I haven’t blogged in a while. Probably been over a month. Haven’t been too active on Facebook or Twitter, either. I guess it’s safe to say I’ve been a little preoccupied. If you haven’t been here before, there’s a couple of things I should outline first:

1. I’m a father of three and my middle child, 9-year-old Jack, is severely autistic. He’s the “Jack” in Operation Jack. I’ve done a lot of charity stuff in his name to fight autism. That’s the only reason I’m public about anything — I’m trying to make some good out of what he goes through. Click here to see how the Operation Jack Autism Foundation and the Operation Jack Marathon have brought in about $180,000 in the past three or so years.

2. We’ve been in a VERY long fight to try to get Jack into school. He’s been out this entire year. Here’s some backstory. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever been a part of and quite frankly, it’s sad to know how dirty some people in this world are. In a nutshell, we didn’t like the poor education he was receiving. We hoped the Boulder Valley School District could offer something better than what he was receiving at one of their schools he was attending and they sold us on some allegedly great autism program at a different school they had. Well not only was that program not any better for Jack than the program he was coming from — it was at an unsafe school. The playground he would have been on was 86 feet from a parking lot and UNFENCED! Jack elopes, which means he runs away when he gets a chance. The math of it is that he was less than a two-second lapse in supervision away from a potentially fatal incident at any given moment. So, he’s been out of school this entire school year. [Read more…]

As I mentioned here the last time I posted, we had mediation with the school district last Thursday. I had to sign a paper that I wouldn’t talk about what went on inside that room. So, I guess I’ll talk a little bit about where Jack stands on getting back into school.

Super brief background in case you’ve never been here before (and in that case, see what I’m all about), our 9-year-old, low-functioning autistic son Jack is assigned to a school six miles down the street from our house that is too dangerous for him. The playground is unfenced and 86 feet away from a parking lot. He has a well-documented history of eloping (running away without reason or notice), and a two-second lapse in supervision is about all it would take for him to potentially be involved in a fatal incident. So, we’re not sending him. Call us good parents — we’re not going to put our son’s life on the line just because a few people are confident nothing’s gonna happen.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about it won’t happen to you, it’s that it will happen to you. It’s happened time and time again throughout my life. The autism thing did happen to my Jack and there’s no way I’m going to put him at risk of death happening, too. It can happen and that’s not something you take chances with. There’s a school less than a mile down the street from our house that’s fenced and safe. He attended there last year, and his sister goes there now, but the district refuses to allow him to attend.

I still don’t have a truthful, on-the-record answer as to why Jack isn’t allowed to attend his home school. It seems like it’s probably because a teacher is mad at my wife, although we’ve unsuccessfully tried to get an honest answer for more than three months now. They say it’s because we don’t want him to go there, but that’s obviously not true, because we’ve asked for him to be able to go there since September. We think the real reason is because Tiff voiced her displeasure (in an appropriate manner and forum) when eight of his 15 IEP goals were removed without our consent, including his behavior goal. We suspect that’s what caused this issue to start and then escalate, although that’s just a guess based on the runaround we’ve been through.

Tiff’s life has been destroyed — she’s a slave 24-7 to Jack, she’s had to cancel doctors appointments and surgeries … she says she feels like a prisoner. Even more than what it’s doing to her, it kills her to think about how our son — who has already been robbed of any sort of a normal life — is now being robbed of an education, too. This is a nightmare worse than anything I could have ever imagined. And when I look back and think, “What did we do wrong to get ourselves in this situation?” The answer is nothing. There’s nothing wrong with appropriately speaking up for your child during the educational process.

And way beyond that, Jack REALLY did nothing wrong. He’s as innocent as they come. But he’s the true loser in all of this. He’s just collateral damage. The people involved say they want him in school, but their actions say he’s a throwaway retard who’s a pawn in the retaliation game against Tiff. I imagine there are people smiling because they’re getting their way, but they should be ashamed of who they’re really beating up on — a 9-year-old autistic child in desperate need of an education.

I went to a workshop talking about mediation and due process last week and from what I learned, I don’t think it matters how wrong the district is. They can tell us no, no, no until the cows come home. Unless we hire a lawyer and go through due process (basically court) and hire expert witnesses, we’re at their mercy. Even if we were to win at due process, they could just appeal. We don’t have resources (I’d imagine it would cost well over $10K) to access the system, so we’re out of luck, and I would imagine that’s part of the district’s strategy.

I think we have a very difficult challenge getting him in school before the start of the 2014-15 school year, but I keep my faith that somehow, someway, things will get better.

We’ll continue to fight and do whatever we can to figure out new ways to make that happen. There’s a chance I might send out an email or two somewhere down the road and ask for ideas or maybe help sending an email or two. I set something up called Jack’s Army. CLICK HERE to join — it’s super simple. Super, super simple. PLEASE join if you haven’t already. And please forward this on via your Facebook and Twitter!

In the meantime, while we keep fighting, Tiff is working with Jack at home and doing her best. Here’s a video from yesterday:

Here’s some of his writing:

I’ll post more updates when I have them. I hope to have them soon. We’re not going to give up fighting to get him in school.

Have a great Wednesday. Keep praying for my special star!

If you’ve been around here in the past, you know my wife and I are struggling like mad to get our 9-year-old severely autistic son into school. Between Facebook, Twitter, emails, texts and everything else in between, a lot of you have been asking what’s the latest status with us getting Jack into school. So, I figured it would be easiest to just write a blog with the latest and not-so-greatest. Also, if you don’t have the time to reach the bottom of this post, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE click here to join Jack’s Army!

If you’ve never been here, here’s the quick elevator pitch: I’m a father of three and a marathon runner and between running 61 full marathons in 2010 and putting on the Operation Jack Marathon every year, I’ve grossed about $180,000 in my fight against autism. Operation Jack is named after my son, Jack, who is a 9-year-old, low-functioning autistic child, still not potty trained with very limited communication. For more about my charity efforts, click here.

OK, so here’s the deal with Jack’s school. Jack elopes, which means he runs away without warning, and he’s pretty sneaky about it. He waits for the perfect opportunity and then darts. He’s a complete danger to himself, which is why he’s had a handicap parking placard for more than four years now. He doesn’t know any better, but it’s a challenge.

He was enrolled at the local school, which he attended in the spring, but we were sold on moving him to different school about six miles down the road. We didn’t know at the time that the new school has a playground that’s 86 feet from a parking lot and NOT FENCED! Some things you just take for granted, like … your kid isn’t going to be at risk of a fatal incident every time he goes to recess. We tried to get him back into the previous school, because it’s actually safe, but we’ve been denied without ever being told a truthful reason (they tell us they’re not letting Jack go there because we don’t want him to go there, even though we want him to go there and we’re asking for him to be able to go there).

So, here’s an update on what’s going on.

1. We had a lawyer. Now we have no lawyer. And we’re not going to have another lawyer
I’m not going to get into the details about the lawyer we had, but we don’t have her any more and we’re not going to be able to afford to get another one. I’m OK with fighting this fight on behalf of Jack. I feel like what’s morally right is on my side, as are the facts in this situation. I’m going head-to-head with the school district’s lawyer now and if Jack loses and is kept out of school “because they can”, well so be it. It seems like the district is using time and money to keep Jack out of school and it feels like I’m fighting a huge corporation with vast resources, but I’ll keep fighting.

2. We have mediation next Thursday
I have no idea how that’s going to go. And I know it’s non-binding, so it’s not like anybody can force the district to let Jack back in school. But I’m looking forward to being able to talk about the true issues in play without the conversation being steered by the district moderator when the conversation doesn’t fit the district’s agenda.

3. I offered a free fence to the school district. But they wouldn’t take it.
I have a friend who works at a very, very large company and they’re in the contracting business or something like that. He offered to have a fence donated at the unsafe school, so I offered that to the district. The district said they wouldn’t consider taking it until after mediation. Either they want the fence or they don’t want the fence. But to wait until after mediation to consider it obviously means that whether or not they want to consider taking a free fence will be determined by the outcome of mediation. Realistically, they’d find a way to use that free fence offer against me, which truly means they’d find a way to use it against Jack, and I’m not going to allow that to happen. I told the lawyer on December 21 that they had until December 31 and I never heard back.

4. We can’t get an IEP meeting for Jack
We can’t get a meeting for an IEP for Jack. They’ve told us all along that the IEP is never final and we can call a meeting at any time. And from everything we’ve ever been told by anybody, it’s within our federal rights to call an IEP without a time limit. Much to our surprise, when we requested an IEP to cover safety and modifications, they denied us, saying there was no new information. So, I sent them an email with five new pieces of information. And then I followed up. And I followed up. It took 12 emails in one week for the lawyer to finally write me and scold me for being hostile (maybe if it would have only taken 6 emails I would have been happier?). She also told me she would not reply to my emails any more. And still, no acknowledgement of those five new pieces of information. And no IEP.

5. I think the district simply doesn’t want Jack in school
Actions speak louder than words. They keep saying they care about Jack and want him in school. But they know full well we’re never, ever going to take him to an unsafe school. We had two options on the table — the unsafe school and a school that’s about 40 minutes away. Well, that school that’s 40 minutes away was pulled off the table. So, they tightened the vice on us by only leaving us with the unsafe school when they know (and they’ve admitted on the record) that he’ll never attend there. They don’t want to deal with him.

Also, they threatened to report us to the state if we don’t either a) bring him to the unsafe school or b) withdraw him from the district and home school him. Obviously they know A won’t happen. B would get him off their hands. I could see them retaliating against us for fighting for him by having protective custody force him to attend a school where he’s at risk of a fatal incident at every recess break. That makes sense.

The bottom line is that judging by their actions, I’m pretty sure they don’t want to have to teach Jack and they’ll use whatever morally reprehensible maneuvers they can.

And that’s pretty much where we stand. I still have faith this is all going to work out. And I believe deep, deep down inside in my heart of hearts that I’m doing the right thing by fighting for my son’s safety. But this sure isn’t easy.

Last little bit … I’M BEGGING YOU FOR HELP RIGHT NOW. Please, please, please click here and go join Jack’s Army. Super simple. Super, super simple. And PLEASE CLICK THE LINKS I HAVE ON THERE TO SHARE IT ON FACEBOOK AND TWITTER!

I couldn’t have picked a worse time for my first flight-booking snafu if I tried.

While running 61 marathons for charity in 2010, I took 124 flights and booked them all myself without a single problem. I was exactly where I needed to be when I needed to be while minimizing my time away from home.

I ran a marathon in Washington DC Halloween morning that year and trick-or-treated with my kids in Southern California that night. I ran a marathon in Seattle on a Saturday morning and arrived home with pizza 15 minutes before my son’s birthday party started late that afternoon in California.

I had Thanksgiving dinner with my family in California, and was home the next night after running a marathon in Washington state. Shoot, last Tuesday night, I was building a snowman for my kids in my front yard in Colorado less than nine hours before I ran the Operation Jack Marathon in Los Angeles.

I’m good at this. Or so I thought. I need to paint a bit of a picture before I explain my mess-up.

Last week was a bit of a whirlwind. I went from Colorado to Los Angeles on Christmas night, ran the Operation Jack Marathon early Wednesday (2:45 a.m.!) on 90 minutes of sleep and somehow blurred my way onto a plane Thursday night.

I felt terrible when I was gone. I was exhausted, but my wife was home sick with bronchitis, as was my daughter Ava. I hated not being there to help, but the Operation Jack Marathon is the centerpiece of my charity work and foundation, so I pretty much have to be there. I walked through the front door Thursday night at 11:30 p.m., was up at 4:40 when my son Jack woke up. A couple of hours later I unpacked and packed before getting ready for work. After work, I went straight to the airport to go to Kansas City for the Operation Jack KC Half In The Snow.

It’s my busiest charity week of the year, but sometimes long, exhausting weeks (or years, when I think back to 2010) are part of the deal when you’re busting your butt for a charity. And Jack started getting getting sick on Friday.

If I wasn’t putting on a race for my charity, I wouldn’t have even thought about still going to Kansas City. But I was torn. The race was put on by a great guy named Matt Popilek, but he had never put on a race before and he was running in it. I was managing it. I’ve done that before. It’s for my foundation. My son’s name is in the race. I needed to be there. But I needed to be home, too.

Tiff was on the phone with me when I pulled into the parking lot at the airport. She sounded terrible and I felt terrible for and I told her to be extremely direct with me and not to have me try to read between any lines. She told me to go to Kansas City.

I kept going, made it through security and she called again and told me she needed me to come home. I asked her about getting help for her and she didn’t want to get anybody sick. I was in a bit of a panic mode. Nothing is more important than my family’s health, but our foundation and charity efforts are very important to us and the race in Kansas City has good potential to be a long-term, annual fundraiser. The inaugural event is important and I got confirmation earlier that afternoon that the Kansas City Star would be there to cover the event.

I called a couple of friends of mine who are big Operation Jack supporters, but also wives. I needed instant feedback. I kept going towards the gate, because until I was on the plane, I wasn’t on the plane and I didn’t have to go. But I didn’t want the decision to be to go and then be too far away.

I got mixed feedback. They acknowledged that there was no good, easy decision. Between the two of them, they seemed on the fence, leaning a little towards advising me to stay home. I called Matt and told him I might not be going. I sensed some concern in his voice.

I called Tiff up, not knowing if I was going or not. I expressed my concerns about not being in Kansas City and not being in Colorado. She was concerned that she’d recover quickly with medicine and it might be a mistake for me to not go to Kansas City. This was a tough decision that we had to make impulsively, but she knew I’d be home Saturday night and she told me to just go. I was incredibly nervous to make that decision to get on the plane. I felt like I needed to be in Colorado and Kansas City, but I had faith that Tiffany would be OK.

I was boarding at about the time I needed to check in for my return flight, so I asked one of those friends I had called to check me in. She couldn’t do it. I sat down on my plane and I couldn’t do it either. It said my flight was either within an hour or more than 24 hours away. But that wasn’t the case.

So, I looked up my itinerary on my Southwest app on my phone. And then I discovered the worst timing ever for my first airline-ticket-booking error.

My flight back on Saturday night was actually on Sunday night. Not good. And then it was time to power down since the cabin doors were closing. Not good. Not good.

I hopped on wifi when the plane took off and saw that the flight back on Saturday night was going to be $313. Not in the budget. Not good. Decided not to tell Tiff Friday night, because really, it wouldn’t do her any good to know before Saturday. Ugggghhhh. Worst. Timing. Ever.

I went straight to the Southwest counter in the terminal and pleaded with the guy who was there to help. He said he’d do everything he could and even wave the fee. Oh, thank goodness.

Then he checked. And checked. And checked. Direct flights. Flights through St. Louis. And Dallas. And Houston. And San Antonio. The best flight he could find was 138 people checked in for a flight with 137 seats. In plain English, that’s a no. I was so bummed.

On the shuttle to car rental, I hopped on Travelocity. The cheapest one-way back was $441 or $433, something like that. Something way out of my price range.

I told Tiff that I landed safely, but didn’t tell her about my flight problem. She said she was feeling a little better so I let her sleep and prayed that she started to feel better.

At 4:45 a.m. Saturday morning Kansas City time, I got a call from her. She sounded about as bad as I’ve ever heard her. There was a 7:10 a.m. flight back that I could have bought up to for $100, but she told me not to bother, that it would be too late to help by the time I got home anyways. She was just glad I was going to be home that night.

Yeah, um, not the best time to tell her about my little problem.

So I couldn’t fall back to sleep and went out to set up the race. I had to run the course backwards to mark it and for the first time in my life, I had coffee before I ran. I was that tired at the start of my day. I’d had 19 hours of sleep in the previous four nights, and in those four days I’d flown three times and run a marathon. I was exhausted.

When the race got going, I was talking to volunteers about my predicament. My only real option was to drive a rental car back if it was affordable, but I didn’t know how affordable that would be. I was hoping Tiff would get better, but at about noon, I got a text from my oldest son Benjamin. He told me she wanted to know if I could catch an earlier flight home.

Tell me about it. I sure was trying, not that they had any idea of the irony in that question. I told him I was trying, but that I was having problems with my airline ticket.

Tiff took his phone and texted me in all caps, letting me know it was her, demanding to know what was going on. The gig was up. I told her. Of all the words I could use to describe her at that moment, happy was not one of them.

She told me to spend the money to get home. Earlier that morning, a neighbor took her and Jack to the hospital. This was the worst situation ever. I felt like I was stranded on a remote island and my wife and kids needed me at home and I could only buy my way back with money we don’t have. I already know how this story ends and I’m getting stressed just thinking about it.

Well, I went and did a quick search for a one-way car rental and found one from Budget for $84. 605 miles would be 20-25 gallons of gas. $150ish to get to Denver. I knew it would be physically demanding to make the drive, and I was mentally prepared to pull over at any time to be smart and take a nap. But I feel like one quality I have (see: 61 all-out marathons in 2010) is to step up and defeat exhaustion when I need to.

Tiff asked me what time I would get home and I told her sometime after her and the kids went to bed and before they woke up, just like if I was flying in. 136 ounces of coffee later, I eventually walked through the front door at 1:15 a.m., 21 1/2 hours after I woke up in Kansas City after 4 1/2 hours of sleep. I had been awake for 97 of the previous 116 hours.

As I put on my Facebook and Twitter that night, The worst thing about having war stories to tell is you have to earn them. New story in progress in Kansas …

Well, I think I’ve fully recovered and I have a new war story. And you can bet pretty good money I’ll never book an airline ticket on the wrong date again.[subscribe2]