This article (http://www.cbsnews.com/news/kentucky-officer-handcuffed-mentally-disabled-kids-as-punishment-lawsuit-says/) is making the rounds on social media. It is all over my Facebook page and on every special needs/autism pages I visit. I've read the article, but can't bring myself to watch the accompanying video. It is too horrifying for me. I am shocked that this just keeps happening. Over and over and over again. From Special Ed teachers hanging kids upside down in garbage cans to kids being locked in "safe rooms" isolated alone for hours at a time. When will this stop? How is it that the children that need the most care and understanding seemingly receive the least.
I rarely do, but this time I shared the article on my personal FB feed with the comment that although I didn't know the specifics of this case, I couldn't think of a reason a 50 pound 8 year old would need to be handcuffed. Ever. Especially not one with special needs. It is just not appropriate. As you can imagine, I got comments. And not surprising, the ones that bother me the most are the ones that imply kids just need more guidance and discipline. If parents would do their job, this wouldn't be necessary.
I'm the first to admit that yes, there are unfortunately kids out there who are not being parented or disciplined. There could be any number of reasons for this and I try (now) not to judge. I'm sure it does make our educators jobs that much tougher. It's probably not easy to be a teacher. But lack of discipline is not always the reason for these behaviors.
I used to be one of those people who blamed poor behavior on lack of parenting and discipline. I'm ashamed to admit that I have judged numerous parents and deemed them unworthy, doing their kids a disservice. I used to not truly believe that ADHD was a valid diagnosis, I said that I would never "drug" my child. The list of things I used to say goes on and on.
But God has a way of opening our hearts and teaching us the lessons we need to learn. And in my case He did so with the beautiful gift that is my youngest son. No one who knows me would accuse me of not providing guidance and discipline to my children. I parent. Certainly not perfectly, but I really try to do my best to raise healthy, responsible, kind humans. And even with my best efforts, The Boy still has occasional "behavior problems".
Children with autism or ADHD or other special needs can't always control their behavior. When they lash out, it's not a choice. It's not an act of defiance. In the case of The Boy, it's usually because he's become completely overwhelmed, has basically shut down and his "fight or flight" response has been triggered. Thankfully, he is not a runner, but he fights (not so thankfully).
It is hard for me to admit that my child has punched an educational aid breaking her nose. He has thrown a chair into a smart board, breaking the smart board. Thankfully these incidents are few and far between. And both these incidents happened several years ago. Back when his expressive language was limited and he struggled to communicate. We work with him constantly on appropriate behaviors, how to mitigate his challenges, how to find his voice of self advocacy, how to use his words to express his feelings. But even though we work with him constantly, we still occasionally struggle with behaviors.
Just last week we were out and about when a nearby baby started crying. I don't know why, but a crying baby or toddler is a trigger for The Boy. If you know, you can see the reaction. His head jerks up, his eyes get huge, his whole body gets stiff, you can see his mind shut down and his fight or flight response take over. He loses his language. And in the case last week, where I didn't notice the cries and didn't prepare for the response, he ran straight to me. And kicked me as hard as he could. It hurt like crazy. It took everything I had, but I didn't react. It took me about a nano second to realize what happened. So I again tried to work with him on what to do instead. I reminded him that he cannot kick or hit, that he needs to try and use his words: Baby crying. Too loud. Scares me. Leave. Go home. Short, brief statements of self advocacy. Before he can learn to process the cries and tolerate them, he has to know he can escape them and feel safe. Only after he feels safe can we talk about why the baby cries. He might be hungry or cold. The baby can't talk so he cries to tell his mommy what he needs. His mommy will help him and then the cries will stop. All of this over and over and over again with the hope that eventually he will be able to process the crying, advocate for what he needs and not have to fight his way through it. But it takes tons and tons (and tons) of patience and consistency and care and understanding by everyone who interacts with him on a regular basis. What he doesn't need is to be handcuffed by a big policeman with little or no training in how to respond to a child with special needs.
That would simply further traumatize my child. And here is what happens when my child is severely traumatized. He doesn't forget. Ever. And he will never return to the place of the trauma, or any place similar. He simply would not go to school any more. And every time he saw a police officer, his fight or flight response would trigger. You may think I'm exaggerating a bit. But I assure you I am not.
Three years ago we attended a street fair. These are difficult for The Boy as they are generally loud, crowded, and a little crazy. But he was holding it together. In the middle of the fair, he had an encounter that for whatever reason sent him over the edge. He immediately started to meltdown and insisted on going home. We left. Ever since then, he will not go to the location of that fair. He simply won't. Even when there is no fair. And he won't go to a street fair anywhere. If he sees pop up tents, his fight or flight response immediately engages. His anxiety goes through the roof and he begins to meltdown. Three years later we are still dealing with this. Imagine if you handcuffed this child at school, in the throws of a meltdown. He would never forget it. For the rest of ever. It would make things a thousand times worse.
I am so very thankful that our school understands this. That when The Boy is in the middle of a meltdown and trying to fight his way out (literally), they don't call the police. They remove him from the situation, take him someplace safe (usually outside) to work through it, and they call me to come take him home for the day. I'm doubly thankful that his hasn't happened since first grade. But there are no guarantees that it won't happen again some time in the future.
So when I read these stories, yes I take them personally. When I see that 50 pound 8 year old sitting in a chair facing the corner with handcuffs on his biceps, I see my child. And when I hear someone say that all this could be avoided if the child's parents would just do their job, well honestly I'm almost speechless. Almost. But not quite, or I wouldn't be writing about it.
I have never parented with such dedication as I am right now. My older boys did not take nearly as much time, effort, patience, consistency, love, care, understanding... The list goes on and on. To hear someone say that these situations could be avoided if parents would do their job just crushes me. I don't know how to do this any better. I am giving 100% every day. And to have someone negate that in one simple sentence is crushing. I would invite any one of them into my life for just one day. Just one day. I guarantee it would change their perspective forever.
Where am I going with this? Its really 2 fold. Please, please, please don't be so quick to judge. We do not know all the specifics of this case, we rarely do. This boy's parents may be doing everything they know how to help him. But it is a long, slow process. Or, they may be absent, disengaged parents who are over burdened with no supports and burned out. My point is WE DO NOT KNOW. And I, for one, am not going to pass judgement on them. And even if they are disengaged parents "not doing their job", is it the fault of the boy? Does he deserve to be in handcuffs as a result of poor parenting, something he has no control over? No matter the circumstances, I would argue that what he needs is care and understanding and a safe place to calm down. He needs help not handcuffs.
Secondly, we desperately need more advocacy and training. Teachers, administrators, and emergency response people (just to name a few) need training. Even if a child does not have special needs, the techniques used to defuse a meltdown can be used to help a "typical" child calm down. Training and education would benefit everyone.
And I stand by my original statement. I can't think of a reason a 50 pound 8 year old would ever need to be handcuffed.
My Side of Typical
Showing posts with label special education. Show all posts
Showing posts with label special education. Show all posts
Friday, August 21, 2015
Friday, February 20, 2015
Never Too Late
The Boy is reading.
READING
A BOOK
My boy is READING A BOOK!
WOW! I didn't know if I'd ever type that sentence. And it is amazing, awesome, wonderful, any and all of those adjectives. I am truly astounded. And honestly, a little bit relieved. I have been telling anyone who would listen for the past 2 years that my boy would learn to read. I didn't care it if took until he was 10 or 20 or 30, my boy would read. I knew he was capable, we just had to figure out how to teach him.
A year ago he was no where near ready for this. Oh, we tried. How we tried. We worked on phonics for 2 years. But he just never got it. Phonics was not working for him. At all. He knew the sounds of the letters, he just couldn't translate that into sounding out words. It was frustrating. Very frustrating. For everyone involved.
With the switch to the new school, we switched to a sight reading program. After all, The Boy has a memory like a steel trap. He forgets nothing. (It often comes back to haunt me.) So the new school thought we should capitalize on that to start him on the path to reading. So we put it in his IEP in October; he would start the Edmark Reading Program with the goal of learning 10 sight words this school year. I know, that's not a lofty goal. But with a 9 year old that was not reading at all, we wanted an attainable goal. Rather have a realistic goal that he shatters than a lofty goal he cannot reach. It did not mean that they would stop teaching new words once he reached 10.
And stop they did not. He has now surpassed his goal of 10 words, knowing about twice that many. And the first semester has just ended, we still have half the school year to go! He's leaning 2 new words a week. Small books from the program come home for him to read at night. My boy is reading books to me. This. is. HUGE.
I can honestly tell you that it does not matter if they are 4 years old or 9 years old, the first time your child reads a book to you the joy, pride, excitement, and just plain awesomeness you will feel is the same. It really does not matter how old they are.
A very wise therapist once told me that there are no expiration dates on developmental milestones. None indeed. The Boy has never met a milestone "on time". Not one. Yet he continues to meet them, even master some; all in his own time, in his own way. And we have learned to not only accept his journey, but to respect it. It is an amazing journey to watch.
That kid inspires me. It is never too late.
READING
A BOOK
My boy is READING A BOOK!
WOW! I didn't know if I'd ever type that sentence. And it is amazing, awesome, wonderful, any and all of those adjectives. I am truly astounded. And honestly, a little bit relieved. I have been telling anyone who would listen for the past 2 years that my boy would learn to read. I didn't care it if took until he was 10 or 20 or 30, my boy would read. I knew he was capable, we just had to figure out how to teach him.
A year ago he was no where near ready for this. Oh, we tried. How we tried. We worked on phonics for 2 years. But he just never got it. Phonics was not working for him. At all. He knew the sounds of the letters, he just couldn't translate that into sounding out words. It was frustrating. Very frustrating. For everyone involved.
With the switch to the new school, we switched to a sight reading program. After all, The Boy has a memory like a steel trap. He forgets nothing. (It often comes back to haunt me.) So the new school thought we should capitalize on that to start him on the path to reading. So we put it in his IEP in October; he would start the Edmark Reading Program with the goal of learning 10 sight words this school year. I know, that's not a lofty goal. But with a 9 year old that was not reading at all, we wanted an attainable goal. Rather have a realistic goal that he shatters than a lofty goal he cannot reach. It did not mean that they would stop teaching new words once he reached 10.
And stop they did not. He has now surpassed his goal of 10 words, knowing about twice that many. And the first semester has just ended, we still have half the school year to go! He's leaning 2 new words a week. Small books from the program come home for him to read at night. My boy is reading books to me. This. is. HUGE.
I can honestly tell you that it does not matter if they are 4 years old or 9 years old, the first time your child reads a book to you the joy, pride, excitement, and just plain awesomeness you will feel is the same. It really does not matter how old they are.
A very wise therapist once told me that there are no expiration dates on developmental milestones. None indeed. The Boy has never met a milestone "on time". Not one. Yet he continues to meet them, even master some; all in his own time, in his own way. And we have learned to not only accept his journey, but to respect it. It is an amazing journey to watch.
That kid inspires me. It is never too late.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
An Open Letter to Our Amazing Neighborhood School
To our amazing neighborhood school family:
After much discussion and deliberation, we have made the very difficult decision to move Bambam to another school with a dedicated special education classroom. As most of you know, Bambam has varied and complicated special needs. We have high hopes that his many needs will be sucsessfully met in his new school. But that didn't make this decision an easy one.
This decision was difficult for many reasons; not the least of which was the thought of leaving this amazing school. You have been his school family for 3 years. During that time he has been accepted, included, respected, and loved by teachers, administrators, support staff, students and parents alike. I cannot imagine a more positive, inclusive environment in any school anywhere.
The student population has been wonderful. Bambam has not been simply tolerated; after all, who really has a goal of being tolerated? He was accepted. His classmates included him when they could, helped him when he needed it, celebrated his accomplishments, watched out for him, and most importantly became his friends. Bambam talks about each and every one of them all the time.
Some students have been in class with Bambam for 3 years, some for 2, some for 1. Some just passed him in the hallway or saw him in the cafeteria or on the playground. It didn't seem to matter. It appears they all know who he is. When we are in town or at the pool inevitably a child will come up and talk to Bambam. I sometimes do not know or recognize them. But they quickly tell me they go to school with him. Kids from kindergarten to 5th grade, they all seem genuinely happy to see him. The world could learn a few things from our little neighborhood school.
And so it is with a heavy heart that we are now closing this chapter and starting a new one. Please know that we could never thank you enough for all each of you have done for Bambam. I only hope that you too have gained something from the experience of knowing our sweet boy.
And, instead of saying goodbye, we will say that we hope to see you around town.
After much discussion and deliberation, we have made the very difficult decision to move Bambam to another school with a dedicated special education classroom. As most of you know, Bambam has varied and complicated special needs. We have high hopes that his many needs will be sucsessfully met in his new school. But that didn't make this decision an easy one.
This decision was difficult for many reasons; not the least of which was the thought of leaving this amazing school. You have been his school family for 3 years. During that time he has been accepted, included, respected, and loved by teachers, administrators, support staff, students and parents alike. I cannot imagine a more positive, inclusive environment in any school anywhere.
The student population has been wonderful. Bambam has not been simply tolerated; after all, who really has a goal of being tolerated? He was accepted. His classmates included him when they could, helped him when he needed it, celebrated his accomplishments, watched out for him, and most importantly became his friends. Bambam talks about each and every one of them all the time.
Some students have been in class with Bambam for 3 years, some for 2, some for 1. Some just passed him in the hallway or saw him in the cafeteria or on the playground. It didn't seem to matter. It appears they all know who he is. When we are in town or at the pool inevitably a child will come up and talk to Bambam. I sometimes do not know or recognize them. But they quickly tell me they go to school with him. Kids from kindergarten to 5th grade, they all seem genuinely happy to see him. The world could learn a few things from our little neighborhood school.
And so it is with a heavy heart that we are now closing this chapter and starting a new one. Please know that we could never thank you enough for all each of you have done for Bambam. I only hope that you too have gained something from the experience of knowing our sweet boy.
And, instead of saying goodbye, we will say that we hope to see you around town.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
September
I didn't write much in September. September was a hard month. Bambam had a tough time adjusting to the transition to school. I was both surprised and a little disappointed by this. I know I shouldn't be. But I'm human, and disappointment is a natural human emotion.
You see, Bambam had such a stellar summer. I mean he was a rock star. He went to day camp, he fully potty trained, he made significant gains in language, his imaginative play exploded. I could go on and on, but you get the idea. It was a great summer. The best he's ever had.
So when we got ready to transition into school, and he was so excited for school to start, we naturally assumed he would continue to be that rock star. Contributing to our confidence was the fact that his school does a 1-2 loop, meaning he would be in the same classroom with the same teacher and the same kids as last year. No changes. And he would have the same 1 to 1 aid. It was a recipe for success. Or so we thought.
What we failed to recognize was that the little adjustments (at least we thought they were little) we made to his daily schedule would really throw him off, causing major anxiety and frustration. The first of which was lengthening his day to the full school day.
Last year, he left school an hour early every day. This year he stays until 2:45. But every day at 1:45 he looks at his aid, the amazing "E", and says "home time now". His internal clock is incredible. He cannot tell time. At least, I don't think he can. He can just now recognize and name numbers 1-9. But he's had an amazing internal clock since the day he was born. As an infant, you could set your watch by his sleeping and feeding times. He was always spot on. So now, every day at 1:45 he thinks its time to go home. And "E" is struggling to convince him that its still school time. He is staying, but he's done with working for the day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, they have PE at the end of the day, those days go OK. My athletic little guy shines at PE. Its the one place where he really fits in, where he actually outshines many of his peers. He LOVES PE.
But on Mondays and Wednesdays they have Music and Art respectively at the end of the day. And these are not going so well. With very (and I can't stress very enough) delayed fine motor skills, Art is a huge frustration for him under the best of circumstances. These are not the best of circumstances. He has ripped a project, thrown a project, painted his aid (and himself), and generally been wreaking havoc all over the art room. He's had to leave the art room. I've been called to the school. More than once.
In addition, more is being asked of Bambam. He is having more structured schoolwork time, we call it table time. He HATES table time. Sitting for more than 30 seconds is a challenge for him. But, we decided it was time to do just that, challenge him a little more. He must complete 3 academic tasks, then gets a reward of his choice. Did I mention Bambam hates table time? At one point his frustration escalated to a chair being thrown into the smart board. And me being called to the school yet again.
This was not the start to school that I had envisioned.
And there it is. This was not what I had anticipated, what I thought was going to happen. It was not meeting my expectations. Who said I get to choose how things are going to go? I need to learn to let go of my expectations. Lesson learned.
Update, September 2014
I wrote this last year and never published it. I'm not sure why. But I am now. Because we are having the same sort of start to this school year. Transitions are so very hard on our spectrum kiddos. And this year he does have a new classroom and a new teacher and new classmates. My boy who every day this summer has asked to go to school is now asking every morning to go to camp. Its going to be a long September. Sigh.
You see, Bambam had such a stellar summer. I mean he was a rock star. He went to day camp, he fully potty trained, he made significant gains in language, his imaginative play exploded. I could go on and on, but you get the idea. It was a great summer. The best he's ever had.
So when we got ready to transition into school, and he was so excited for school to start, we naturally assumed he would continue to be that rock star. Contributing to our confidence was the fact that his school does a 1-2 loop, meaning he would be in the same classroom with the same teacher and the same kids as last year. No changes. And he would have the same 1 to 1 aid. It was a recipe for success. Or so we thought.
What we failed to recognize was that the little adjustments (at least we thought they were little) we made to his daily schedule would really throw him off, causing major anxiety and frustration. The first of which was lengthening his day to the full school day.
Last year, he left school an hour early every day. This year he stays until 2:45. But every day at 1:45 he looks at his aid, the amazing "E", and says "home time now". His internal clock is incredible. He cannot tell time. At least, I don't think he can. He can just now recognize and name numbers 1-9. But he's had an amazing internal clock since the day he was born. As an infant, you could set your watch by his sleeping and feeding times. He was always spot on. So now, every day at 1:45 he thinks its time to go home. And "E" is struggling to convince him that its still school time. He is staying, but he's done with working for the day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, they have PE at the end of the day, those days go OK. My athletic little guy shines at PE. Its the one place where he really fits in, where he actually outshines many of his peers. He LOVES PE.
But on Mondays and Wednesdays they have Music and Art respectively at the end of the day. And these are not going so well. With very (and I can't stress very enough) delayed fine motor skills, Art is a huge frustration for him under the best of circumstances. These are not the best of circumstances. He has ripped a project, thrown a project, painted his aid (and himself), and generally been wreaking havoc all over the art room. He's had to leave the art room. I've been called to the school. More than once.
In addition, more is being asked of Bambam. He is having more structured schoolwork time, we call it table time. He HATES table time. Sitting for more than 30 seconds is a challenge for him. But, we decided it was time to do just that, challenge him a little more. He must complete 3 academic tasks, then gets a reward of his choice. Did I mention Bambam hates table time? At one point his frustration escalated to a chair being thrown into the smart board. And me being called to the school yet again.
This was not the start to school that I had envisioned.
And there it is. This was not what I had anticipated, what I thought was going to happen. It was not meeting my expectations. Who said I get to choose how things are going to go? I need to learn to let go of my expectations. Lesson learned.
Update, September 2014
I wrote this last year and never published it. I'm not sure why. But I am now. Because we are having the same sort of start to this school year. Transitions are so very hard on our spectrum kiddos. And this year he does have a new classroom and a new teacher and new classmates. My boy who every day this summer has asked to go to school is now asking every morning to go to camp. Its going to be a long September. Sigh.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Placement
Its that time of year. We are starting the discussions of Bambam's placement next year. Mr. Fixit and I actually started the discussion this year. We've begun to wonder if Bambam's current placement is the best environment for him to learn and grow. We've been discussing it at home for months. And have now started discussing it with Bambam's educational team.
We love our neighborhood school. And they have been wonderful to Bambam. All of them. The teachers, his aids, the kids, the office staff, the librarian, even the janitor. Every single person there. He couldn't be in a place where he is more accepted, included, loved and even celebrated. Except maybe at home.
But here's the thing. He's now 8, finishing up 2nd grade. Well, his version anyway. And, he's yards behind. He is learning; always plugging ahead in his own way, in his own time. But so are all the other kids. And it's obvious he isn't going to catch up any time soon. Maybe never. His is a different path. And that's OK. We need to respect that, embrace it even.
3rd grade is a pretty big jump. All of a sudden the kids are in a more academic environment with far more self study. They need to be self starters. Gone are the story times and longer recesses. Gone are the classroom buddies from the older classes helping them with projects. Now they are the older class with kindergarten buddies to help. And honestly, Bambam is just not ready for that. Any of it.
While his classmates are reading small chapter books, he is learning to read sight words and short sentences. His classmates are learning multiplication tables and he's still correspondence counting to 10 and sorting like objects. They are writing in daily journals and he's learning to write his name. Self starter is not a word I would use to describe his learning style. Unless it involves a ball or an animal, his attention span is about 11 minutes. None of this lends itself very successfully to 3rd grade in a typical classroom. We've decided its time to look at all of our options.
We could continue on our current path. Assign him to a home classroom with a 1:1. Continue with the individualized education plan that includes his own academic goals, along with social, adaptive, speech, OT, and PT goals. But here is what happens. He gets overwhelmed with sensory input in the classroom. So he and his aid have a cubicle in the LRC where he spends 75-80% of his day doing 1:1 work with her. Isolated from all the other kids. Isolated from everyone. And I'm not sure this is what's best for him. It is the best the school could provide under the current conditions, and we are ever so thankful for that. But is it what is best for Bambam? I'm not so sure.
I've been watching Bambam at school, paying close attention to his non-verbal queues. And its very clear to me that he is starting to see the differences between his classmates and himself. Until now, he appeared to not notice. Whether this is true or not, I don't know. But now, I see hints of him seeing it, becoming aware of it. He wants to do what his classmates are doing, but he can't. He notices when someone is watching or staring at him. He may not totally understand all of the reasons why, but he's noticing that it is different. And in some ways it breaks my heart. Ignorance can be bliss.
But if he's noticing, I think it is critical that he know there are other kids like him. He needs to find "his people". He needs "neurological peers". He also need "neuro-typical peers". I think both are critical to his growth and well being. He needs to know he is not alone, but he also needs to learn how to function in a world full of "neuro-typical people". Because that is what we have. The truth is, he will always have to interact with NT people. Hopefully he will also be around those similar to him, others on the spectrum.
And so, we are going to visit the self contained classroom in our district. This has been a major evolution for me. In the past I was adamantly opposed to placing him in the self contained classroom. And now I'm asking to see it. Our growth as humans never ends, but that is a thought for another day.
Tomorrow morning at 9:00 am, I will be sitting in the back of the self contained K-3 classroom located in another school. I'm both curious and terrified. I do not know what I will find there. I'm hoping to find children with varying differences but still similar to Bambam. I'm hoping to find a teacher and a whole slew of aids who are knowledgeable, patient, understanding, kind, encouraging, and loving. I'm hoping to find NT kids in the other classrooms that are accepting and inclusive but more importantly, kind and caring. I'm hoping to find administrators who "get it". I'm hoping.
But even if we find the most wonderful, best of all possible situations in that self contained classroom in the other school, we are still faced with a very difficult decision. Bambam loves his school. He loves his classmates. He talks about his friends constantly. He has play dates with them, goes to their birthday parties and they come to his. How can we pull him out of his current school where he's been in class with the these kids for 3 years? Kids who know him, understand him, know how to interact with him, include him, genuinely like him. And it is not just the kids in his class. It is the entire school. They are like part of our extended family. I wish the self contained classroom was in his current school.
These decisions are so hard. We so desperately want to make the right decision for our sweet boy. Sometimes I wish he came with an instruction guide.
We love our neighborhood school. And they have been wonderful to Bambam. All of them. The teachers, his aids, the kids, the office staff, the librarian, even the janitor. Every single person there. He couldn't be in a place where he is more accepted, included, loved and even celebrated. Except maybe at home.
But here's the thing. He's now 8, finishing up 2nd grade. Well, his version anyway. And, he's yards behind. He is learning; always plugging ahead in his own way, in his own time. But so are all the other kids. And it's obvious he isn't going to catch up any time soon. Maybe never. His is a different path. And that's OK. We need to respect that, embrace it even.
3rd grade is a pretty big jump. All of a sudden the kids are in a more academic environment with far more self study. They need to be self starters. Gone are the story times and longer recesses. Gone are the classroom buddies from the older classes helping them with projects. Now they are the older class with kindergarten buddies to help. And honestly, Bambam is just not ready for that. Any of it.
While his classmates are reading small chapter books, he is learning to read sight words and short sentences. His classmates are learning multiplication tables and he's still correspondence counting to 10 and sorting like objects. They are writing in daily journals and he's learning to write his name. Self starter is not a word I would use to describe his learning style. Unless it involves a ball or an animal, his attention span is about 11 minutes. None of this lends itself very successfully to 3rd grade in a typical classroom. We've decided its time to look at all of our options.
We could continue on our current path. Assign him to a home classroom with a 1:1. Continue with the individualized education plan that includes his own academic goals, along with social, adaptive, speech, OT, and PT goals. But here is what happens. He gets overwhelmed with sensory input in the classroom. So he and his aid have a cubicle in the LRC where he spends 75-80% of his day doing 1:1 work with her. Isolated from all the other kids. Isolated from everyone. And I'm not sure this is what's best for him. It is the best the school could provide under the current conditions, and we are ever so thankful for that. But is it what is best for Bambam? I'm not so sure.
I've been watching Bambam at school, paying close attention to his non-verbal queues. And its very clear to me that he is starting to see the differences between his classmates and himself. Until now, he appeared to not notice. Whether this is true or not, I don't know. But now, I see hints of him seeing it, becoming aware of it. He wants to do what his classmates are doing, but he can't. He notices when someone is watching or staring at him. He may not totally understand all of the reasons why, but he's noticing that it is different. And in some ways it breaks my heart. Ignorance can be bliss.
But if he's noticing, I think it is critical that he know there are other kids like him. He needs to find "his people". He needs "neurological peers". He also need "neuro-typical peers". I think both are critical to his growth and well being. He needs to know he is not alone, but he also needs to learn how to function in a world full of "neuro-typical people". Because that is what we have. The truth is, he will always have to interact with NT people. Hopefully he will also be around those similar to him, others on the spectrum.
And so, we are going to visit the self contained classroom in our district. This has been a major evolution for me. In the past I was adamantly opposed to placing him in the self contained classroom. And now I'm asking to see it. Our growth as humans never ends, but that is a thought for another day.
Tomorrow morning at 9:00 am, I will be sitting in the back of the self contained K-3 classroom located in another school. I'm both curious and terrified. I do not know what I will find there. I'm hoping to find children with varying differences but still similar to Bambam. I'm hoping to find a teacher and a whole slew of aids who are knowledgeable, patient, understanding, kind, encouraging, and loving. I'm hoping to find NT kids in the other classrooms that are accepting and inclusive but more importantly, kind and caring. I'm hoping to find administrators who "get it". I'm hoping.
But even if we find the most wonderful, best of all possible situations in that self contained classroom in the other school, we are still faced with a very difficult decision. Bambam loves his school. He loves his classmates. He talks about his friends constantly. He has play dates with them, goes to their birthday parties and they come to his. How can we pull him out of his current school where he's been in class with the these kids for 3 years? Kids who know him, understand him, know how to interact with him, include him, genuinely like him. And it is not just the kids in his class. It is the entire school. They are like part of our extended family. I wish the self contained classroom was in his current school.
These decisions are so hard. We so desperately want to make the right decision for our sweet boy. Sometimes I wish he came with an instruction guide.
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