Miseducation

When you graduate from college with a teaching certificate you have hopes, dreams, ideals, and passion. Apparently it is the purpose and structure of the public education system to strip all of these from you and create a willing and obedient participant in the system. All sarcasm aside, I never expected to become so cynical and jaded to the school system so fast. In less than two years I have discovered that in terms of educating children with special needs we may have brought them into the buildings with children who are typically developing but we have done little else. Inclusion is treated as a noun, not a verb, and according to the portion of the training video I made it through this week before having to leave early inclusion is not guaranteed to any child with special needs under federal law. Children basically earn the right to be with their peers, it is not assumed that because they are children they deserve this right. Services are offered at a bare minimum and things are kept silent unless a parent directly asks, and even then you are to talk around it. The two top goals are to avoid lawsuits and to make sure you can win lawsuits. That is all I have heard about at my last trainings and required meetings. Why take data? To be able to prove your side in a lawsuit. Oh, and while you have data you can use it to make decisions too. Why write a new and improved IEP? To avoid lawsuits and make it easier to win them of course! And to avoid spending more money on "services not federally required". Don't sneak in any services that may benefit a child but are not required under federal law, that would be incomprehensible and unforgivable! In this framework I have committed what is most likely akin to educational treason by supporting a parent with honest information in order to assist in the child receiving the best educational outcome for the future. Nothing I did had been explicitly forbidden, but I do think was covered in one of the general "do not do or say anything stupid that could ever be used against us in a lawsuit" speeches and the "do not give any more information that is required" speeches. I have no clue when it became wrong to do what is so obviously right, but I would rather hang for doing what is right than be heralded for doing what I know to be wrong. I always dreamed of being a teacher, of making a difference, of being able to do what would benefit a child. I never dreamed of being in a position where I felt I was being asked to lie to families, either through direct commission of a lie or omission of information, where I would be asked to focus not on maximum educational benefit but minimal federal requirements, and where the children are almost an afterthought. So I am rebelling in my own way, refusing to lie, refusing to become a silent player in the miseducation of children and the deception of families, refusing to sell my soul in order to have a paycheck. Perhaps I care too much, but these are children we are talking about not animals or shipments of furniture and no one seems to remember that as we discuss data, federal law, services, paperwork, and lawsuits. We are educating children who deserve every opportunity to learn, to grow, to develop, and to impact their own tomorrow. How can we forget that? I refuse to forget that.

Growing your world

Spring is one of the best and worst times to be a teacher. It is the worst because as soon as the little ones realize that it is nice outside the demands to go outside and play begin and continue unabated all day - be it in speech, sign, picture symbols, gestures, or other creative forms of communication. With my class I do not take them outside to play until right before they leave to go home because our specialty is definitely not transitions and once I manage to herd all ten or eleven of them out the door and down to the playground the last thing on earth I want to do is to try to convince them that they have to all march back inside the building. They outnumber the adults on average 3 to 1, closer to 4 to 1. If we attempted this I am quite certain that they would unite and stage a miniature revolution, scattering into the wind and causing a disaster of epic proportions that I never want to experience. If you have ever tried to catch one toddler/preschooler who was trying to avoid something imagine doing that on a scale of 9 running children with endless space because really, why should the district invest in a fence when they can purchase things like a new gym facility in the new administration building or raises for the top administrators. Oh, and forget opening windows because the windows are placed perfectly at child height and my little Houdini has figured out that these are not only great escape routes for every toy in the classroom but also for himself. It will be a long, hot spring. But there are awesome things about spring. Top of the list is that I no longer have to wrestle little bodies into eighteen layers of clothing to go in and out of the building. This never made sense to me because we are in the south. Reality check, children in Alaska wear fewer layers! Forget potty training anyone when they are wearing three pairs of pants. The other great things are all of the opportunities to bring hands on experiences to the kids. Almost everything that grows in spring can be experiences by my little ones. On our torturous walk (sissy city kids - you went less than 1/4 of a block in 30 minutes and most of you were in a wagon) we saw moths, heard bird songs, saw every color of the rainbow in flowers, saw leaves in different stages on trees, and saw squirrels. We will go on more walks to see how the flowers grow, to check for more birds, and to watch the leaves. They will learn to deal with it because the wagon only seats 4 and 3 of those seats are reserved for my escape artists. I am so mean making my children get outside and do something so terrible as walk through a neighborhood with a bunch of adults that love them and tell them cool things about the plants and animals. We are also attempting to grow flowers, and by some miracle most of them are actually starting to grow. This is a dual miracle because the kids were almost completely independent in the planting of these flowers and because I am capable of killing artificial flowers. On Monday I need to replant a few because I think they need a second chance to grow before my kids discover that some have life and others do not. Thank God they can not read otherwise the fights and teasing over who has a flower and who does not would get ugly amongst my children with language. Most fun of all is that we are "growing" butterflies. We received nice fat, fuzzy caterpillars, or as my kids call them "baby butterflies" because the official terms are way beyond us and not necessary. They have watched them crawl around and eat their food and on Friday it looked like they were getting ready to start their cocoons. To the kids, this is known as "wrapping up in a special blanket so that they can sleep and while they sleep they will become butterflies". Again, we are 3 and 4 years old and most of us have delays here. The baby butterflies are now next door in a safer room because I am afraid that once they start to "wrap up in their blankets" they might be bumped or dropped by a preschooler and then not ever wake up. My little ones are so into this that they ask about their baby butterflies every day and have asked some great questions like "where is their mommy?" "they miss mommy?" "brothers?", "what do they eat?", "what the blanket?". and "when we let the butterflies go, will they ever come back?". Between flowers, two little pots of kitchen herbs, and our butterflies we are growing our world this spring and it is awesome to see them so hands on about it. I hope, hope, hope to get permission to take them on a field trip to the farmer's market in a nearby town in May and let them see what happens to all of the fruits and things that people grow. Call me brave, crazy, or both but I want them to experience as much of what is alive in their world. And no way on earth were we even considering the zoo or the petting farm. I may be brave and/or crazy but I am not stupid!

Converting Silk Pajamas to a Parachute

I have never been a huge fan of leaps of faith, although recently it seems like I land from one only to find myself preparing to take another. Personally I prefer to have my feet firmly on the ground, even if that ground is rocky and steep because as long as there is ground underneath me I know where I am and that the fall is not going to hurt too badly. Once you leap you have no idea if the jump is three feet or three thousand feet and if the landing will be gentle or cataclysmicly shattering. So now I find myself on the edge again where I am taking three, oh no that was not a mistake I meant to type three, separate leaps of faith at once and feeling a bit like Sybil wondering how I can throw myself off of three ledges at the same time and quite probably receive three different landing results. First is the most enjoyable leap of faith in the fact that I am taking an enormous risk in participating in this summer missions program. This is most like going over a waterfall in a barrel. If nothing else the ride will be unforgettable and you will have an incredible story to tell for the remainder of your life. Over on cliff number two is a leap that I am taking by choice because I have this annoying little thing called a conscience. I detest injustice, but I abhor and detest injustice when it is directed at someone who is incapable of defending themselves and when it is being done because of prejudice, ineptitude at one's job, and laziness. My conscience is staging a revolt against the school policies of only giving parents the exact amount of information required by law and nothing more, or even outright lying to them. I have never played nicely with others and have been a rebel, so why stop now. When given a choice between obeying a system that I know would not give this child a proper educational opportunity or obeying the moral code of my own soul the choice was really not that freaking difficult. I have not been explicitly forbidden to do anything that I have done or am doing, although I think it may have been assumed that no teacher would do such things after the "don't do anything stupid and be very careful in all you say and do" speech this past August in which we were instructed about choosing words carefully and being selective in what information we offer. Well, I will not participate in the miseducation of any child and this this year I have been subtly backdooring information to parents and finding ways to insure that every child received what they needed even though my own teaching has been greatly hampered by the work of my assistant, or I should say inability to work. All I will say on that note is that it is April and because of a mistake she made while changing a diaper one of my children ended up putting feces in his mouth and eyes yesterday. I would expect that by now she could at least change a diaper without screwing up. So anyway, leap number two is culminating in a series of events where I will refuse to participate in the miseducation and mis-service of a child (and potentially more children). Could this lead to trouble at work, and with my job? I don't have an honest answer other than I would rather jump than stand there and watch all of my little ones fall. Jump number three is one I was forced into by the administration of my school in reference to said assistant. Because of the fact that she is unable to complete simple tasks safely, let alone actually keep the children from hurting themselves or each other, let alone ASSIST ME in teaching I have been placed in a position where I can not remain at the school for next year. The administration has refused to do anything about this issue except admonish me to be patient, to instruct her better, and to make my expectations clear (OK, don't let the kids eat crap! Is that clear enough for her?!? And if they run away for the love of everything holy could she possibly make an attempt to stop them or catch them?). I have 11 children in my class and 1 adult child. I refuse to lose my career and whatever is left of my sanity to this situation when she causes a child to be seriously injured, and I say when not if. Since she is untouchable at my school and has yet to even be reprimanded for anything she has done (leave a child on the changing table and walk away? Well, just remind her, she is capable of learning.) I am out of there. However, I have not been guaranteed a job opening in preschool for the fall and I like the simple things in life like food, water, shelter, medical care. So I am applying for a job in a completely different area of special education which would require me to return to school to get my masters degree. Since sixth grade I have wanted to teach preschool special education and after two short years I am seriously considering bailing at least for a while. HUGE LEAP. So, since I hate not being in control and I detest leaps I have decided that what I need is a parachute. I checked out the parachute we have in our classroom at school, but it has an odd hole in the center that I am a bit concerned may cause some issues with slowing my descent. Then I considered purchasing one from a sky diving group, but then I realized that anyone who jumps out of a plane for fun isn't quite stable and would probably sell me an old one in need of repair. So I have settled on a solution. I am converting silk pajamas into a parachute. Hey, before you laugh, the Confederate army made a hot air balloon out of silk dresses during the Civil war so I am certain this can be done. At least with a parachute when the ground comes rushing up at me after I leap I can slow the rate at which I slam into it, or if it turns out to be a beautiful leap afterall I can perhaps sustain the ride longer and enjoy the amazing wonder of faith and providence before having to return to earth. If nothing else it will sure make a statement as I throw my Sybil self off of all three cliffs. My banner to the world as I jump will be a hodge-podge, mismatched crazy quilt parachute of silky pajamas. Interpret as you wish.

Miles to Go

This week I discovered that I need to put a sign outside of our classroom door. "Children are not on display. If you feel you must come stare, the price of admissions is $10 per person. Comments are extra." Apparently when HER boss came for inspection, MY boss (aka the principal) thought it would be a good idea to give her a tour of the school. I have no issue with that, although I agree with all of the other teachers that a little warning or at least introduction would have been appreciated. No, my issue arises from the moment when my classroom door swings wide open and I look over (expecting to see a child making a bold dash for freedom - as if that ever works) to see my principal and some random woman standing there staring in at us. That feeling you get when someone is staring at you, that creepy "Big Brother is watching you" feeling? It was completely that stare rather than an interested observation. Apparently just a quick stare was not enough because my principal opened her mouth and out fell a new level of inappropriate treatment of me and my children. "This class is chaos. It is always like this. This is our preschool and so they all have disabilities. Well not all of them, two of them are normal inclusion peers." Where oh where do I begin with that? First, allow me to thank you for undermining my teaching in front of your boss. I am quite sure that she found your supportive attitude towards your staff a positive quality to note in your record. Also allow me to thank you for reminding me exactly why I must find a job in a different school, different company, different anything for next year and get the hell out from under your power. Trust me, once I have secured a different job you will have the opportunity to hear my comments on your job performance. Also, if you have the opinion that my class could be kept under better control, please demonstrate this for me by coming out of your cozy office and teaching my class for one day while I observe (with video camera in hand, for reference purposes of course). I am sure it would be highly educational and insightful. Second, where do you get off talking as if my children are somehow less than others because they have developmental delays/disabilities? I don't know what rock you live under (never mind - refer back to hiding in cozy office) but it is inappropriate to refer to only some of my children as normal. ALL of my children are "normal", whatever the hell that means, because all of them are CHILDREN. Some may use wheelchairs, some may use sign language to communicate or picture symbols or voice output devices, some may require assistance to engage with their environment, some may not understand social skills in the same traditional way, but all of them are CHILDREN who love to play, to laugh, to be treated as full individuals with value. Do not negate the inclusive culture I have managed to create in my classroom in spite of the culture of the district. Do not negate the worth of any of my children. Do not treat us as a sideshow attraction. I went over to see what she needed, and my principal said she was just showing this woman (I was ever introduced to her - apparently I am not up to that standard) around and they just wanted to look for a minute. I asked if they had any questions and was told no. My children come to school to learn, to be in a safe environment where their delays are not a barrier, where they will be taught and appreciated on a truly individual level. They do not come to school to be put on display and disrespected. I am fair game because I signed a contract to work there and I can choose to defend myself any number of ways, but my children are off limits. They have no say in being there, or in how the adults around them choose to behave, and they can not speak for themselves. I speak for them and I say they are off limits. Their parents trust me with their care, and I refuse to allow them to be treated as anything less than the incredible children that they are and as absolutely worthy individuals. I have reached my limit of watching these children being treated as less than others, as undeserving and as unequal to others. Now I just need to figure out the best course of action. When I graduated from college I was so wide eyed and truly believed that we had made such progress in the education of children with special needs. Now I see that we have only really made a beginning, and some gestures, but we have many "miles to go before [we] sleep".

Smile, darn ya, SMILE

Today was school picture day, one of my least favorite days to be a teacher. Trying to convince eight preschool children with special needs to sit down in a chair, to look in the direction of the camera, to keep their hands down in their lap (rather than in their noses, their eyes, or making strange and obscene-appearing gestures), and to smile is as much fun as doing dental work on a conscious mountain lion. It took us over an hour to get an individual picture taken of each child and a group picture taken of all of us. That is more than 60 minutes of begging, bribing, and ordering kids to LOOK AT ME and SMILE. I used bubbles, sparkly toys, stickers, candy, and more. I was ready to promise ponies, trips to the zoo, and more candy than they could eat in a month if they would just sit down and smile. The photographer had apparently not worked with preschoolers before and had no clue what to do with little ones, let alone little ones who had special needs. We debated the possibility of using the wooden chair I brought for my children to sit in for their pictures until she realized two things - 1) my mobile children are not going to stand in one place with their hands nicely on a platform for more than .005 seconds and 2) my children who use wheelchairs DON'T STAND. This came up during our debate in an interesting way. I was by this point already frustrated as my little ones tried to find every cord, light, wire, and breakable object and I was negotiating details like can they sit in a chair for a stupid picture or will the floor show if we do that (as if I care?).
Photographer: Can they each try to stand on the platform?
Me: If you can get the two in the wheelchairs to stand, you are hired.
Photographer: Oh.
Me: So is this a good place to put the chair?
By the time we were done, we were DONE. My children who thrive on routine had met, and then exceeded their limits and became puddles of tears or screaming fury. My children who enjoy adding to chaos had great fun. I wanted to curl up in the corner with one of the blankets and just watch as they thoroughly overthrew my established dictatorship. It was a coup. The inmates overthrew the institution. But we did learn that if you kick a standing flash system, the flash goes off and that if you touch a professional photographer's camera she can run faster than I knew possible. We also learned that I am a mean teacher who refuses to allow four year olds to stand on the upper levels of the risers (falls require too much paperwork and bloody messes take too long to properly clean up) and even meaner for not allowing the school secretary to give them all candy after the chaos of the morning had already claimed my children. Hey, they got chocolate milk and gummy bears with lunch. Besides, if anyone earned chocolate it was ME! Then later the afternoon preschool teacher had to brag that her class took less than 15 minutes to photograph. Revenge, it will be sweet.

Survivor - Preschool Edition

Preschool isn't for sissies. Hidden beneath ringlets of curls and never-ending dimples is a harsh world that devours those who enter unprepared. Substitute teachers are a favorite snack, and few who enter once return for a second appearance. They underestimate my little ones and are entranced by the cute factor, completely missing the devilish undertones that crop up whenever there is a new person to exploit. Exploitation of new people is an art form for the preschool child, and while watching the performance of testing each and every limit and boundary can be quite entertaining, participating in the enforcement of said limits and boundaries every single time a new person is introduced can be arduous. Sure, the rules apply with the teacher....but does the assistant know ALL of the rules? What about the OTHER assistant? The therapist? The Other therapist? The Other Other therapist? Can you see where this is going? Like bloodhounds drawn to the scent of a target, my children are drawn to two things - fear and inconsistency. If you are scared of them they will rip you apart like a school of piranhas, joyfully destroying any confidence or enjoyment of teaching young children that you may have brought along that day. should they find you to be inconsistent, they will swarm you like little old ladies at the nickel slot machines constantly pushing buttons until there is a reward. Every so often they like to be thrown some fresh meat to play with, which is nice because every so often I succumb to their incredible ability to breed indestructible germs, and so I offer up to them a substitute for a day or two to toy with and in exchange we maintain some level of peace. They also continually like to test the boundaries of their peers, just to make sure that the line established yesterday is still the line for today. I like to allow learning by natural consequences whenever possible, so I will allow a child to learn many things this way as long as there is no real chance of bloodshed or injury (the paperwork that comes with blood!! Oh the paperwork!! Besides, I am trying to civilize the cute little creatures - we even use utensils on Fork Fridays!). For the first time this school year, I offered them fresh meat on Thursday courtesy of the invincible super flu that never ends, and the substitute not only successfully wrangled them but seems no worse for the experience. She even seemed willing to re-enter our classroom without promises of fabulous prizes. I am in awe! Either I have civilized my children, or she has done the nearly impossible, or a bit of both. My class is the place where substitutes go to be reminded that the other classes really are not that bad after all - which I feel is a shame because once we are done testing someone, my kids are amazing and incredible people with the best personalties and spirits. True, we have our issues (cursing, biting, wetting our pants), but who doesn't? We finally found a substitute that we didn't break! Unfortunately, I think this might mean that their appetite for fresh meat was not fully satisfied and I may need to come up with a new offering soon or face the wrath of unappeased preschoolers.

Hamster Wheel Keep On Turning

We had a pet hamster once. Okay, more than once because those things are not built to withstand children, but that is beside the point here. It was obsessed with the spinning wheel in its cage and would run with such enthusiasm that it would make the wheel spin wildly and throw the hamster out and into the mulch. Undeterred, the hamster would stagger around for a moment and then climb right back into the wheel. He never realized that no matter how fast he ran he didn't get any further than the same damn cage in my brother's disgustingly smelly room. I don't know, maybe the running created a little hamster wind of fresh air for him. Anyway, I have become that hamster. I am well aware of the fact that for the past few months (year?) I have basically gotten no where significantly different than where I was before but I keep jumping right back on that wheel every darn time I get thrown off. Apparently my intelligence level is that of a hamster. Duly noted. A lot has happened since I last wrote, including my requesting a transfer of schools for next school year and applying out of district in case a transfer does not occur. Condensed version of a long story - I refuse to sacrifice my career to someone who should never be allowed to work with any living creature more sophisticated than the aforementioned hamster. Long version - if you can't write something nice, don't write anything at all (until you securely have a job for next year). Getting tired of the same damn wheel though, I did decide to change my frantic run a bit. I restructured my class, which has resulted in two dazed and confused assistants and a mutiny of children who do not appreciate having structure introduced into their world. Someone forgot to inform them that the classroom is a dictatorship, not a democracy, and I am head dictator. Therefore, "no" is not an option unless I offer it to you - not even when you scream it; not even when you scream it while hitting me. You would think I was asking them to take a bath in boiling oil instead of the much worse task of sitting in a chair at the table doing things like painting, coloring, playing with sand, and playing games. NOOO!! Not games! Not Paint!! NOT FUN!!! What they want is anarchy, total freedom to run around like three year old wild children, literally climbing the walls, and demanding that we fetch them this toy or that treat. Um, hell no! Reality check. I don't take orders from anyone who still pees in their pants. I will listen to you, I will engage you in lots of fun learning games, I will offer you time for supervised free play, but I am the dictator here. True, I am a dictator that rewards with candy and cookies, but then again Marie Antoinette offered cake... :) I plan on writing more now that I am back on a steady hamster wheel, with more predictable crashes into the hard ground outside of it. Hell, I don't even know if I am writing anything that anyone reads of just carrying on a strange written conversation with myself. Either way, its a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy!