Pathlight, PSLE and Pencils

 Today my daughter went for a School Suitability Assessment at Pathlight, Singapore's premier school for autism. "The RGS of special schools," a friend warned. More accurately, Pathlight was the first of two autism schools to offer mainstream education and PSLE, and boasts highly developed creative programs. Instantly regarded as premium (hence the reference to ol' Raffles) because Singapore's primary school education is notoriously challenging, rumoured surmountable only with a full schedule of enrichments from the time a child is three years old. 

As parents hoping to send our children to Pathlight, most of us have already let go of a dream of sending them to other schools: alma maters, brand name schools, schools walking distance from home, what have you.  We are no longer in denial of our children's special needs, as many still are. We have had no choice but to deal with it, to get that autism diagnosis, to reluctantly step onto a path different from our friends. Pathlight remains the last hope that our children might still make it, in that very Singaporean academic way, but with a much gentler environment and pace.

So you can see why anxiety was high among the parents at the assessment briefing today. While our kids were in the classrooms being observed, we endured a Q&A that killed my hopes of grabbing a coffee. 

Will we get the performative scores from today? If there is exemption from mother tongue, what score will be given? If we can't get into this campus, can we get into the other one? If we're not successful this year, how do we apply again next year? What is the prioritisation criteria? Will you favour someone who lives closer to campus? Since we're so few, can't all of us pass??

I sat there smug and annoyed, thinking about my coffee. Theo had woken up bright and happy, excited to come to "big school." She had waved at the teachers and called the girls her "new best friends." She had bounced on her seat patiently while another kid was wailing for home. She would breeze through this assessment. There was no need to get all ruffled like the rest. 

True enough, she came out joyfully. "Today is a special day!" she declared, obviously having heard that from the teachers. "I think she will probably get in," I told my husband. "I'm so glad she woke up in a good mood."

Only when brushing her teeth before bed, when asking her if she had listened to the teacher, did all her bad memories flood back. 

"NO! I am ANGRY with the teacher! I did NOT listen to the teacher!"

Mildly panicking and trying to soothe her stomping, huffing body, I asked with a nervous smile, "Oh, why were you angry?"

"Because SHE TOOK MY PENCIL!"

Okay. Calm mothering, gentle parenting. "Did someone borrow it? Did they give it back?"

"Yes, but I am ANGRY!"

"Uh, you did what the teacher told you to do right?"

"NO, I did NOT listen to the TEACHER!"

"Did you...do writing?"

"NO!"

"Did you play with toys?"

"NO! I. AM. MAD!!"

Oh dear. 

If we're not successful this year, how do we apply again next year? What is the prioritisation criteria? 

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There is competition and anxiety at every level. I discovered I am no better than any of the parents there today, nor any of the parents who move mountains to send their children to elite schools. We all try to secure what we perceive to be the best future for our children, and scramble to stay afloat when the plans feel fluid under our feet. 

It's all out of our hands. And thankfully so. God knows what's best for her, and that will be a school that can deal with her melting down over a pencil. Pathlight or not. PSLE or not. Her life is bigger than that.