As surprising as it is every year, summer is coming to an end. School is starting soon–August 28^th for Alia. She tells me she’s nervous. I am nervous too. Last year finding the right kindergarten program for her was challenging to say the least. Fortunately, I found the perfect school and it was a massive success. (Sky-high compliments to the staff of Carnegie Mellon University Children’s School!)

Unfortunately, the kindergarten program Alia attended does not extend to first grade, so I had to look for a new school. As most parents have experienced, that process can be complicated and confusing. In Pittsburgh, I could choose among 19 different public schools including charter, magnet and neighborhood, and over 100 private schools.

Since I had gone through a similar process when looking for a kindergarten program, the “do-over” created a special opportunity for me to gain some insights into just how powerful an open perspective can be. (Please note, the following is an account of my personal experience only. I am not making general claims about the schools I toured or even the people I met.)

Last year, when I was looking at kindergarten, I assumed the biggest factor would relate to Alia’s mobility challenges: can she physically get into the building? Once in, how accessible are the various classrooms, bathrooms, and playgrounds?

It turns out, stairs were not the biggest barrier. The culture of the school was what truly determined accessibility, and that culture went both ways. I remember calling the general number of a magnet school that I thought Alia might enjoy and leaving a message with a brief explanation of our situation. Later that day, the principal herself called me back. I asked if the school had an elevator. When she answered no, it didn’t, I assumed that was the end of our conversation and thanked her for her time. But the principal kept talking. She explained she had been asking for an elevator for a long time and was on the waiting list for the district to install one. She encouraged me to apply, excited that her request would then gain higher priority. I was impressed by this administrator’s genuine commitment to making her program more inclusive. (We applied but enrollment is on a lottery system, and we did not get in.)

I continued my search. By asking the same questions to different school administrators (and getting very different answers), I could see how each person’s perspective influenced their response. It was both fascinating and frustrating.

One conversation, though, proved extremely illuminating. I was speaking to the director of admissions of a well-respected school. I believe nearly everyone would call her “nice”. She certainly seemed nice when I first met her. My sense is she prides herself on being nice. And to be fair, it is rare to be in a situation that tests that quality to the degree that she found herself being tested while talking to me. But there you go. Some people’s nice exists within a smaller comfort zone than others.

I hadn’t meant to test her. I was simply following up, as I was encouraged to do by several other parents, to learn more about why my daughter was not accepted into their program. I was told this is a fairly standard thing to do since that feedback can be very helpful. So I called. I was open, pleasant, and curious to learn more. (I realize that sounds like a stretch given the circumstances, but perhaps you can believe me. I worked very hard to sound this way and am a severe judge of myself, so if I have given myself credit for accomplishing this, you can feel somewhat comfortable trusting me on it.) I told the director I was surprised that she hadn’t been accepted, given the very positive report her current program had showed me they had sent. “Little to no adaptation in the classroom” was one of the comments, which I had thought would allay their concerns about including a child in a wheelchair in their program. And the school was already informed that Alia had tested at the gifted level, so I knew they weren’t concerned about her academic performance.

On the call, I acknowledged that Alia brings with her several challenges, but the school had seemed so encouraging throughout the application process, I thought those issues had already been fully considered. So I asked in my neutral way, “What areas weren’t a fit for your program?” The woman sounded angry—I’m guessing she was much happier smiling at people and encouraging them than being honest about the limits of her friendliness. “Everything!” she said, exasperated that she even had to explain this to me. For this person, nothing was possible for Alia at this school. Quite simply, she wasn’t wanted.

If there is anyone you love who has been valued so little by others, maybe you can relate to how painful this was to hear. She did not see Alia’s potential. In this person’s defense, since that is how she perceived things, it must have been very uncomfortable for her to have to point out such an obvious gap in what Alia had to offer their program and what they were looking for.

I see things a little differently. I know Alia is here to make the world a better place, as are we all. But it takes an open mind to see someone’s potential, especially if they don’t conform to our social conventions or look different. This administrator taught me just how limiting a closed mindset can be for developing the human spirit to its full potential. A quote from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow comes to mind: “We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing while others judge us by what we have already done.” I need to remember this if I find myself making a sweeping judgment like that about…well, anything.

Same Kid, Same Topic, Totally Different Director of Admissions

Months later, I am on the phone with the director of admissions at another private school. I explain that my daughter’s class had visited their school last year, and she had a great time, so I was calling to learn more about their program. I tried to be as honest as possible describing Alia—she’s kind, she’s creative, she’s funny and, for now, she can’t stand or walk on her own. Also, her speech is slurred, which makes it hard for some folks to understand what she’s saying. But the director already knew. She remembered meeting my daughter during her school’s visit and was delighted that we were interested. She immediately invited me to come tour the school with her.

A few days later, when I met her for the tour, she did not smile politely. She smiled in a way that lit up her whole face and somehow made her eyes shine. I felt welcomed, as if I had been invited over for dinner, instead of arriving for an appointment. I learned a lot about their program and was impressed by their curriculum. The values she cited were not just pretty words posted on their website. They were integrated into the program in so many layers, and so consistently, I was convinced this was a very special place, led by a team of very special people. The school felt like home. We had found our tribe.

In this school, and with this team, everything was possible for Alia. I met several times with different folks from the school to explore the barriers Alia might encounter if she were accepted, both physical and otherwise. Throughout the months of discussion and planning, I always felt there was a genuine desire to include her.

And then acceptance letters were mailed out. Alia was accepted! She will be the first student in the history of the school who will be attending in a wheelchair. A trailblazer at the ripe old age of 6. Kudos to Community Day School for truly living their values, even when it might be outside their comfort zone to do so. I am hopeful by joining this community I will feel inspired and supported to do the same—especially when it’s outside my comfort zone.

For readers who feel blocked in some way, I hope our experience reminds you of an important fact. An open mind will see possibilities where a closed mind sees none. With that in mind, what’s possible for you?