I recently attended a summer workshop for teachers and administrators focused on school inclusion. Much to my surprise, one of the breakout sessions was being offered by two representatives from a school where I once taught. And the memories overwhelmed me.
My teaching career had spanned much of the history of special education: I taught in a residential facility, in a segregated school, in a segregated classroom with absolutely no inclusion (or "mainstreaming" as we called it then), and finally in several different public schools that were trying to make inclusion work, even for those with the most significant special education needs.
When the first presenter introduced himself as the principal of this school for the past 15 years, I had to force myself to realize that I had in fact been retired for at least that long. He hadn't been there when I left and I didn't even recognize his name. Memory #1: This particular elementary school had an unusual turnover of principals during my years there. It was a very stressful time for just about everyone. Followed immediately by Memory #2: Moving my students into this school at that particular time was a major challenge to the status quo, already in a state close to dysfunction.
The second presenter was a speech/language therapist who had just been starting out when I left. We overlapped just a little but hadn't really worked together. She announced that she too had been there for 15 years and during that time had had a child with special needs of her own.
Together these two educators had changed the climate of this school in ways I never would have thought possible. The principal explained that he starts every year with a reminder that ALL staff are there to meet the needs of ALL students. No more "my" students and "yours" - or worse yet, what I experienced in the early years, "those" students. The SLT shared that she saw a real need for students with special needs (in particular, autism) to feel more welcome and included socially. She saw this mainly because of her own child, and then did something about it, even though her own child was not a student in this school.
The program they have implemented involves peer mentors in grades three and four, who are given instruction and support - knowledge of what autism is, language to use when interacting with other kids - those with autism and those without - and help in approaching someone who is feeling left out, or is reluctant to participate. The program is successful, has been well-received, and is being expanded to other classrooms and other schools.
Memories now flooding . . .
I started in this particular school on a part-time basis, as the main support teacher for a very challenging student with autism. She and I were housed in the classroom for students with serious behavioral issues (emotionally-behaviorally disabled, or EBD, at that time). "Those" students had been there a little longer with an outstanding teacher who made us feel welcome from the very first day. I sensed that the teacher was respected by others in the building, but it was a little harder for her students to feel completely accepted.
Because "my" student and I were only there for a little over half of every day, I had the luxury of coming in early on my own time and visiting classrooms. As more students joined us, and I became a full-time employee, I continued to do this whenever my schedule allowed. I loved interacting with the kids in the other classrooms and encouraged them to ask any question they might have. We talked a lot about what it must feel like if you are unable to talk, and how it hurts to be left out of fun things at school because you (or your behavior) appear to be quite different. The kids were great, and I especially appreciated it when their regular classroom teacher stayed involved during our activities and discussions.
But I often had the feeling that conversations in the teachers' lounge came to an abrupt halt when I entered, and felt the vibes of being left out of things myself. Things got worse as the testing movement started taking over. Lots of technicalities had to be worked out, but for the most part "my" students wouldn't be taking the state tests. Fine with me! But then I learned that all of their scores would be included in the overall results for our school, and all of their scores would sadly be ZERO. In a small community with a local weekly paper, things like this become a huge deal. "My" students would potentially make this one elementary school look really bad.
I should also mention that I had recently been let go from my previous teaching position in a neighboring community because of my insistence on using Facilitated Communication - this nasty story having been fully covered in that same local paper. Oh, and then there is the complication that this particular elementary school that had hired me was part of the district where my husband was serving as superintendent. Just how many strikes against me did that make?
So, that is the down side of what I was experiencing in that school at that time. There really was a good side that kept me going, and on reflection those were some of my most positive years as a teacher. Let's just say it wasn't easy!
In a very short time, my students grew in number and we moved into a small classroom of our own. We started with inclusion for lunch and recess, along with special classes such as music, art, library and physical education. One of my blessings at that time was a team of wonderful paraprofessionals who were there to provide whatever was needed in the way of support so that the experience out in the mainstream could be a positive one for everyone. Initially, there was some subtle resistance on the part of the "special" teachers because they had the challenge of including all of my students, while regular classroom teachers saw very little of them. It took some time, but by the time I was ready for retirement, it was the "special" teachers who were among our strongest advocates. They really got to know and love the kids, and we did our best to make sure supports were provided.
One of the paraprofessionals assigned to my program had some reservations about the level of attention (and likely disruption) our students needed (and disruptions they might cause) when they were out in other classes. She was a parent herself and thinking about her own children who were students in a different district. Was inclusion fair to the regular kids? Wouldn't they suffer if their teachers had to deal with students who had such significant needs? She didn't say much, but she was definitely concerned. And then, after several months she confided all of this to me and said that she had been wrong. Every day, in so many situations, she witnessed the kindness and compassion of the other students. She said, in fact, "I wish my kids could be a part of something like this."
Part of what made things so special at that time was the involvement of Kate and Irene, two fifth grade girls who started stopping by and gradually became an integral part of our classroom. Because my students ranged from kindergarten to fifth grade, and each was included for only part of every day in regular classes, there was always someone back in our room, and I was usually the one there working on IEP goals with whomever was present. In a beautiful example of reverse mainstreaming, Kate and Irene (later joined by their friends and kids from other grades as well), gave up recess or lunch time, or whatever free time they could find, to come to visit - providing the same kind of social role models that I was hearing about in this conference presentation. Our room became so popular that we had to issue limited passes so that traffic was manageable.
The paras were awesome, the "special" teachers were supportive, the other kids were great, and then we had the professional expertise of a wonderful Occupational Therapist, a School Psychologist, and more than one Speech/Language Therapist. What we didn't have was administrative support, and so we lacked the structure of what was really needed for a peer mentoring program.
Fifteen years later, and my heart was filled with joy to realize that the seeds we had planted were now coming into full bloom. Thank you, John and Victoria, and the entire staff, for making this possible.
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