Every Friday is a pivotal day for my son, Ethan, who attends a mainstream school while he spends the rest of the week in a specialized educational environment. In the earlier years, he was enrolled full-time in our local community school, just like his siblings and many of our friends’ children. It seemed natural for him to follow the same educational path until we discovered his unique needs.
Initially, we hired a full-time aide to assist Ethan in the classroom, which worked for a while. However, by the time he reached second grade, it became clear that a specialized school would better cater to his needs. This was an emotional decision for our family, as we had deep connections to our community school, where my partner and I had participated in fundraising and parent committees.
As observant members of our faith, we envisioned Ethan immersing himself in our culture, learning Hebrew, studying religious texts, and understanding our history. Transitioning to a special school felt like a loss of those aspirations. Nonetheless, we remained determined that Ethan would attend his Jewish school every Friday, alongside his peers.
Each Thursday evening, we prepare for Friday by laying out a special outfit next to his bed. Ethan switches to a different backpack, the same one his siblings use, and fills it with his favorite toys to share with his classmates. As he gets ready for his part-time school, his classmates also prepare for his arrival, keeping his desk ready with pencils and paper. I’ve been told that a monitor is appointed each week to look after Ethan, and rather than seeing it as a chore, the children eagerly volunteer to be his buddy.
Every Friday at 8:15 a.m., I drive to the school with a mix of excitement and anxiety, hoping a classmate will be there to help him inside before my parking time runs out. Without fail, a fifth grader appears with a warm smile, extending a hand to welcome Ethan to school. Occasionally, I receive messages from other parents, letting me know that their children are excited for Ethan’s arrival, shouting “It’s Friday, Ethan is coming today!”
For Ethan, Fridays are more than just another day; they are a celebration of inclusion. He receives invitations to all birthday parties and is integrated into class activities. I have been informed that when a rare instance occurs where someone has said something unkind, his classmates quickly come to his defense. When he struggles and has a meltdown, his peers gather around him, encouraging him to return to class. They understand that Ethan may not excel in the same academic tasks but embrace him for who he is.
These children are not always perfect, yet it is evident that Ethan inspires the best in them. They have cultivated values of empathy, patience, and inclusivity. I know this not only through my observations but also from parents who express their gratitude for the positive influence Ethan has had on their children.
As I contemplate the future, envisioning the independence these classmates will gain as teenagers—group chats, outings, and social events—my heart aches. I realize that the gap between Ethan’s independence and that of his peers will likely widen. In quiet moments, I mourn the activities he may not be able to join.
However, I find solace in the thought that despite their differences, these friends will continue to look out for Ethan. Their affection for his charming personality will endure through the years. No matter how their paths diverge, Ethan is an integral part of this group; he is included and valued in their community.
For us, Fridays symbolize hope, connection, and the potential for shared experiences, regardless of the challenges that lie ahead. We will always cherish Fridays and the promise they hold.
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In summary, Fridays are a beacon of joy and inclusion for my son Ethan, representing not just a school day but a celebration of friendship and acceptance among his peers.