Written by Aaron H Gillum, Florence resident 
Last week, I stood crammed in the corner of my son’s elementary school gym, at our Boone County school. I’d coached basketball on this floor, seen talent shows, back-to-school carnivals, track-and-field days, and Christmas pageants; but today might be the last time we visit. My son, whom after we painstakingly jumped through the numerous medical, clerical and legal hoops to have diagnosed at 3.5 years old as being on the Autism spectrum, was “graduating” to middle school after being enrolled there
for the prior 8 years.

Let me emphasize the “crammed” bit. My wife and I parked about 4 blocks away, because there is no parking at the school when we do these events. We were standing for the nearly 3-hour event, because there was no room, and no seating. Grandparents couldn’t be invited or included, because certainly there were no accommodations for seating or mobility needs. For just the parents of the Fifth Grade

Class, the seating in the gym was not suQicient. Overrun. And we arrived early. Some parents watched from the hall. Counties who consume every sliver of buildable space with high density housing yet invest nothing in the educational infrastructure; take notice.

My son was nonverbal. (NVLD) We were worried that Apraxia may be an undiagnosable issue at his age, but he simply was not emotionally capable of control, very sensory overwhelmed, and unable to express his frustrations verbally. Sometimes this meant throwing shoes. Sometimes hitting. Sometimes isolating himself. Sometimes tantrums.

Your parental soothing instincts don’t apply here, as verbal, audible and tactile interaction are further stimulation that aren’t welcome. We needed early intervention
education. In Kentucky, there isn’t any private option. In Ohio, (and you must live there) it’s very expensive or wholly state reimbursed and very exclusive.

The only option is public pre-K, and as I mentioned before, one must navigate a series of puzzles to gain acceptance to access the resource.

We prayed and put our 3.5-year-old son on a school bus. Nonverbal. Stimulation sensitive. “He’s going to figure this out, and we’re going to work with those who are here to help him.”

Our son had several angels on his shoulders those first 2 years of pre-K. Patience. Personal attention. Relationships. The ability to isolate and intervene and focus on each child that needed them. Ragemonster tantrums became fits. Fits became growls. Growls became words. Words became sentences.

Sentences became conversations. Conversations became friends, and games, and interactions, and courage.

I do not know what Mr. Beshear or those around him hope to accomplish by overwhelming our public schools with a challenge they are not equipped, funded, or prepared to face with the sudden marketing blitz of Pre-K for all. I do not believe the many promoting it are malicious in their eQorts or have the perspective of a parent who has seen the benefit of the current iteration of pre-k in their own child, and in
the other children whom he has grown up with and who have overcome their own challenges as he has overcome his.

What I do know, is that this is their lifeline, and it’s an ever-growing demand if numbers are to be believed.

Our son is going to be in middle school, with all the other kids. He will go on to be in high school with all the other kids. He may drive. He may choose to have a job in high school. He may choose to go to college. He’s already very popular with the ladies, and quite the dancer.

Public Pre-K for children who need early intervention is a prayer answered for families, and there is nowhere else to turn.

Do not politicize this invaluable resource, or those who fight for our neediest of learners each day.

Aaron Gillum is a Kentucky Colonel, has served on various state and local boards and committees in Kentucky, and is a Cybersecurity Executive.