What Happens When an Autistic 3rd Grader Brings Her Dad's Camping Knife to School Because It's Shiny

So, I'm not really sure why I'm writing this diary, honestly. It's going to be rambling, and probably depressing, but I've got to get out what we've been going though lately. I've written a few diaries over the years, but deleted them all a couple of years ago when we got a note at work warning against politically partisan speech in public. It's long been the rule, but this time they specifically included things like Daily Kos diaries. I need my job, so down they went. The tags remain, weirdly, even though the diaries don't. It's hard not to be politically partisan living in Paul Broun's district, that's all I'll say (though we were happily redistricted to John Barrow recently). Enough of that, lest I stray into publicly partisan speech (eye roll). It's not really the point of this. This is a mom's distress that her 9-year-old was surrounded by police officers and then summarily kicked out of the only school she's ever known without a chance to say goodbye and sent to a small, self-contained room with 6 other children, mostly 5th graders, and bare painted concrete brick walls. That's really all it is. Feel free to ignore this diary, which really has not much of a place here, or read on below the squiggle. All I ask is that you not be unkind, because, well, we've been through enough this week. Helpful advice is more than welcome--I'm begging for it.