Us or Them

I wonder if other parents of kids with developmental disabilities ever feel the way I felt tonight. 

Moses’ IEP meeting is coming up to determine his placement going into kindergarten. I’ve already advocated for him to be able to go to summer school (or at least give it a try), and I’ve been laying the groundwork for him to be in the general education classroom as much as possible for months now. There’s so much evidence in support of the benefits of inclusion in education – academically and socially for both kids with and without disabilities – that I feel like there’s no reason for him to ever not be in the general education classroom. 

And yet I know that the biggest barrier that we will face in achieving that is the mindset that because children with disabilities don’t always learn at the same pace and/or in the same way, then they should learn in a separate setting. It’s touted as being what’s best for them, although I haven’t been able to find any research to support that claim. 

Anyone who knows Moses knows that he has the ability to light up a room. He has a beautiful, playful personality and is the most determined little boy I have ever met. His brain is a sponge soaking up all the things that are going to help him lead his best, most successful life. He has so many gifts that he brings to this world and it seems like he’s wanted. For the most part.

Until it comes to education. Then it’s like he’s already been weighed and measured and has been found wanting based on his medical diagnosis and evaluation results. 

Nevermind that he has been absolutely thriving in his general education early childhood classroom. But yet now that he’s going into kindergarten, it’s being doubted that he can continue to do that. 

I think the hardest part for me is when I feel like he’s being doubted by people who know him and/or are in education and are supposed to support inclusion rather than integration or segregation. It’s hard when I feel like I have to advocate for inclusion with people who know Moses and how amazing he is, and yet I still find myself having to explain the value of him being in the general education classroom 100% of the time. 

Why do I have to explain that he can and wants to learn? Why do I have to explain that he can and wants to have friends? Why do I have to explain that he can and wants to be part of the classroom community? 

Why do I have to explain that as soon as he’s not allowed to be a part of the community that is built in the classroom within the 7 hours that they’re there from the first day of school until the last day of school, everything will change for him. He will at that moment go from being “one of us” to “one of them”. 

Tonight as I was laughing with Moses and just soaking up the joy he can exude, I suddenly had the thought, “Why do I want to share him with others so badly, especially when it comes to school? Why not just keep him all to myself?”

Part of me wants to say, “Fine. I’ll keep him to myself. I’ll teach him and explore with him and laugh with him. I’ll be the one to challenge him and encourage him and watch him experience success. I’ll be the one to help him realize how much he’s truly capable of in this life.”

But the other part of me knows that that is my exhaustion, frustration, and hurt talking. Advocating for inclusion is hard work and I’m learning that you don’t get to take breaks. Keeping him to myself might be easier, but it wouldn’t be fair to him or the people who would be missing out on getting to know him and to learn from him. 

Because the real kicker in all of this is that Moses has more to teach all of us than we could ever hope to teach him.

Which then begs the bigger question: Who would benefit more from inclusive classrooms? Us or them?

Stop Saying “Special Needs”

“Special needs”

Hearing that phrase is like hearing nails drag across a chalkboard. (Does anyone even remember what a chalkboard is and that torturous sound?)

As Moses gets older, I understand more and more why individuals with disabilities and parents/caregivers of individuals with disabilities do not want that phrase to be used to describe them. 

I saw this video a couple of years ago at an event for moms of kids with Down syndrome:

At that point in my journey, I remember thinking something along the lines of, “Huh. I never thought about it like that.” And then I didn’t give it a lot more thought. 

Now that we’re starting to have conversations about Moses going into Kindergarten and are faced with the reality that the amount of time he gets to spend in the general education classroom is going to potentially be impacted by his “special needs”, I’m definitely giving it more thought.  

“Special needs” implies that his needs are so vastly different or complicated that they justify excluding him from the mainstream environment under the guise of “supporting” or “accommodating” him. 

What are his “special needs”?

Well, he’ll need to go to a speech therapist. Which other kids in his class will likely also need to do. 

He’ll likely need more redirection to stay on task during lessons and assignments. Which other kids in his class will also need. 

He’ll probably need help opening his milk carton at lunch. Which probably about half of the other kids in his class will need help with, too. 

He’ll need help tying his shoes if they come untied. Which, you guessed it! Most of the other kids in his class will need help with that, too. 

He’ll need love and patience and understanding from his teacher. Wait. So will every single one of his classmates. 

He’ll need opportunities to learn and practice social skills that will help him develop positive relationships with his peers. 

The majority of what Moses will need to be successful in the classroom are no different than most, if not all, of the other kids that will be in Kindergarten with him. Will he likely need some additional supports? Yes. But not to the extent that he’s out of the general education classroom more than he’s in it.

Some of you may be thinking to yourself, “But really what’s the big deal of saying ‘special needs’? It’s not offensive, right?”

No, it’s not necessarily offensive like the r-word is.

But it is a problem because it puts limitations on what individuals with disabilities have access to. It’s a problem because it implies that kids, or even adults, with a disability – say, Down syndrome – have needs that are so different or complicated that they should be kept separated from those with “normal” needs. 

The use of the term “special needs” tricks parents, teachers, administrators, and society into thinking that because of having a different level of ability and having to do some things differently or with support, it means that those kids aren’t able to be in the same classrooms as typically developing students. That they need to sit at a different table. That the bar for achievement should be set lower, if it’s even set at all. 

Moses doesn’t have special needs. 

He has the same human needs as every other human being on this planet. 

Again, yes, there are some areas, such as speech, that he needs extra support. Yes, there are some things that will take him longer to learn than others. 

However, none of those things are grounds for him to ever not have a seat in the classroom or at the table. He has so much to contribute to this world that I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the misconception that he has “special needs” ever be grounds for him being denied access to the spaces he has the right to occupy. 

When we stop using the phrase “special needs”, we are less likely to see people with disabilities as almost fundamentally different as human beings in some way. We will be less likely to use it as an excuse to exclude people with disabilities from spaces they have the right to occupy. We will stop faulting those with disabilities for not being “normal”. 

Perhaps those of us who are “normal” could do a better job of remembering that we have the ability and responsibility to respect that literally everyone is different in their own way and deserves to have their human needs met without question. Perhaps when we do that, the needs of those individuals with disabilities won’t seem that different at all. 

Friends and Buddies…Bro Dogs

I finally watched The Peanut Butter Falcon yesterday.  

If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a movie that features a young man with Down syndrome pursuing his dream of going to a wrestling school run by his favorite wrestler. And by pursuing, I mean running away from the retirement home he was confined to. 

Since it came out last summer, I had heard good things about the movie and how it promotes inclusion of people with Down syndrome. 

(In the educational world, inclusion is one of the current buzzwords. I really like this definition of inclusive mindset: “A non-judgmental belief that all individual experiences are valuable and are met with empathy, compassion and emotional intelligence.”) (https://images.app.goo.gl/5ypPJ96WrXCLWqcT8)

The thing that I absolutely loved about the movie was how Zak, the person with Down syndrome, was treated by Tyler, his travel companion. 

It was not what I expected. 

I figured it would be one of those stories in which the typically-developing person went through a personal transformation and changed his perception of people with Down syndrome by the end of the movie.

To my surprise, Tyler had an inclusive mindset. 

He treated Zak like a normal person from the get-go. 

Yes, he saw that Zak had Down syndrome. He also saw that he was alone. He literally had nothing other than his underwear and a goal. 

Tyler could empathize with that. He didn’t have anyone or much of anything, either.

He showed Zak compassion rather than pity or disdain. 

He showed emotional intelligence in that he developed a relationship with Zak for the person he is. He acknowledged Zak’s Down syndrome but it wasn’t what he focused on. 

One of my favorite lines in the movie was early on when Tyler told him,

“I ain’t doing no charity shit, it’s just on my way.”

(The Peanut Butter Falcon)

People with Down syndrome are not charity cases. They are not tickets to viral internet videos and 5-minutes of fame. They are not a means to help yourself feel good by befriending them. They are not accessories to invite to parties to boost your reputation as being “inclusive”. 

The relationship that developed between Zak and Tyler is what I pray for Moses to have in his life. 

That he has friends who want to hang out with him and include him because he’s an awesome, fun kid. Not because he has Down syndrome and they’re supposed to be nice to kids with disabilities. 

That he has friends who talk to him like a person. That they don’t dumb things down and insult his intelligence. That they don’t take advantage of the times when he doesn’t understand fully what they’re saying and mock him. 

I pray that he has relationships with people who love and care about him for who he is wholly. Not only because he has Down syndrome. 

I know it was a movie, but the relationship that Zak and Tyler had is what I want for Moses in real life. 

I pray that he finds his own  “…friends and buddies…bro dogs…” (The Peanut Butter Falcon)

The Peanut Butter Falcon. Directors Tyler Nilson and Michael Schwartz. 2019. Film.