Fifteen shimmery bags line my countertop, ready to be dispersed to their very deserving recipients—teacher gifts. No, I don’t have tons of kids; I only have two. No, there are no bags for the administrators or the specials teachers, who also very much deserve gifts. Five therapists. Three teachers. Three TAs. Two special educators. The remaining two are an amazing bus driver and the head of security.
Out of the many things people will share with you about raising neurodivergent kids, the overwhelming number of teacher gifts is something no one brings up. It may seem minor to many of us, but in light of rising costs across the board, this small problem is a growing concern.
The endless compassion, dedication, and hard work educators invest in my kids is, frankly, more appreciated than I can put into words. My children’s teams are profoundly life-changing for them. It is more than learning math and reading. They grant the ability to communicate, to regulate and remain in a classroom, and to learn the motor skills necessary to navigate their world. A simple teacher gift doesn’t repay that, and I wish I could do more.
This isn’t a complaint about having to do teacher gifts. It is releasing the sadness that, when my child’s classmates give larger gifts for a budget that needs to cover one teacher and a few aides, my limited budget strains my family, forcing us to make decisions about who gets gifts at all.
We are fortunate to have a gift budget, I acknowledge. But in a district of families who make hundreds of thousands more a year than my own, keeping up with the Joneses is regularly at the back of my mind, especially when it comes to the thanks we show our teachers.
What a small price, what a luxury problem. We can afford to give gifts we aren’t obligated to give (but let’s be honest, even in a school district that requests no gifts, it is an expectation among families that you give generously). And out of the many, many things I worry about as the parent of neurodivergent kids, holiday gifts should be the least of them (tell that to my anxious, people-pleasing brain).
But I put this out there for the other parents in the same boat, letting you know you aren’t alone. For the parents of kids who don’t need extra support, I want you to see the additional work that goes into parenting when your child is atypical. And for myself, to let the world know that I wish I could do more.
