The shoes don’t fit. Some are too big. Some are too small. Some don’t fit the person at all. For years, I tried to force a fit with the standard issue, and while I stuck them on the feet in front of me, I knew they didn’t fit, and worse, the kids knew, too. But I had no choice. They were the shoes I was given, and if I was going to be good at my job, I would make them fit. I had no choice. Until I did.

But that discovery was a longtime coming and too-long delayed in my practice. Too many years I forced the fit. Kids were kids. Ages were ages. Levels were levels. And so the shoes had to fit. But that changed. I am not sure when, but one day, I noticed the kids were all wearing shoes already. They all had shoes. New. Old. Big. Small. Flashy. Plain. Comfortable. Clumsy. Shoes, every one. And for the first time, clearly, I saw each, not all. More, I saw myself. I was not the fitter. I was the “fittee.” All that time, I was trying to make them fit me, when I should have been fitting them.

And as I have learned to fit, I have discovered paths never before imagined for my kids to walk. They are not all the same, despite the labels we tend to attach to them. They each require a unique fit that I try to find.

But isn’t that hard? Impossibly. Believing each kid has a glass slipper out there has not made my job easier. In truth, because this isn’t a fairytale and because I am not a fairy godmother, and because the clock’s at 11:59, it has made it, at times, a desperate dance at the ending ball to find the fit. And for some, sadly, the clock strikes midnight, and I never find their slipper, but, even so, I keep believing there is a Cinderella story for each kid out there. And I know I am not alone. I am among a great many who believe for each kid. We believe so they all may live happily ever after.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.