Yes, my daughter is 2e. She is (with some coaching) currently trying to navigate accommodations with her university, in fact, and has definitely had something of a rough fall as a result of that second e.
On the other hand, while I can
empathize with many of the people that I know (here and IRL) with a second exceptionality which directly impacts learning or demonstrating academic progress, I can't really
know what that experience is like, because it has not been mine as a parent.
What constitutes "tail of the distribution" is a moving target. It depends largely upon local norms and one's support system IRL, in my experience.
Among a cohort of academic parents and others with terminal degrees, DD still stands out in a
big way. On the other hand, only if one is paying attention-- because she is (as I've noted elsewhere and at length) also profoundly good at making others feel at ease. Always. She is the ultimate chameleon-- so while I say that when out in public, by the time she was 2 or 3, few people would have really SEEN her for what she is-- that is, she would have been remarkable only for her quiet observation of everything around her and her super-human
compliance with whatever behavioral standards seemed appropriate for the venue. She was quite a different child at home, I assure you.
Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk. I can still hear her little voice reminding me of something that she'd observed earlier in the week, and asking me earnest questions, thinking, and questioning, and then making some observation that was MIND-blowing coming from an elementary school aged child, never mind a toddler. I quit trying to share any of it-- even with family. They didn't see her doing it, and frankly thought I was lying.
This is where that "other-ness" is a problem for us as people and as parents.
It's the "other-ness" in parenting that leads to things like
Welcome to Holland, which resonates so strongly with the parents of disabled children. There is a glass wall between us and "normal" and we're the only ones who seem to be aware that it exists.
The more unusual one's experiences, the more isolated and alien it can feel to be "social" around the experiences which so many other parents
share. Shared experiences form a social fabric and a social currency, and yes-- this is a passion of mine, and something that I've thought a
lot about over the years-- because there are a few fundamental activities that, if impacted by disability, pretty much alienate you from ALL social activities. Communication disorders (or those which profoundly impact communication) certainly do. Disorders which impact
food do, as well. Name
one "normal" social activity that doesn't involve both of those things. This changes
everything for my family.
There's that "other-ness" at work. Those things are simply not the same for families that work around those things, and they CANNOT be shared experiences with others without accommodations for the difference/disability being in the center of the planning.
I think that in some ways, cognitive asynchronous development is like that. People are fine with "bright" children-- up to a point. When it becomes
so different that you require flexibility/accommodation from those around you, it becomes alienating.
