When we switched to public school last year, my inner Type A warrior emerged like a caffeinated phoenix. Within hours of the school year starting, I emailed the principal, looped in the director of special education, and hired a special education advocate. While I may be a licensed attorney, even lawyers know that you should never represent yourself in matters of deep emotional bias and IEP paperwork.
By October, we had a shiny new IEP in hand—bound in color-coded tabs, of course—and I felt like we had conquered the mountain. My daughter was being supported. She was thriving. I was winning at public school.
And then came… ESY.
Ah, Extended School Year services. A well-meaning acronym that basically means: “Surprise! Your child qualifies for summer school.” But not just any summer school. Middle-of-the-day, smack-dab-between-June-and-July summer school. The kind that obliterates any possibility of day camp, beach trips, or family vacations unless they happen in 37-minute intervals between drop-off and pickup.
Now, imagine telling your third grader—who’s been begging to go to sleepaway camp since last summer—that instead of bug juice and campfire songs, she’ll be spending five weeks doing reading intervention at the same place where she takes math tests.
So I did what any responsible parent would do: I panicked. And then I got to work.
I scoured the internet, stalked dyslexia forums, emailed every camp within a 200-mile radius—and then, like a beacon of light from the heavens (or maybe Google’s algorithm), I found it: a residential summer program for students with dyslexia. Half-day academic instruction. Half-day camp activities. Swimming. Crafts. Dorms. Actual dorms. Like, with RAs and everything.
Reader, I registered her so fast I think I sprained a typing finger.
Was this before the school had formally recommended ESY? Technically, yes. But look—sometimes asking for forgiveness really is easier than asking for permission. When they finally brought up ESY in an official meeting, we smiled politely and said, “Funny you should mention that… she’ll be at a five-week academic summer program that aligns beautifully with her IEP goals. Also, she’s living there.”
And just like that, our 9-year-old is off to what we’ve all started calling “dyslexia Hogwarts.” She’s thrilled. She already believes she understands dorm life thanks to Unicorn Academy. She’s been practicing folding her socks like a YouTuber and asking if she can have a purple shower caddy.
Me? I’m feeling all the feelings. Pride. Guilt. Excitement. A little nausea. But mostly awe. Because this girl—my girl—is brave enough to try something completely new, completely on her own, and I couldn’t be prouder.
This summer might not look like the one we originally planned. But it’s turning out to be the summer we didn’t know we needed: the one where she improves her reading skills and makes her own bed. Where she makes friends and progress. And maybe—just maybe—I learn how to let go… at least a little.
