Special Education Today

When I was in college, a hundred years ago, my plan was to get a regular elementary teaching degree and endorsements in what was referred to back then as M.I. (mentally impaired) and E.I. (emotionally impaired).



Everything went swimmingly until it came time for E.I. student teaching. I was assigned to a middle-school class of seven boys with emotional disabilities. Every day was a struggle. I would go home exhausted and in tears. Emotional problems seemed so complex and depressing to me.



About three weeks into the semester, I reached the breaking point when one of the boys went home and committed suicide. I quit and never completed my student teaching for the E.I. endorsement. I decided there was a special place in heaven for those wonderful folks who worked with students with emotional impairments—and I just wasn’t one of them.



Flash forward to the present and I find myself with two students with emotional impairments. One young man is untreated but shows all the signs of bipolar disorder. The other day he came to school saying he wanted to just end the pain. When I asked where the pain was, he pointed to his heart. He said he was not afraid of death. I immediately alerted the administration and his homeroom teacher.

I went home and read up on suicide in young adults. I learned that asking them if they are thinking of killing themselves is actually a helpful thing to do; often people falsely believe it will only encourage them. The next day this student’s mood was depressed again and so I told him I was worried about him and asked if he had thought of killing himself. He answered in the negative. I told him I was glad to hear that. Of course, I will continue to keep a close eye on him.

I think my age and experience helped me react very differently this time around. Instead of running away, I hit the problem head-on. I did my research because information is so powerful. I never want to find out that I did not do everything I could to prevent a student from taking his own life.



I also know that I cannot “fix” this student. I took the initiative by informing others in the system but accept that I cannot control what they do with the information. In this case, the administrator chose to minimize it while the homeroom teacher chose to take it seriously. The parent has been given information on where to go for free mental health services but has chosen not to pursue it.



I thought a lot about this student, took the actions I could, prayed for him, and then . . . I let it go. Letting it go does not mean giving up. Letting it go after doing what I could allows me to keep working with this student. That is the difference between Kathy at 21 years of age and Kathy at 51 years of age.

Let’s see, what to write? Well, it is February in Michigan. Those who live in Michigan would not need me to write anything more; they would just nod and know exactly what I meant. But for the rest of you, it’s grey . . . VERY grey, it’s cold, and it’s getting a little old!



My new semester has begun, which means new students. Our young adults (ages 18 to 26 with disabilities) are assigned to job sites typically for one semester at a time and switch to a different site every semester. Our students spend half the day on the job with a job coach (like me) and the other half at school taking classes that are geared toward independent living.



My group is In-House Custodial, fancy for “we stay at school and clean it.” I am assigned students who are new, are not ready to go out to other sites, or are difficult to place for one reason or another. I also take on stragglers who arrive at school late and have missed their ride to their normal job site.

My group this semester is going to be a bit challenging. I have a few students back from last semester. Pam* has a worsening visual impairment and now uses a cane, but she has a wonderful attitude and works very hard to compensate for her sight loss. Bridget* has food issues and needs to be in a controlled environment like ours, but just when I think I am making progress with her, I find out I have been lied to again! Tim* has an inoperable brain tumor and is undergoing oral chemo; he is now using a wheelchair because his balance has been affected. He is a sweet young man who never feels sorry for himself (just needs to take a nap now and then, which is just fine with me).

Among my new students is Doug*, who resides in a group home and has been suspended already in his first two weeks! Craig* is also new and seems like a nice young man when he is able to actually get out of bed and get to school.



This semester I have had to set some new boundaries. For example, I set the limit of students I can take at once at six. Because I have been assigned one student who is partially blind and another who uses a wheelchair, I asked for some extra help and received two wonderful parent volunteers for two days each week! I really appreciate having those extra hands around.



I am trying to get my group to gel, but so far there have been so many disruptions that I do not feel we have properly begun yet. This week I got the flu and missed two days -- that certainly didn’t help the “gelling process.”

It’s February and I must be really low on vitamin D because everything is a bit of a struggle right now! How are you all getting through the winter blues?

*Names have been changed.

 

My new job sure has changed me.

First, a little history. I was home raising my children for quite a while; my last full-time teaching  position was in 1984. I did some part-time work in between but mostly was at home. I have a 25-year-old son, 23-year-old daughter, and 13-year-old son. I was married for 25 years when my husband decided a young woman from work looked better to him. I was devastated, to say the least. I had to sell the house, help the kids through the trauma, and finally get a job. So at 51, here I am, returning to the workforce.

The job has changed me because I realize “I can do it!” For starters, I have much experience with children and my own daughter with disabilities. And even though my formal education took place years ago, I remember more than I thought I would.

I still love to learn and am catching up on the many changes that have since occurred in the field of special education. I love the CEC SmartBrief that is delivered daily to my e-mail inbox. I have even printed out some articles to keep in my files for future ideas. I ask questions, lots of questions. As an “older” educator I don’t mind questioning the system. As a parent myself I can relate to the parents of my students.



On a personal level, I feel more professional. I look more professional. Check out my school picture—a little different than my original profile picture, huh? I have some decent work clothes now. I act more professionally. I don’t feel intimidated by the other professionals I meet in my job. My resume now has current experience on it.



I feel more independent. I have my own money coming in, instead of just trying to live on the alimony and child support. I see hope for the future, that I will be able to support myself when the divorce payments end.



I guess that is it . . . I have hope. Hope that I can support myself fully someday. Hope that I can make some difference in the lives of my students. Maybe because I have hope for the future, I can give these young adults hope for their own futures.

Our school just announced another round of budget cuts. This round was deep and we are still smarting from it. Teachers with master’s degrees have taken a $5,000 pay cut. Classroom budgets were slashed from $1,000 to $500 each (we purchase all our own materials and prepare our own curriculum). All professional development has been frozen.

My boss, the job coach coordinator, had her schedule cut to three days a week at a loss of 40% of her salary. She is the glue that holds 20 job coaches and their training sites together. Our principal now works only four days a week and I am assuming she took a 20% pay cut. One office staff person lost a day a week as well. The job coaches—that’s me—also had their day shortened, mine by one half-hour (we are paid an hourly rate). All staff must be out of the building by 4 p.m. to save on electricity. There are other smaller cuts as well.

The morale at school is, understandably, low. The rumors about our future are plenty. Will our school survive? Is everything possible being done to get us grant money, stimulus money, any money? Why haven’t the parents been informed in this whole process and why are we not asking them for donations? Why are we not doing more fundraising? What other cuts are going to be made? Every staff member is asking him or herself, “How secure is my job?”



What are other schools doing to make ends meet? I know the state of Michigan is particularly hard hit, but what can be done? I do not know how much thinner or leaner we can become without destroying our program completely. We need HELP!

I have a daughter with special needs. Those words are so easy to write, but they were so hard to accept.



Dana lagged behind other children her age; the doctor called it “delayed milestones.” I hoped that she was just a late bloomer. Starting school was a nightmare for both of us. She was shy and scared and did not participate. She just wanted to be left alone in a corner and talk to herself.

I worked hard with her, trying to catch her up to her peers. Every year teachers would raise concerns and I would work even harder. Eventually she was tested and we discovered her IQ was below normal. I decided I wasn’t going to let a test dictate what my daughter could do. She was behind her peers, but not enough to qualify for special education. One school psychologist even tried to label her as ADD (which she is not) just to get her special education services. I did not appreciate this gesture. I was so afraid of a label defining my child.

When Dana started fifth grade, I was told that she could qualify for special education classes once she tested two grade levels behind. I was not about to sit around and wait for that to happen. I took her out of the public school system and home-schooled her for the next five years, concentrating on reading and social skills. Those years were wonderful years of progressing at her own pace, one-on-one attention, and the two of us having a much less stressful relationship. Instead of working with her in the evening when we were both exhausted, accompanied by plenty of tears (hers and mine), we could now work in the morning—in our pajamas if we wanted to—and she could even have time to play and attend Girl Scouts!



By the time she was in the tenth grade, our local public high school had come up with a wonderful program for at-risk kids like Dana. She went back to a formal education and stayed in that high school program for four years. During that time I went through a divorce and some counseling. I had to face some things in myself and in my life. A side benefit of that experience was coming to grips with the fact I had a daughter with cognitive impairments. No matter how hard she or I worked, that was not going to change. I was finally facing a future that wasn’t bleak, just different. It was freeing.



Now Dana is almost 23 years old and for the past three years has attended the vocational school where I now work. This is our first year there together and it is going well. She loves not having to ride the bus to school since she can now ride with Mom. She dreams of getting her driver’s license (she has her permit), finding a job, and having a boyfriend. She collects angels and wants to paint her bedroom purple. She makes the best chocolate chip cookies ever. She and I have a “girl’s night” every other weekend, which usually involves take-out food and a chick flick! I try to encourage her while also helping her face the reality of her disability. I enjoy her!



Dana is part of my story and this has helped me immensely in my teaching. I sense that each young adult I work with has parents who, like I do, struggle with the reality of having a child with special needs who is growing up but in some ways will never BE a grown-up. I try to work with students in a patient and loving way, like I want my child to be treated. I have learned that information needs to be broken down in simple steps and in different ways to accommodate each individual student. I have learned that there is fine line between pushing too hard and encouraging just enough to help them become as independent as possible. Most of all, I enjoy my special students — just as I do my daughter.