We are sharing our story because no child should have to experience what our son did—and no parent should have to be left without critical information about their child’s well-being at school.

Before there were investigations, legal filings, and headlines, there was simply a little boy who couldn’t wait to start kindergarten.

Before this school year, Jojo loved learning, loved being with other children, and looked forward to going to school each day. Like every parent, we believed we were entrusting our son to people who would help him learn, grow, and feel safe.

Our son, Jojo, is a bright, loving six-year-old with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), Cortical Visual Impairment (CVI), multiple vision disabilities, and a history of early childhood trauma. Like every child, he has unique strengths and challenges. With appropriate accommodations, supports, and trauma-informed care, we believed he could learn, grow, and thrive alongside his peers in a general education classroom. During his kindergarten year at West Parish School, part of Gloucester Public Schools in Gloucester, Massachusetts, the significant behavioral concerns the school would later report were not behaviors we observed at home, in preschool, or in community settings.

What began with the same hopes every parent has for their child’s first year of school ultimately became a journey that forever changed our son, our family, and our understanding of what can happen when transparency and trust break down.

Throughout the school year, we attended meetings, exchanged countless emails, shared medical information, and repeatedly requested appropriate supports and interventions because we wanted Jojo—and everyone in his classroom—to be safe and successful.

At every step, our goal was partnership. We believed that by working together, sharing information openly, and advocating for appropriate supports, Jojo could have a successful kindergarten experience. We never imagined that our greatest challenge would not be Jojo’s disabilities, but understanding what was happening to our son during the hours we entrusted him to others.

Within weeks of the school year beginning, Jojo became increasingly distressed about attending school. We repeatedly sought answers and advocated for additional supports, including behavioral interventions and a dedicated one-to-one paraprofessional. While the school continued to report serious concerns about Jojo’s behavior, those same concerns were not being observed at home, in community activities, or by his medical providers. We knew something was wrong. We just did not know what was happening during his school day.

After exhausting every effort to work collaboratively with the school, we ultimately filed a federal civil rights lawsuit. The complaint alleges that on February 9, 2026, when Jojo was five years old, he was physically restrained and placed in what the school referred to as a 5-by-7-foot ‘time-out room’—a space approximately the size of a small closet. The complaint further alleges that he remained in that room for nearly 30 minutes and that staff held the door closed while he attempted to leave, preventing him from exiting. We were not notified while the incident was occurring and learned of it only after the school day had ended.

What made this even more troubling was that we later learned this was not an isolated incident. As we continued seeking answers through records requests and administrative complaints, we became aware of additional restraint and seclusion incidents that had not previously been disclosed to us. We did not learn of some of these incidents until months later through the complaint process.

The lawsuit alleges that these events occurred despite our repeated requests for additional supports and interventions. Prior to these incidents, we had expressly communicated that we did not consent to the use of what the school referred to as a ‘time-out room’ for Jojo. In response, the district’s Special Education Director acknowledged our concerns and advised that any such intervention would need to be addressed through the IEP process and clearly documented in Jojo’s Individualized Education Program (IEP). The use of that room was never included in Jojo’s IEP. Nevertheless, according to the allegations set forth in the complaint, Jojo was repeatedly restrained and secluded there without those discussions occurring through the IEP process or those incidents being disclosed to us at the time they occurred.

The impact on Jojo and our family has been significant. Since February 2026, Jojo has remained out of school and on home medical placement because his treating providers determined he was not yet able to safely return to a traditional school setting following the trauma he experienced. As parents, one of the most difficult realities has been trying to understand why our son became increasingly fearful of attending school while we were simultaneously being told very little about what was occurring during his school day. What began as hesitation about going to school ultimately became fear.

Since we shared our story publicly, other families have contacted us with concerns about their own children’s experiences. While we cannot speak to those situations, hearing from other parents has reinforced our belief that transparency, accountability, and oversight are essential whenever restraint and seclusion practices are used with children.

Our goal is not only accountability in our own case but also greater awareness of the serious concerns surrounding restraint, seclusion, parental notification, and the safe, respectful treatment of children with disabilities in school settings. We believe these practices should be reserved only for true emergencies involving an imminent threat of serious physical harm—not as a substitute for appropriate supports, accommodations, and interventions. Our hope is that greater transparency and accountability will help schools and families work together to prevent children from experiencing similar harm in the future.

While our family’s story is unique, the need for transparency, meaningful collaboration between schools and families, and trauma-informed care is universal. We hope that by sharing Jojo’s experience, families, educators, school leaders, policymakers, and communities will work together to ensure that every child is treated with dignity, compassion, and respect.

We cannot change what happened to Jojo, but we can share his story in the hope that it helps protect another child and strengthens the partnership every family deserves to have with their child’s school.

Children deserve to feel safe. Parents deserve transparency. Families deserve to be meaningful partners in their child’s education and care—not the last to know when something has gone wrong. We are sharing Jojo’s story because we hope it encourages awareness, accountability, and meaningful change—so that no other family is left searching for answers about what happened to their child at school.