A Good Deal for Everyone 

      Introducing our newest blog series on Parental Consent  we are pleased to introduce our            "guest blogger" Kari Wagner Peck, M.S.W., freelance writer, atypicalson.com

Our son loves ‘Shark Tank’, a TV show on which struggling entrepreneurs try to get several wealthy investors to fund their big idea—or their Baby. His favorite “Shark,” much to my dismay, is Kevin O’Leary. My son also does a spot-on impersonation of Mr. O’Leary gleefully rubbing his hands together right before he tells the unsuspecting contestant there will be no deal.

I like Shark Tank, too, mostly because it’s fun to watch with my son. It also reminds me a little of a few PPT/IEP meetings my husband and I have attended. Sure, some of those meetings can be the epitome of collaboration, but sometimes you want to take a 30-second break with your husband in the hall to assess the offer on the table.

IEP’s are a practical and functional way of establishing services for your child. It’s the ‘your child’ or ‘your Baby’ part that brings an emotional level to what is essentially a try-not-to-take-it-personally meeting. We eventually hired an advocate in hopes of counteracting that emotional dynamic and help us remain on good terms with school personnel.

At the beginning of our first PPT meeting with our advocate in attendance our son’s case manager asked us if we would sign a parental consent to allow the school to charge Medicaid for services if applicable.

As I reached for the pen to sign, our advocate - dressed a little like Joan Collins from her ‘Dynasty’ days down to the enormous black hair bow and dress with shoulder pads—smacked her hand on the paper without looking at the case manager and shouted:

“Do not sign that!” The case manager and I both jumped in our seats. Somewhat hesitantly I asked, “Why not?” “Not now,” she said. “I will tell you later”. The case manager apologized and we were able to move on.

The advocate’s explanation to my husband and I after the meeting was that signing the parental authorization would eventually count against our son’s services. She said, “He could cap out and not have any funds left. That means no more services.”

That didn’t sound right. She couldn’t direct me to anything on the internet or elsewhere that documented what she was saying. The next day, I called our state’s Medicaid office to find out if it was true. The woman on the other end of the phone was a true bureaucratic employee: world-weary and dispassionate. I pictured her in a nubby, gray sweater with a cold cup of coffee next to her. I explained our situation including the advocates’ response, which actually made her laugh.

“Not true,” she told me, “There is no cap. That authorization allows the school to get reimbursed with federal Medicaid funds. It brings money into your school. It has nothing to do with your son’s services or funding for him specifically. It has to do with general funding”.

“So, we should sign it?” I asked. “I can’t tell you what to do, Ma’am,” she said very dead panned.

That night I shared my information with my husband. He summed it up well when he said, “Not signing that is like throwing money out the window that could help our district.”

I paid taxes for years before our kid came on the scene and I was happy to do so because schools need resources to help children succeed. Good schools serve a community— both for those with children and those without. Now, as a parent of a child who has a disability, I am even more invested in adequate funding for schools. School budgets are tight and resources are scarce. Throwing money out the window is not a good deal for anyone. Even Kevin O’Leary would agree with that.

At the next PPT meeting, we signed the parental authorization. Our advocate was not at that meeting.

 For tips on partental consent please