Category Archives: special ed

honor roll for the remarkable

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What a school year it has been here under the Big Top!

Only four more days left in this school year then, oh for goodness sakes, my two youngest children will be a SENIOR and a FIFTH GRADER!!!

I’m so proud of both of these babies of mine. They both have worked hard managing more than their fair share of obstacles to persevere, grow (a lot) and accomplish much. For Daniel it is especially gratifying. Remember the beginning of this school year? How we fought so hard to keep him in the same school and found ourselves defending the special education the school district provides for him because the law demands it? Well, guess who made the honor roll?

Go ahead, guess….

I’ll wait…

Can I hear a loud “OH YEAH BABY!!!“?!

So dear Mr. Dennis Wyatt, to answer your question that you posed seven months ago: “The question that no one is asking given the budget crisis is whether we can continue to afford to support special education in K-12 at the current level. That may sound like borderline blasphemy just to ask the question, but it needs to be asked…” …

Can we afford it?

Is it really worth it?

Is it worth it spending all the money, time and energy on a child with obvious learning challenges and delays along with sensory processing dysfunctions that sometimes make it virtually impossible to focus and learn?

Oh hell yeah!!!

I can assure you that no one amongst his peers worked as hard as he did to EARN that 3.0. Truly remarkable is he, my amazing son. Again I am reminded how lucky my son is, How truly fortunate and amazing and remarkable. But today, this time I am reminded in a way that makes me so proud of him and the people who have come along side of him to support him and encourage him. This beyond the normal that we have learned to celebrate as parents of a child who was first presented little chance for survival or any kind of good quality of life. This is a feat worth celebrating…even for the normal.

OMG, my amazing baby boy made honor roll!!!!

Yeah, okay mom, enough with the pictures!

a special place in hell for the special people

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So I have this friend who has cerebral palsy which affects his brain in such a way he falls down on occasion. He actually used to refer to himself as the FallGuy because he was known to fall down, especially when forced to negotiate stairs. Years ago, he and I both found ourselves working as high school camp counselors at a small Seventh Day Adventist College in the Napa Valley with lots of rolling hills and lots and lots of stairs all over the campus…everywhere. I’m pretty certain that J thought that he was in Hell except we were counselors for a Christian Church high school camp and how could that possibly be Hell except for the fact that we were surrounded by teenagers who couldn’t find their own toothbrush at a college campus that had absolutely no caffeine or meat because it was a Seventh Day Adventist college campus in a Seventh Day Adventist town and there was no caffeine or meat (or alcohol) to be found anywhere, at least on that campus in that town. Oh, and did I neglect to mention that it was summertime and it was over 100 degrees every freaking day. Perhaps it was pre-Hell. It sure as hell felt like it.

Still J managed in spite of the obvious pain it was for him to get around and try to keep up with the kids we were in charge of. But he did. So I kept my whiny, bitchiness to myself and felt deeply ashamed of myself for wanting, more than anything in the world, a coke…a damn coca-cola! J was climbing a mile of stairs everyday in the 100 degree heat in spite of his obvious physical disability and pain. How could I possibly bitch about the fact that I couldn’t find one damn Diet Coke?  Then we were granted a free afternoon and we jumped into J’s car to find a burger and a coke. I’m sure we both would have loved a beer but this was a church camp and J, at the time, was under 21. Still we had free time and we were on a mission…in his beater car with no ac in the 100+ degree afternoon in the Napa Valley. Thankfully the burger and coca-cola gods were smiling down upon us and we found that which we were searching for…

an In-N-Out in nearby St. Helena!

:::cue the heavenly host of angels that truly wanted us to have caffeine and red meat because they did want that for us, they did:::

The parking lot was packed and there was but one parking spot available…a handicapped spot. J reached over into his glove box and pulled out his totally legit handicapped parking placard and placed it on his dash as he whispered to me, “don’t tell my mom I did this.”

Are you kidding me? I’m getting a diet coke and a burger. I’m good. Wait a minute. J has every right to park in a handicapped space because living with cerebral palsy he is indeed handicapped. He is the Fall Guy! But his mom raised him differently. Yes CP mangled his limbs in such a way that walking was painful and sometimes impossible. Yes he did fall down a lot as a child, as a teen, as a young man. Whatever! She raised him to not rely on that which limited him rather to rely on that which freed him…his brilliant mind, his wit, his story-telling, his incredible strength that gave him the ability to try to keep up to those high school aged kids we were in charge of as he tried to navigate all those freaking stairs at that Seventh Day Adventist college in the Napa Valley.

Seriously, my respect and admiration for J and his amazing mom (who is also a friend) doubled, tripled and even quadrupled that day. This was a man of integrity…raised by a women of integrity. They both could very well rest on that which twisted and tortured J’s body into something that was a little to the left of what is “normal”. But they did not. At least J’s mom did not and raised J to not. Yes he did from time to time fall back on the “privilege” oif being physically limited…handicapped. He had the handicap placard which he rarely used then and now. He has “enjoyed” the privilege of navigating Disneyland and Great America and Magic Mountain in a wheelchair and he has been known to include friends and family who have been with him to enjoy the privilege of handicap with him.

J is an amazing young man. J has cerebral palsy which has twisted and distorted his limbs in such a way that walking, much less standing is painful and sometimes nearly impossible. He might not always rely on this privilege that is being handicapped but when he does need it, it is there for him and he will use it.

So thinking about J, thinking about the amazing mom who raised him, thinking of dear friends who are raising children who are living with their own disabilities you wonder what I might think of rich Manhattan moms who hire handicapped tour guided so their kids can cut lines at Disney World or what I might think about airports in the US that are dealing with bogus requests for wheelchair assistance to enjoy the privilege of jumping security lines and early boarding access ahead of everyone else or those who use their sister’s or mother’s or auntie’s disabled parking placards so they can avoid parking fees or access to convenient parking without the disabled person with them.

Well…

all I can say is welcome! Welcome to your very own special place in hell! You so deserve it! You might not be enjoying it at this very moment…then again given recent news reports you are likely in the thick of it. Still you might not be so privileged to be reaping the rewards that you so richly deserve, but trust me, you will. You most definitely will. Lucky, lucky you!

 

because we are friends

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Here we are, gathered together…moms, waiting on our kids and doing what we do when we gather together for the sake of our children and all the things they make us juggle. We are talking.

We talk about those cute boots you just picked up…or that recipe I just saw on Pinterest and served for dinner to an epic fail…or Christmas shopping and how you are all done…or anything else that comes to mind.

You come in and sit down across from me and say hello to me and my child, who barely looks up because he is so focused on his Nintendo 3DS. Then you begin to share your latest adventure and frustration with one of your in-laws and…OMG…he is so RETARDED. I get your frustration with the situation that you had to deal with and can imagine how crazy he drove you that afternoon but just because he is so dang old and set in his ways it does not sound to me like he is intellectually disabled. Actually having met your in-law one time and sharing a conversation with him, I could say that I doubt that he is actually “mentally retarded”. But you go on with your epic story, occasionally looking me in the eye and even meeting my child’s gaze as you continue to describe your family member as a stupid, dumb retard because he is so retarded sometimes and how it drives you crazy when he acts so much like a retard.

http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8483/8242503656_6b53365a98.jpgMy kid turns off his Nintendo, hands it to me and quietly asks if he can leave the room where we all are sitting together. I hug him and encourage him to go ahead and join his sister outside.hanging out with her friends.

And you, my friend, the person who knows me, knows my children seem to have no clue whatsoever that you have hurt him…which of course hurts me.

Honestly, if you are my friend you would have the sensitivity and empathy to know that at least in my presence or in the presence of my family that word is so hurtful, so offensive; and, if you truly are my friend, you would have the intelligence, the creativity, the sensitivity to consider using so many other much more descriptive adjectives. Wouldn’t you? Of course you would. That is why we are friends.

Perhaps I will get you a dictionary for Christmas…you know, because we are friends.

gormless, dunderheaded doofuses and other people like Ann Coulter

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She’s at it again.

Oh dear, what makes Ann Coulter so certain that her brand of ignorant, insulting language makes her a pundit with any validity? Even a polemicist, like herself doesn’t really need to resort to schoolyard bully talk in order to stir the pot, as she likes to say…especially a Cornell University and University of Michigan Law School educated person like herself. Come on Ann, you can do better than that…can’t you? But perhaps you can’t. Perhaps you are exactly what your language usage suggest. Perhaps you are nothing but a bully…a mean girl just like Regina George!

This isn’t the first time you called someone, or a lot of people retards…because you aren’t creative enough to come up with a better descriptive adjective.

No, you said it before,

and again.

You’ve got big balls, Ann. I’ll give you that. But you don’t have big enough balls to apologize even when another parent called you out for this unacceptable hate speech. At least not as big as Rahm Emanuel’s or President Obama’s when they apologized for their insensitive gaffes. Or perhaps it is that Mr. Emanuel and Mr. Obama have hearts and souls.

I could try to impress upon you just how hurtful your sneers are to a community of people who aren’t always able to articulate just that…a community of people that include people who do vote….alongside their friends, teachers, therapists and loved ones who are able to call you out on your bully behavior. Yes, I could try. But clearly you are one bully who can’t and won’t change. Still, I will say to you and other shameful, gormless, dunderheaded doofuses like you to stop it. Just stop it. Sit down for five minutes and check out a thesaurus for possibilities that will better get your point (if you even really have one) across.

bully talk

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Remember back in the day when a kid would tease you because you wore coke bottle glasses, or had a funny last name or wore tattered, worn, hopelessly outdated, thrift store clothing, or you were buying milk and bread using Food Stamps…or perhaps you were fat, or skinny, or very short, or very tall…or perhaps there really wasn’t anything WRONG with you, you were just singled out by some kid…by a bully.

Remember that?

Maybe you decide to tell someone, your parents or your teacher and, well, nothing comes of it. “Buck up!”, they tell you. I mean, after all, bullying is a rite of passage, a part of growing up…even if it doesn’t feel right. So you try. You try to be brave. You try to be strong. Sometimes you try to fight back. You cry. You cry a lot because you are certain that you are indeed that worthless. Why else would it not stop? Why else would no one else seem to notice or care? Somehow you weather through and make it to the other side. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Except, sometimes it does…kill some. But as for you, you make it through. It does get better…maybe the next year…or when you change schools…or years later.

from KCRA.com

Like so many others, I was a victim of bullying. I joke years later about the giant target that I was what with the coke bottle glasses, the funny last name, the clothing, the Food Stamps, the drunk dad, the crazy mom. Still I hated it. I hated all of it. I was one of the lucky ones. I made it through to the other side. My tormenters were but a few people who quickly became bored and found other victims. Years later, I come to understand just how sad their lives were and with that came forgiveness. After all they were just kids too. Kids living in similar situations (or worse), kids with fears and self-doubts tearing others down to build themselves up. It wasn’t right then just as it isn’t right now. Still they were just kids then. Something about all of us growing up and seeing where they are and where I am today seems to level the playing field…at least for me it has.

But recently, having lunch with my favorite ten year old son, I was faced again with a bully…Daniel’s bully. Daniel has been telling me of struggles with a couple kids at school. Kids, he tells me, who don’t like his glasses, or who think he is too small, or think his voice is funny. He tells me he just walks away from them because he doesn’t want to hang out with them. They don’t have kind hearts, he tells me. He adds that he, on the other hand, has a kind heart.

He does have a kind heart.

My first instinct and reaction is to hunt the little bastards down.

But…

Yeah, that wouldn’t be right.

So we talk. We talk a lot about how to deal with the playground punks. Actually Daniel has a pretty good handle on it…for now. I make sure he knows that. I also resolve to maintain an open dialogue with him, support him, encourage him and to talk to his teachers.

After today, I am certain that there will be a conversation with his teachers. I picked up Daniel after a minimum day and since it is the beginning of Fall Break from school, we decided to celebrate with lunch at the new McDonalds. So did pretty much all of the west side of Manteca. Just as we begin to eat our lunch Daniel, I notice, seems to be agitated. I ask him what is wrong and with a little fear in his eyes and voice he tells me that “Brian” is here.

Brian?

Yes, Brian is here with his mom.

Is Brian in your class?

No.

Does Brian go to your school?

Yes.

Is Brian mean to you?

Yes.

I turn around to get a look at this “Brian”. A part of me wished I could steal his soul with my evil ginger powers but gingers don’t really steal souls. Instead I turn back to Daniel and tell him that Brian the Bully looks like just a punky kid who is probably afraid people are going to find out that he is just that. Daniel seems unconvinced. I knew kids like Brian when I was his age; they were the kids that bullied me, I confess to my son.

You were bullied?

Yes, I was.

Why?

The same reason why any kid is bullied. I was different than they were. They were weak or afraid and didn’t want anyone to know that or see it so they bullied me.

What were their names?

Well, there was D and K and M and C. They would call me names, laugh at me and get other people to laugh at me with them. One time K beat me up and broke my glasses.

Oh my god!

Yeah. I tried to fight back that time and well, I got beat up. K got into a lot of trouble for that because her daddy was best friends with my step-dad.

Did she leave you alone after that?

No, not really. She was mad at me for getting into trouble.  But like you, I learned to walk away and ignore them…or at least make them think I was ignoring them. Soon enough it all stopped. I guess they became bored with me since I pretended not to care.

It’s hard!

Yes. Yes it is hard. But I’m here for you. I understand.

He hugs me…oh how I love his hugs!

Strange as it might seem, my sharing with him tales of my own bullying experiences along with the truth that it did stop and it did get better seemed to be the encouragement that he needed at that moment.

But as far as this is concerned, this is hard. Still I can’t help but believe that Daniel has (so far) a good handle on it. The ultimate goal would be to stop the bullying without me going after the bully(s). Until then the short term goal is to make his teachers aware, support Daniel, encourage him and keep the lines of communication open with him. Good goals to have, I believe. At least they are better goals than telling a child who is obviously physically smaller (and perhaps weaker) to go and kick the bully’s ass.

Yeah, that happened to me.

I’m not sure that I have a point here as I write this. I guess, like Daniel, I just need to unload my frustrations a little before I dust myself off a little, stand tall and smile as I continue to support and encourage the one with the kind heart…the strong, kind heart.

Parent tips on helping your child deal with bullies at school