Your independent guide to NYC public schools

I'm happy to report that what loomed large for my son at school a few weeks ago had nothing to do with the mandatory standardized 3rd grade ELA and math tests, and everything to do with LearningSpring's annual talent show.

To our relief, the tests were given the appropriately small amount of attention they deserve. They don't drive the school curriculum, and their results will be refreshingly meaningless. We already know that my son is academically well-below grade level. He will get practice taking tests—not a bad thing—and no teacher will be fired because he didn't score high enough. But I understand that our school's common sense attitude is atypical in NYC public schools, and I support and admire Anne Stone and Jeff Nichols for taking a stance against these tests that take so much away from and contribute so little to our kids' education.

What Brooks got out of the talent show cannot be measured by a test. He shared his love of music with the whole student body, and he experienced the teamwork of the school coming together to create a performance for their friends and families. Although the teachers and therapists were guiding them, we knew from the way Brooks had talked about rehearsals that this was their show. And from the moment the two upper grade masters of ceremonies warmly welcomed the parents, my husband and I became enchanted.

When I first learned that some parents at IS 187/Christa McAuliffe were gathering signatures to fight an increased percentage of special education students enrolling at their school, I was reminded of an event from my childhood.

When I was 9 or 10 -- about the same age as my son Brooks is now -- neighbors came around with a petition to stop the construction of an apartment development for people with physical disabilities. I have a distinct memory of my dad's immediate disdain for the folks at the door who were far more concerned with their property values than with anyone else's hardships. That was way before he became the grandfather of an autistic child, or for that matter, had any personal relationship with anyone who might benefit from the new housing. It was simply a human knee-jerk reaction—he knew right from wrong, and this was wrong.

I'm having the same reaction to the campaigning Christa McAuliffe parents.

And it's not just me—if you read the 46-and-counting comments on Meredith Kolodner's post, you'll find similar outrage. But you'll also find that these parents are being defended for reasons that make a lot of sense.

There is an inherent irony in this artistic mecca we call New York City when it comes to the Education Department's arts education policies. Insideschool's own Judy Baum reported that although there is no lack of good arts education programs, "46% of elementary schools do not meet the state standards in the arts."  Insideschools alum and Gotham Schools writer Philissa Cramer highlighted that "about 20 percent of schools do not employ a single arts teacher, even for a part-time position."

Not surprisingly, the arts become the first casualties as both local and national educational trends focus more and more on standardized testing. And when you factor in shrinking budgets and classroom space, the situation gets even worse.

I find these developements especially disturbing since I was brought up in a household that viewed the arts as a basic human need, right up there with food, shelter, and clothing.

Nothing bad happened to us this fall.

Except that one day when I took Brooks down to his little yellow school bus and then got to work, I got a breaking news message on my phone that there was a fire in midtown. And because I am too neurotic  to ignore these digital intrusions, a quick search on Twitter confirmed the story. It was near Macy's and there were flame-filled pictures (thank you, Twitter). Apparently, what was on fire was a school bus. A little one, just like the one Brooks rides.

Even the initial reports said there were no injuries and that the bus was empty, but that didn't stop my  heart rate from quickening. His school was too close and so was the timing.

Brooks is proof that getting a special needs child an appropriate public education here in New York City is possible. But then again, so is winning the lottery.

For a special education parent, the Department of Education is very similar to an insurance company: you're dealing with a large bureaucracy that has an inherent interest not to help you. Your HMO needs to make a profit and the DOE needs to balance a budget; your needs are, at best, an obstacle.

Although by law, the DOE is mandated to provide an appropriate public education in the least restrictive environment, their actions consistently support a different standard: the least expensive education. Whether they are re-organizing the special education administration once again, promising reforms without realistic implementation plans or hiring attorneys to fight the lawsuits of the parents they are failing, it would be a leap of faith to suggest they have every child's best interest at heart.

I am a lousy PA parent. I watch in awe as my peers chair meetings, organize bake sales, get street permits for carnivals, and write grants for enrichment programs, all the while juggling jobs and multiple children and various and sundry overwhelming challenges and responsibilities. I honestly don't know how they do it.

Although I manage to attend some meetings and sell my appropriate quota of raffle tickets, I am fully aware of my shortcomings in this area. And as education budgets continue to get cut, this kind of grassroots organizing is becoming more important than ever. I love the idea of supporting my school—I'm simply not very good at much of the above.

Luckily, I have an excellent role model in my house who has been compensating for his weaknesses and leveraging his strengths for as long as I can remember: Brooks. Taking a page from his play book, I try to contribute in less traditional ways. What I am good at is building websites, so my husband and I started ShopForCharityNow.com back in 2007 which raises money for charities, including schools.

"How's Brooks doing at the new school?"

That is the number one question I get these days, and the answer is: "Really, really good."

But it comes with an asterisk: "So far." This necessary clarification has nothing to do with the quality of the new school and everything to do with the déjà vu that I can't seem to shake. The ASD Nest program was "really really good" for him too, until suddenly, it wasn't.

Brooks has come a long way in the pool. As an infant and toddler, he hated the water (he often reminds me these days that "hate" is a bad word, but I assure you it's appropriate here). I have nightmare memories of him screaming during a Father's Day vacation in Las Vegas when we dared him to try out a floatie and have some summer fun.

But at some point, thanks to continued exposure, he started to enjoy it. Not learning how to swim, mind you, but hanging out in friends' backyard pools and dipping his feet into ocean waves at the beach for hours on end.

Author's Note: If your past week has been anywhere near as chaotic as mine (and if you're the parent of a school-aged child in New York City, I know it has), I hope you'll indulge me in this end-of-summer post. I promise to write all about my son's new school placement next time, but for the moment, please join me as I take a deep breath and revisit the last days of summer.

I'm sitting on an Amagansett beach in postcard-perfect weather. And this third sunny vacation day is only one of the things I'm overwhelmingly grateful for this Labor Day weekend: Hurricane Irene didn't submerge my Manhattan home under water like it did in some of our neighboring states and counties, 9/11 attacks did not directly impact my family and closest friends, and we finally got word that Brooks has a spot at Learning Spring, an excellent publicly-funded special education school for kids with autism where he will finally get the appropriate educational setting he needs.