. I played in the band, indulged in French fries daily, and exchanged folded notes with friends in between classes. I felt confident, enjoyed a solid social circle, and thrived academically.
Fast forward to this year, and my son, who is autistic, entered junior high. I knew his experience would starkly contrast with mine. The anticipation of his first day filled me with unease, as I imagined him navigating crowded hallways, managing multiple teachers, and coping with the social dynamics of middle school. Would he get lost? Would anyone offer assistance? Would he face bullying during a meltdown?
In elementary school, he was somewhat of a star, beloved by teachers and surrounded by friends who shared his enthusiasm for Minecraft and Legos. At his sixth-grade graduation, I was overwhelmed with pride as his classmates cheered for him. However, as he transitioned to junior high, he lost the stability of having a dedicated teacher for the entire day and was separated from many of his friends due to district boundaries.
As summer drew to a close, we registered him at the new school. The process was overwhelming, resembling an assembly line. We barely made it through the first room before he burst into tears, struggling to log into his online profile. When he discovered he couldn’t access his previous school’s Google Drive, he sobbed openly in front of other students and parents, who looked on with pity.
At twelve years old, my son is physically larger than I am, with a powerful voice and unruly hair. To those unfamiliar with autism, his appearance likely raises questions or elicits pity. It’s a look I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.
Before the school year began, we attended a back-to-school night where we met his new teachers. I felt a mix of anxiety and hope—did they know he was autistic? Should I inform them? How would they respond? We also received the combination to his locker, which I knew would pose a challenge. The school’s “No Backpack” policy made the locker essential. I had him try it, but he became frustrated when it wouldn’t open. Seeing his distress, I suggested an alternative: a large binder with a strap. After all, he deserves some leniency; he is autistic.
Now, halfway through the school year, he has yet to forge close friendships. He finds the language of his peers inappropriate and dismisses their opinions on Minecraft, arguing that its graphics have improved significantly. Ironically, his most significant struggle is in his social skills class, which includes other autistic kids. His teacher noted tensions with two classmates, leading to his humorous remark about being “the oil” in a situation involving “water and oil.”
One lunch period, after dropping a cookie on the floor, he asked the lunch staff for a replacement but was denied. Frustrated, he discarded his entire lunch and sat against a wall in tears, feeling alone in his disappointment.
Each time I visit the school, the lockers serve as a painful reminder of the barriers my son faces. He reads at an eleventh-grade level yet struggles with everyday tasks that seem simple. His brilliance often remains unnoticed because few are willing to engage with him.
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In summary, middle school can be a challenging environment, especially for children with autism. As parents, we often fear the unknown and worry about our children’s ability to fit in. Understanding, patience, and support are crucial as they navigate these formative years.