PJ Media

Hi Robert,

I found your essay through a link on Speak Softly, my long time friend Vick Forman’s blog. I am not a parent of a child with special needs, but I am a parent with special needs with a “neurotypical” son, now grown. I have mild cerebral palsy which affects the right side of my body and balance and coordination, and for the last 12 years I have also lived with MS. I am 51. Your thoughts about those who wish to “sanitize” school so only “neurotypical” kids attend reminded me of a valuable memory I have of my own experience with inclusion, long ago in kindergarten, and it was one of those moments which made all the difference in an otherwise constant, as you say, battle. In my kindergarten classroom, someone pulled the chair out from under me as I was about to sit down in it, and landed hard on my tailbone on the hard floor and burst into tears, physically hurt and emotionally humiliated. My teacher, Mrs, Jagla, after sternly admonishing the child who pulled the chair, and comforting me, saw this as a teaching moment for the whole class. Once tears were dried and we were all seated in circle, she asked the whole group why it isn’t a good idea to pull the chair out from under someone. I think someone said “because you could break someone’s leg.” Then someone said, “Well, isn’t her leg already broken?” She was able to correct that, and it also allowed her to ask me if I would like to answer that as well, and talk about my brace and why I wore it. The upshot of this experience was that the same boy who pulled the chair out from under me, escorted me home and became my friend and protector. I’ll never forget what it felt like to have that fog of fear lift from the group as they got to ask me questions, and I got to explain how things really were, at least as I understood them. I still get tears in my eyes even now to think of it. Of course all my school years were not like that, and even now, I note people-and their “neurotypical?” children giving me long, uncomfortable stares as I walk by them with the walking stick I must now use, although the leg brace is now gone. In fact, now I consider it one of those unlikely spiritual gifts that now when that happens I can look at them and feel pity or compassion for them that even a little difference like a walking stick can make them so afraid, and that these parents who stare are teaching their kids to stare, too. Of course, it’s not everyone. Both my son and I have had many positive experiences knowing and/or working with families who have kids-and adults– with special needs in our lives. Without those, where would there ever be an opportunity for people to learn otherwise if those of us who are “different” are separated from those of us who are not? So bravo for inclusion in all its forms, even with all its imperfections, since it may, after all, be Schyler, swimming in that mainstream, who, just by being herself, is doing some pretty powerful teaching in her own right.

All the best to you and your family.