Tell me what you really think.
I worked as an aide in a special ed class for five- to eight-year-olds in the late 70s. After that one school year, I planned on never having children. Part of it was the weight of responsibility, time and effort involved in bringing up a child, but much of it was the fear that grew from the thought that I could totally screw up another human being. This was because most of the children were emotionally abused or neglected. The two children who were physically handicapped were the easiest children to work with.
The other children, oh, I'm crying remembering them, started out their lives with little going for them and families who made sure what little hope there was for them was destroyed long before we ever met them.
E sharing in show and tell about the arrest at his home of his mother's latest boyfriend.
N, who looked as though he were one of those beautiful children in a Victorian etching, learned to behave as though he was mentally handicapped, because his grandmother (who was mentally handicapped) cared for him full-time while his mother worked and partied.
C was the family scapegoat, whose mother sent him to school in torn and filthy clothes, hungry, and often sick. She would not come get him when he was sick until the principal threatened to contact CPS. You could not tell that he was related to his three brothers; they were always well-dressed, well-fed and doing well in regular classes.
The one ray of hope I had occurred when I met up with one of those children later in life. S was a gifted artist, even at age six, but having difficulty behaving in the learning disability class, so he was moved into special ed. Fifteen years later I saw him again when I went back to visit relatives. He was a good friend of my cousin. He had made it. A job, a life, a relationship. And, amazingly, he remembered me.
I'm sorry, I'm crying so hard I can't read what I'm typing anymore.
Best post ever. Seriously.
And then, of course, these students are "dropped off" at the "specials classes" (music, art, and p.e.) without an aide (the classroom teacher HAD to have things copied during her prep!), and we're expected to deal with them while teaching a class. After all, it's "just music"; how hard can it be??
Don't get me started. Oops--guess you already did. One of the many reasons I left my beloved elementary music job for high school choir...
The next day, they were all wearing the raggedy jeans again. The nursing home 'couldn't find' the nice jeans. They never did find them, in fact. Uh huh.
Let me guess. The nursing home staff was sporting some really spiff jeans after that day?
As a Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) for foster children, I urge parents of special needs children (or foster parents, or guardians, or whoever will do it) to demand testing for their kids and then a proper Individualized Education Plan (IEP). It's the law that kids from every walk of life receive the education that they need and can use but schools aren't going to pay for the necessary services unless they're forced to do so. If they tell you no, bring a lawyer with you on the next visit. (If you can't afford a lawyer, look up "legal aid" in the phone book.)
Sorry, just touched a nerve with me, too.
Oh. Dear. God.
My mother-in-law works for the ARC (Association for Retarded Citizens) and prior to that worked in exactly the job you just described. In the special ed room in the local public school district. Oh, the stories. I still get to hear them daily.
Mostly, I love her "guys" as we call them, but often they scare me. They just don't understand their own strength and MIL has been hurt before because of it.
My hat is off to you (both)!
Also, the whole crampon thing reminded me of mispronunciations (type that 5 times fast-whew). I have a friend who has 5 children. She is fully adult, has carried to term, labored and birthed them all. She still calls those labor pains "contraptions". I have a VERY hard time keeping a straight face when she talks about her birth experiences.
I don't know, Mama. Yvonne is okay, I guess, but you wanna see pretty go to Lucinda's place at www.suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com.
She ATE your earring?
Holy Hell. You lived through one day in that situation, and then YOU WENT BACK? Again and again?
You are my hero. I was once asked to long-term sub in SMR classroom. I shadowed for one day, learned that I would have to change diapers on an 18 year old, and issued my nolle prosequi in a firm voice. I just didn't have it in me.
You are the real goods, toots.
All my children are gifted and special and get their crampons at REI.
Crampons?! ROFL I've never heard of that before.
My niece has some sort of genentic disorder that they cannot seem to diagnose and she's 5 years old. Her gross motor skills are very slow in developing. They first said she never would walk but finally at the age of 3, she did. She's still unstable but does a good job. She is in a special pre-school and my sister is trying to get her into a special program for next fall. She's such a sweetheart and deserves the best. Communication is a problem because she can't talk; only a few basic words. The school has taught her some signing which helps. It's hard to keep up with her but it's worth it.
Tampon means plug in French. Makes sense, doesn't it? Special ed teachers tell the best, most hair raising and sometimes funniest stories ever. My good friend is a DD teacher; she has low kids, but they are very sweet, though challenging.
Oh man. You have to know it's all in the "photoshop". I promise you.
But you're so sweet. Thank you. I love you back.
Now, I have to say, Old Horsetail Snake's comment made me laugh.
I'm ok.
He guesses.
HAHA.
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