Henry’s Classroom

In her hybrid memoir, Henry’s Classroom: A Special Education in American Motherhood, Amy Mackin chronicles her son’s developmental delays and eventual diagnosis of autism while deftly interspersing an extensive biography of articles and research papers.

Structured in three chronological parts, the twenty-three chapters are aptly titled as a series of “Lessons.” The author walks us through what she learns about her son and herself amid the failings of the education system to accommodate his needs. When she discovers, quite by accident, that four-year-old Henry, still in diapers and struggling with language and motor skills, has somehow taught himself to read, Mackin gains a new understanding of what she may have suspected all along: Henry’s extraordinary intellect was masked by his inability to conform to social norms and expectations. She gradually comes to accept and celebrate Henry’s differences. 

Mackin writes about the difficulty of fitting a neurodivergent child into a system that does not always champion uniqueness. For Henry, school is a quotidian misery fraught with isolation and sadness. One day he is especially quiet and withdrawn after school. When his mother asks what’s bothering him, nine-year-old Henry shouts, “I hate my life!” Almost as if talking to himself, he softly continues, “It never gets better. Every day is worse than the one before.”

“Public school isn’t causing all of Henry’s problems but it isn’t helping them either,” writes Mackin. Despite repeated assurance by professionals that Henry’s needs can be met in the public school system, it becomes painfully evident that this is not happening. Mackin learns that she is the expert best qualified to meet her son’s needs. She learns to turn the world into a classroom that engages, excites, and allows Henry to reach his full, exceptional potential.

In “Lesson 21, One Size Does Not Fit All,” Henry is being homeschooled for seventh grade. The curriculum includes a creative writing class, an online pre-algebra course, and continued Latin and science classes at enrichment centers. Perhaps even more importantly, Henry has made friends with other homeschooled children. Mackin writes, “We take field trips that align with Henry’s current interests, and I let him dwell on the academic topics that interest him. If he wants to spend a week working on a computer programming task or translating a certain text from Latin, he does. I don’t force 50-minute blocks of each subject on him.”

While this reader believes many children considered to be neurotypical would benefit from the type of robust homeschooling environment she was able to provide for Henry, Mackin points out it that may not have been the best fit for either of her other children.
Homeschooling can only be accomplished through sacrifice of time and lost salary, which for many families would not be economically feasible. For others, a parent may not have the education or the patience to provide the delicate balance of structure and freedom that worked so well for Henry.

Despite heartbreaking moments when Henry seems to feel hopeless, Henry’s Classroom is a feel-good tale of success told with grace and humor. I finished the book with awe and respect for Mackin’s perseverance and Henry’s ensuing achievements.

At the same time, I am left with sadness and anger that our already-burdened public education system is undergoing cuts that will only further its inability to provide an education for all children. I highly recommend Henry’s Classroom to parents, educators, and legislators as well as anyone interested in learning about neurodivergence and its impact on families.