My daughter, who I've written about a bit here at DKos and on my blog about her, is entering Middle School for the first time this year. She's also in a new school because of a recent relocation. Getting to know a new staff and classroom is a tricky operation, made more complicated when you're in a new state with different regulations and procedures. It's a bit like a boxing match or perhaps a street fight, with me on one side and the staff and administration on the other. We're circling each other, sizing up our opponent. Ellie is sitting on the sidelines, singing a tune in her high pitched way, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding in front of her. She couldn't care less, even though this little dance is being performed for her and her only.
I know that middle school becomes a different ball of wax. I've known that for a while, but I was still unprepared for my first few encounters with the staff in Ellie's new school. I think in elementary school, parents and teachers of kids like Ellie are living in a bit of a bubble, agreeing that everything is fine and the kids are on the same track as everyone else. It's agreed that any or all of the kids in the self-contained classroom could still reach that elusive goal of being ready for a "typical" classroom. Last year one of the kids in Ellie's classroom won that lottery and was moved into an entirely different building to attend sixth grade with the typical kids. Personally I thought it was a bit of a stretch and the boy was in for a tough year, but perhaps the staff and the boy's mom understood what I'm only learning now; if you don't make it out by sixth grade, you should be ready for that giant shift from academics to "life skills".
I won't bore you with the details of trying to get Ellie into the system here; it was stressful and I felt like we were falling through the cracks, but I finally squeaked enough that we convinced them that we were living people and not numbers in a system. After a few fits and starts, I found out which school Ellie would be in and who her teacher was. Due to the district, in my opinion, f***ing up big time, the teacher did not know anything about Ellie beyond her name. She hadn't seen Ellie's IEP, in fact that was one of the reasons for our first encounter; I personally delivered all the paperwork to the teacher so she could become familiar with my daughter before the first day of school. I'd really like to whack one of the district staff, or all of them, because I think that mess up directly led to the exchange that I'm going to share with you.
I'll call the teacher Mrs. Teacher (creative, I know). Mrs. Teacher is as nice as they come. She is clearly a dedicated teacher who cares very much for her students. She started by introducing me to the aides, one of whom was an art teacher before she got canned and now has to work as an aide in a special ed class. I feel badly for her but delighted for Ellie, who is a young artist and can always benefit from the attention of an art teacher.
Next, I was introduced to the washer and dryer. Mrs. Teacher informed me that they received new ones this year, which was great if a washer and dryer was in Ellie's IEP.
Excuse me? Why on earth would a washer and dryer be in a sixth grader's IEP? All my worst fears came rushing up into my throat.
Oh yes, Mrs. Teacher continued. Ellie would learn all kinds of great things, like how to make a peanut better and jelly sandwich all by herself, and how to do the dishes.
I was shaking at this point. What happened to math and reading?
I was assured that academics were a focus of the school's program. She immediately followed up by telling me all about the recycling program, wherein the kids in the special needs class collect the recycling from the school and earn money for the program. This function, where the kids go into the typical classrooms to collect the recycling and engage in all kinds of beneficial social and direction-following education, takes place during their "science" period, which is no longer referred to as science but but another name entirely, one which has nothing to do with science.
I stopped Mrs. Teacher. I explained that I was a bit alarmed, and that I was having visions of a program, and would she please disavow me of these visions.
Sure, she said, go ahead and tell me what you're thinking and I'll tell you if you're right or not.
I told her that I was picturing a program where the special ed class entered a classroom full of their typically developing peers to ask permission to essentially take out their garbage. They would use all their terrific social skills to ask permission to take out the garbage.
Well, it's not garbage, replied Mrs. Teacher.
I asked her if this was a school wide program or just for the special ed kids.
It's just the special ed kids. So essentially my understanding of this program was precisely correct. When I expressed my dismay, Mrs. Teacher seemed hurt. It was clear that this project was dear to her.
At this point I'm picturing the other children in this class, none of whom I've met yet. I'm going to be honest, I'm picturing children who need to be taught to wipe the drool from their face. That's what I was thinking, judge me if you must.
My girl is as bright as the sun. She may not talk much, and her autism gets in her way academically. But underestimate her at your peril. She understands, and she learns, and she thrives when learning new stuff. It takes Ellie longer to learn. She needs a lot of breaks. But if you force her to spend three years to learn how to read a damn clock or how to count money, she gets very frustrated and very annoyed. There comes a point when you need to accept that she gets the general gist of it and MOVE ON. How can we know if she has a genius for algebra if we force her to count money for years at a time? She could be Marie Curie, only without the language skills of that brilliant scientist.
She has autism, but she's not unintelligent. She shouldn't be doomed to seven more years of school where she's "learning" to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches instead of learning about the scientific method.
My girl has a right to a diverse academic curriculum. And I'll be damned if she's going to forgo science and social studies to take out people's garbage, I mean recycling.
The happy end to this story is that this is a district that has a reputation for excellence in special ed, and once I made it clear to teachers and administrators what my expectations are for Ellie, I was met with understanding and cooperation. They assured me that the recycling program was very successful because all the children in the school are 100% accepting of the kids with special needs, and it wasn't at all humiliating or degrading for them to enter a classroom and take out the garbage, I mean recycling. I know that's bull, I think you know that's bull, but whatever.
Ellie won't be participating in the recycling program. The district was understanding about my concerns. She will have science and social studies goals written into her IEP, which will be met while the other kids are collecting recycling.
Oh, and I met those other kids, which did a lot of ease my anxiety. They are all wonderful, bright-faced, friendly, happy kids. They and their parents may be perfectly comfortable with the recycling program (I was assured that I was the only parent who had ever raised objections to the program), maybe they just don't know about it, maybe they agree that collecting garbage, I mean recycling is great vocational training for them, but not for me. Not for my girl.
Vocational education is a big part of middle school curriculum for special needs kids. It's a huge change of focus from elementary school. I dearly wish that schools would take some time to prepare parents for that shift, so that we don't all have near strokes and/or heart attacks. In the end, I know their resources are limited and I'd rather not take them away from my girl to put on me, but for crying out loud, a little heads up would save people a lot of anxiety.
What the folks at this new district don't know is that they are about to be introduced to some new ideas about vocational education. They don't yet understand that my child already HAS a vocation, and it doesn't involve garbage, I mean recycling. She doesn't talk much, but she has an intrinsic understanding of computer software and a brilliant artistic mind (funny how similar the words autistic and artistic are, I think about that a lot) and she is going to be learning things like CAD programming and Photoshop and using band-saws and soldering.
They don't know it yet, but Ellie is unlike any kid they've ever met, and I'm unlike any parent they've ever met. I don't accept the status quo. I don't accept what they're telling me is the future for my girl. They might think that I'm a pain in the tush, but they don't yet know that we're all better off opening our minds to new possibilities for special needs education.
It's good for the kids, its good for the parents, it's good for the typical kids who get to see what "special needs" can mean, and it's good for the teachers and administrators to get shaken out their ruts.
They might curse me now, but in the end they'll thank me.