A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending the regional school chess competition. I adore this comp, having had a chess-loving little person in the past. It’s an incredibly fierce battle to see which school is the chess champion this year, and the culmination of months of school-based chess club, a fun and inclusive environment for kids to learn a new skill in. And it’s no surprise that my chess-loving kiddo was the neurodivergent one. She not only enjoyed chess at school, but also dance (provided she could remain in the chorus), and she loved news day when she got to speak earnestly about things important to her, such as rocks, geographical charts, and -- one time -- the bones in the human body. Now, in Year 11 she loves biology, legal studies, and music. She picks up new instruments like she was born to play them; she has a part-time job that she loves the routine of once she has gotten over the “newness” of it; and I’ve never met an animal that didn’t bond with her immediately.

I mention all of this because last week was report card day. I spent years