Defending our children is an instinct every parent understands, but when your child has special needs, that instinct can become heightened. Even the most straight-laced of us threaten to start cutting people when a negative thought about our children is uttered. Mama bears. Daddy wolves. Caretaker dangerous animals. You get the template.

When you have a child with special needs, that ramps up the simmering paranoia from the jump. The idea that someone – anyone – could try to harm my boy, a genuinely sweet soul with no ill-will towards anyone, takes things to a different level. You look around. You seek it out. You almost will it to happen.

Whether it’s feverishly looking around a diner to see if some jerky stranger is gazing in the direction of my son’s stimming sounds (repetitive movements or noises that are common in individuals with autism) or walking into a parent-teacher conference with Gloria Allred on speed dial, defending the most vulnerable tends to bring out the most savage tendencies.

I get it. I totally do. After all, there is so much of my non-verbal son’s day that is spent outside my view. So many people all deal with him in their own capacity. It takes a big leap of faith.

There’s a heightened sense of vigilance that comes with that. Handing over Lucas to these strangers in September can be terrifying. Even if you love them by June, the initial hand-off can be gut-wrenching.

Nowhere does this brewing nervousness come to a fever pitch like a good old-fashioned CSE meeting. These Committee on Special Education meetings involve the administration and teachers. Essentially, you decide your child’s needs for the following year, agree to them, and put them into motion.

These meetings have always gone off without incident for me. The school has always recognized any concerns we had for Lucas and has never been anything but accommodating.

I sometimes joke that I wish they were less accommodating now and then. After all, the good news is that we never had to fight to get my son a service. The bad news is that there’s never been a service they felt he was too advanced for.

That said, I completely sympathize with parents who have children on the cusp of acceptance, knowing their child needs something, only to have it be denied. Even the thought of it, before it happens, is enough to alter a person’s approach to the school altogether.

We’ve been lucky. Not only has Lucas been approved for everything we’ve ever asked, but he’s also had some real quality people around him. Sure, we’ve had some teeth-clenching moments with in-home aides we had to wish into the cornfield, but in-school people have always been good to us.

I’ve also always been good to them. I don’t go into meetings with accusations or closed ears. I listen to the low points of what they see in my son and I offer my own perspective. None of it feels personal because, for us, it never has been.

Seeing things this way has allowed us to really focus on Lucas, above preparing for battles that might never happen. I’ve seen it firsthand.

A few years ago, we hit one of the valleys among the peaks in his learning. Lucas was tired and pining for a nap every afternoon. School was pretty clear that it was getting harder to scoop him up, much less teach him anything.

We reached a decision to cut his day in half. He would be in class until 12 and then, around 2, an in-home teacher from the school would come to our home for a lesson. If all goes well then“maybe we will be ready for a full day again.”

Read that through paranoid lenses and what do you see? I see, “Keep your kid home half of every day. Less kids, easier to teach. We’re never putting him in for a full day again. Eat it, sucker.”

Truth? A part of me saw it that way at the time. Yet, I agreed immediately. Anything we can do for Lucas, we’d do. So that’s what we did.

Four months later, I didn’t have to ask for him to go back to a full day. The school asked. This is one of those rare stories where you’re proud of everyone.

At the end of the day, this is special education. Most teachers, administrators, and aides don’t end up here by accident. So many of those involved in it have a backstory, family member, or personal “why.” By an overwhelming margin, this is an industry of love.

I realize how lucky we are to have found so many good forces in his life. The way Lucas has been treated by those I gave my trust to has been heartwarming. It renews my faith in people and gives me a small bit of solace for his future one day, when I’m no longer here.