Today is Tuesday, October 23. We still can’t get Jack in school. Jack, in case you’ve never been here before, is my 9-year-old son who is severely autistic. Not really talking, still in diapers, frequently (many times a day) exhibits self-injurious behaviors.

This site is Operation Jack, and if you don’t know what that’s all about, click here. Basically, I wanted to do something in his name to try to make the autism community a better place. I wanted him to make a difference. So far, my fundraising efforts and the Operation Jack Marathon have grossed somewhere in the $150,000 range.

But now I have my sights set on Operation Jack 2.0. I want my son to be able to go to public school.

Seems pretty simple on the surface, but we don’t really have a school for him right now. Technically, we can put him in a school that’s about six miles away that’s designated as a school with an autism-specific program. Huge problem with that school, though: the playground is unfenced, basically attached to a parking lot that flows into a fairly busy street. Jack elopes. He darts and runs away when he gets the opportunity.

He’s a danger to himself in parking lots, which is why we’ve had a handicap parking placard for him for more than four years. We hold him tight because the slightest fail could have fatal consequences. We brought him to the school he’s assigned to, but after three days, we pulled him out because of safety concerns. At least four times, he eloped from the staff there. He escaped when there were three staff members nearby. He escaped from two staff members from within a room. Twice, he got away and the staff didn’t know where he was — fortunately my wife and Jack’s home therapy team were there to let them know where he went.

But after three days of observing these failures, we were told that my wife and Jack’s therapy team were no longer welcome for observations and to help. We had to trust them, although there was nothing to trust. We were told they wrote up a new safety plan for Jack, and we could trust they could implement it.

I don’t know if I’m an overprotective parent, but I won’t put my kid in a situation that’s potentially fatal. So, I requested a transfer back to the school in his neighborhood that his sister goes to.

A few of things about this school:

– His fourth-grade playground has a FENCE!
– Jack was enrolled there to start the school year.
– The school district, which has the final say in special education, is on the record saying the school can handle Jack’s educational needs.

Here you have a school that can accommodate Jack’s education AND his parents are willing to send him there because there’s not a safety risk. But the assistant superintendent wouldn’t grant his transfer. He’s forcing him to stay at the school that’s unsafe (although he claims that the new plan written up on paper makes it safe … just trust them!). By forcing him to stay at the unsafe school, he knows Jack is going to be staying home. And it seems he’s fine with that.

I went around and around in circles, trying to get answers about the basis for the decision. I never did get straight answers. I never did get yes/no answers to yes/no questions. I never did get a face-to-face meeting. You’d think a concerned dad could get a meeting to ask questions about a decision made about his special needs son?

I did finally get an email last week telling me the questions and the conversation was over. The basic, “have a nice day, good luck with your appeal” email.

The only answer I ever got was from the principal of the school, saying she denied the decision because my wife Tiffany said she wanted Jack in a “true autism program.” But neither she nor the superintendent would tell me what a “true autism program” is. Nor would they tell me why they, as educators with decades of experience, were willing to defer their decision to their interpretation of a statement my wife made without following up with her to understand what she meant. Nor would they tell me why are taking her advice on a statement that they can’t even explain, but they’re not taking her advice when she tells them Jack won’t be safe at the school he’s currently assigned to.

My best guess is that the school we want Jack in can’t really handle Jack, but they’re using Tiffany as an excuse because if they blamed anything about the school, then they’d be admitting the unsafe school couldn’t handle Jack, either. My only other guess is that somebody really doesn’t want Jack back at the school we’re trying to get him into, but they won’t stand up and say it so they’re using Tiff as an excuse.

Whatever the case, we’re not getting answers. And the educators have made their decision. Apparently, Tiffany is to blame. And the real loser here is Jack, still home, without a school, regressing. 25 days and counting. His self-injurious behavior is increasing. This is taking a toll on Tiff, which trickles down to me and our other two kids. This is making us as miserable as we’ve ever been, but that’s not enough to make me stop fighting for Jack. Nothing will ever be enough to make me stop fighting for Jack.

Here was Jack on Friday:

For now, we’re waiting on our final appeal. I don’t know what we’re going to do if we’re denied. Wait two years to put Jack in school? We’ll find out within 15 days. I don’t know why it should take that long. Seems like a no-brainer to me.

Would you hold Jack out of school given our situation? Do you have any other theories about what’s going on? Have a nice Tuesday … hopefully I’ll have some good news soon.[subscribe2]

Three things Thursday, here we go.

Real quick, if this is your first time here, you MUST take 30 seconds to click here and see what Operation Jack is and why it’s the name of this site.

1. Jack still isn’t in school

It’s October 18 and Jack still isn’t in school. We have an option to take him to a school that’s about 6 miles away, but we feel he would be completely unsafe there. He elopes, which means he likes to dart and run away. We have a handicap parking space for him because he’s a danger to himself. He’s sharp and waits for the right moment to go.

The playground at the school the district wants him to go to isn’t fenced and it’s right up close to a parking lot. He’s one lapse in supervision away from potentially fatal consequences.

We actually brought him to the school for three partial days and observed, giving them a chance. But he eloped four times inside the building and twice the staff didn’t know where he went. One time he was being supervised by two staff members and he still got out of a small room they were in, down a hall and into another room.

If you were his parent, would you take him there? We refuse. And that’s the only option the district is giving us. So Jack is sitting at home, regressing. His self-injurious behaviors have increased. This isn’t about my wife Tiffany, but I will say that her life is a disaster right now because of all of this. And of course, that trickles down to the rest of us.

We’ve tried to get him into his home school that his sister Ava goes to (which is also a public school, in the same district). We feel safe with him there. We asked for Jack to be able to go to the school he’s currently assigned to, because we were told it was a great autism program, but it’s not. And it’s an incredible danger to him.

So, we went through the administrative process to try to get him back into his home school. With no significant difference in the quality of the education he’ll receive and a much safer environment, we’d much rather have him at the local school.

But the district is disallowing the transfer. Their justification at this point, I think, is that third-grade “no takebacks” rules are in effect. Between the district and the school, I’m getting conflicting reports as to whether or not they can handle Jack at the local school. They’ve told me in writing that they can handle him, but they’ve told me verbally that they can’t. I’m still trying to get legitimate answers from them, because so far, all they’ve done is dodge what I’ve been asking while redirecting the conversation with contradictions.

My suspicion, based on some things I’ve been told, is that somebody holds some kind of grudge against my wife over a contentious IEP. If you don’t know what that means, be grateful. But it comes with the territory in special education. And quite frankly, if this is the case, if you have a problem with my wife, don’t take it out on my son.

So for now, he’s still sitting at home, regressing, while the politics gets sorted out. What a system.

2. Colorado, FTW!

Gonna make items #2&3 pictures, because I wrote a lot for #1. Here’s one my wife took from a park that’s maybe 200 feet from our house. I won’t say which is our house, but it’s somewhere in the picture. Another reason I love Colorado!

3. The world through Jack’s eyes

Jack takes interesting pictures on Tiff’s phone and then erases them, but sometimes he leaves them on there. Here’s one he took and didn’t delete.

That’s all for today. What would you do about Jack if you were us? Have a great weekend!

Three Things Thursday … the easiest blog to write. I don’t even have to write it the night before. I just need to be able to count to three while I eat my oatmeal. I can do this. Here we go.

1. I’m Mr. Mom This Weekend

Tiff is going to California for a milestone birthday for one of her best friends. So for 2 1/2 days, it’s just me and the kids. I’ve taken care of them before, but not for this long without any help. Normally, there would be grandparents to help out and stuff like that, but we’re in Colorado now and the family is in California.

So, if you follow me on Twitter or if you’re friends with me on Facebook and you notice inactivity and wonder if I’m dead … I probably am.

2. We’re Still Fighting To Get Jack In School

We have a situation going on right now where we’re really struggling to get Jack in school. He’s home all day with Tiff while we get this sorted out, but at this point, we don’t have a school to put him in that’s safe and he’s sitting at home regressing. His self-injurious behaviors are increasing. And we have nowhere to take him. They’re both going stir-crazy. It’s really making them both pretty miserable and that has a trickle-down effect on the rest of us. We’re not on the outs or anything like that, but it’s really wrecking us from the inside out. This autism thing has an impact waaaaaaay beyond the kid that gets the life sentence. One of these days I might spill all the details about what’s going on with the school. But right now isn’t that day. I don’t know who’s reading this. Ya know?

3. I’m A Jerk

On Tuesday I was arguing with Tiff about all of this school stuff. It’s been tough on us and I told her some pretty harsh things about her and Jack. I didn’t mean what I said, but I did say some pretty nasty things out of frustration. And she told me, although not seriously, that I should tell everybody on my blog what a jerk I was and that I’m not as great as some people think I am. Well now you know. I’m not Superman. I’m a hothead when I get mad.

Anyways, I’m throwing in a song video. I like this one and it’s growing on me.

OK, that’s all. Who dies first, me or the kids? What do you think should be the minimum qualifications to work with kids with autism in a public school? Do you hate me now that you know I’m a jerk? I hope not! Have a good weekend![subscribe2]

This past weekend, I went from Colorado down to California for the Long Beach Marathon. It’s a huge event for Train 4 Autism, which I’m proud to be a part of. And while I have your attention, if you don’t know what Operation Jack is, CLICK HERE! Please!

Anyways, I flew out Friday after work, worked the expo all day Saturday recruiting for Train 4 Autism and the Operation Jack Marathon. It was amazing to see T4A’s growth and presence. It’s just awesome to be on a team that’s winning, especially when the prize is a better life for kids with autism. We had 266 people out there in T4A blue on Sunday. I have my own individual role, and I actually don’t really even know what that is, but I know I’ve worked really hard over the past 3+ years to do what I can and it’s awesome to see things growing.

We all have a dream that we’re going to grow and help people and help people help people (kind of confusing to write it that way, but that’s accurate) and we’re getting there. The dream is starting to come true. So the whole experience was pretty awesome. I love feeling like my running and my hobby has some purpose.

I ran the Long Beach Marathon on Sunday, lifetime marathon #103. I’m going to be real brief. I wanted to run somewhere around a 3:05, maybe a bit quicker. I felt sluggish all week — I still haven’t recovered from the marathon I ran on September 1. I went out, pushed it, knew I didn’t have it and still tried to force it. I knew it was a stupid idea, but I did it anyways, and as I suspected, I fell apart by mile 14. The 3:05 I wanted probably could have been a 3:12, but it ended up being a 3:26. It was a long, miserable day in the sun. And then life went on.

Ok, so the headline for this is worst post-run run ever, and I’m going to get to that in just a second. But first, pictures make everything more interesting. And they’re easier to read. So here’s one from last night. I was growing a beard for the heck of it, but I was messing around last night when I was shaving.

All right, the worst post-run run ever. I took a bus out to the airport in Denver on Friday and I was taking it back. I was at dinner in California on Sunday night and for whatever reason, I wanted to check the time of the bus back to where I was going. They go about every hour and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to wait for an hour. When I saw the schedule, I saw that the last bus was at 11:25. I went to see what time my flight landed, because I had no idea, and it was 11:10.

If you’ve ever been to the airport in Denver, it’s a long way from the gates to ground transportation. You have to go down those electric sidewalks (whatever they’re called, then down two escalators, then you have to take a tram in. I would have 15 minutes and at that point, about 5 hours to dwell on it. The first bus out in the morning is at 6:25 a.m. and I parked at Park-N-Ride about 35 miles from the airport. Easily a $100 cab fare. I don’t have $100 to burn like that, so I would have just slept in the terminal and taken the bus out. And hated Monday. No way in the world would I even think about asking Tiff to load the three kids into the car at 11:30 and drive down to the airport. I had to make this bus!

When I got to the airport in Orange County, I checked with the Frontier folks at the gate about buying up to row closer to the front so I could get off the plane quicker — I knew every minute would matter. But the flight was completely full. Row 20. Then I heard announcements about checking carry-ons because there wasn’t going to be enough room. If I couldn’t bring my bag on, there was no way I would get to the bus on time.

While they were going through the boarding, they announced that once they hit 40 more bags, they were going to have to force everything else to be checked. I looked around and knew it was going to be close. About five people before I got on, they made the announcement that they were full and everything had to be checked. This was a death sentence as far as making that bus was concerned, so I went and begged and explained my situation and they allowed me to try to find space on the plane.

I did, so that was one crisis averted. I sat in my seat hoping we’d leave on time because every minute on the flip side would make a difference. We pushed back pretty quick and were up in the air without much delay. The pilot even told us we might be on the ground a few minutes early! Yes!

And then I sat there on the flight in anxiety for two hours. Oh, and I was in pain, too. My right leg was killing me, primarily from the marathon that day but also from some lingering pain I have that makes it difficult to sit still for more than 20 minutes or so. Unfortunately, I was on the window seat on the left, so I just had to deal with it.

We landed at about 11 p.m., which gave me a little tiny bit of hope that we’d make it. I was estimating 10-15 minutes to where I needed to get from the time I got off the plane and if we could be at the gate in 5 minutes, I thought 20 minutes would make me safe.

We pulled in and I saw gate A29. That’s a big plus, because there’s also a B and C terminal and by being in the A terminal, there was a much shorter tram ride to get to where I was needing to get. But we just sat there waiting for them to open the door. After about two minutes of waiting, the power went off inside the plane. I was starting to think my chances were slipping away.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably about 4 or 5 minutes that everybody stood there waiting for them to let us out. They opened the door at 11:09 and I knew it was going to be a tight race to the finish. My achy legs were going to have to run through the terminal. I was getting really antsy, knowing every second would count. People who were taking their good, sweet time pulling down their luggage from the overhead were annoying me, although I knew the problem was me, not them.

Finally, at 11:14 I was off the plane and I started running through the terminal. That was the worst post-run run EVER. It hurt and I know I looked ridiculous. But I needed to catch that bus. I was running down the left side of those stand-on-the-right, walk-on-the-left moving sidewalks (note: DON’T STAND ON THE LEFT NEXT TO SOMEBODY STANDING ON THE RIGHT! NOT COOL!). I ran down escalators to get to the tram and saw the doors close to one. I just missed it.

I got this sinking feeling I wasn’t going to catch the bus. It was 11:18 and the next tram didn’t come until 11:21. Four minutes left. I knew I was going to need the bus to be about a minute or two late getting out. I had to stand in a sea of people waiting to get up an escalator. Those 30 seconds seemed like 30 hours.

I continued running on my beat-up legs when I got to the top, got out to where the bus was and there was no bus. But there were people waiting! Ahhh, I made it and the bus was late! I was so relieved! Just to make sure, I asked to confirm that they were waiting for the AB heading towards Boulder.

No, that just left a couple of minutes ago.

I missed it. I missed my bus. Next bus out in seven hours. Work two hours after that. Awesome. I stood there for a couple of minutes because, well, I wasn’t in any hurry to go anywhere at that point. I had all night in front of me in an airport terminal.

Then a young woman, maybe 22 or so, ran up looking for the bus. She was pretty upset to find out it was gone. She was a student at CU-Boulder. Then another guy came by and found out he missed it, too. He was pretty laid back, though. He was also a student. Boulder is a long ways from the airport. Probably close to an hour, definitely at least 45 minutes. But he just called his girlfriend up and she was on the way. He offered rides to me and the other woman.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken a ride on a moment’s notice from a complete random stranger, but I didn’t really care. We waited in the terminal for a while and she finally got there. We loaded up and hit the road. They dropped me off in my town, which was on the way. There’s a bus stop on the highway so they didn’t event need to go out of the way. They just stopped, let me out, I thanked them for the ride and gave them some gas money and walked to my car. At about 1:15 a.m., 18 hours after I woke up before running a miserable marathon in the sun in California, I walked into my home in Broomfield, Colo.

Long day. Memorable day. Long day. Long day. And then a short night. Five hours later, the kids were up and it was time to get ready for work.

So there you have it. Definitely the worst post-run run ever.

Have you ever been stranded overnight? Have you ever had to run with a suitcase? Should I have kept the facial hair?

Have a great Tuesday!

Ahhh, my first blog of the week. It’s been one of those weeks, I guess. Gonna go with Three Things Thursday, and in my first item, I’ll explain why I haven’t blogged much this week.

If you’ve never been to this site, or don’t know what Operation Jack is, please click here!

OK, here we go, time to count to 3.

1. We’re having a ridiculous fight getting Jack into school right now. It’s totally consumed every waking second of the past 10 or so of our days. Jack, in case you don’t know, is our 9-year-old son who is severely autistic. Well, we’re having major problems getting him out of a school that’s unsafe for him and we’re floored by the requirements for he people who will be teaching him. I saw an ad yesterday for a position they’re filling for the type of person who would be working with him and the requirements are high school diploma and speaks English.

It’s like they cast off my son as worthless. Well, I don’t. I know his potential. And I’ll fight to death for him. That’s probably why I feel like I’m dying right now. I’m not going to get too political, but I will say that right about now, I’d be a big proponent of a voucher system and then maybe somebody would treat him with some dignity. That’s probably more than I should say right now since this is unsettled and I have no clue who reads my blog. But I don’t care.

2. I’m running the Long Beach Marathon on Sunday. I made a last-minute decision to go out to California for the race. The main reason is to try to help recruit for the Operation Jack Marathon and Train 4 Autism at the Train 4 Autism booth at the expo. So if you’re running the race and going to the expo on Saturday, stop by and say hi. Anyways, I’m gonna run the race on Sunday since I’ll be there anyways. Gonna try to BQ and get my 2014 Boston qualifier out of the way. It’s a realistic goal so I’ll try to run the best race I can. Whatever the case, it’s the last marathon I’m running hard until next April, so it will be nice to break from training and just enjoy my running again.

3. I had two triumphant running moments last night. First, I burned out another treadmill at the gym on a progressive run. That’s always a fun win. Then, I went and played softball and tagged and scored on a sacrifice fly to second. This wasn’t the second baseman running and diving backwards and me taking advantage of them being on the ground. This was the second baseman backpedaling just a little bit and me deciding I was going to tag and see what kind of wheels I had. I had enough to score. Felt kind of fun to do something ridiculous. I’ll be signing autographs at the Train 4 Autism booth on Saturday.

OK, that’s it. Do you play softball? Have you ever had problems with a school district? Will I see you at Long Beach? Have a great weekend![subscribe2]