I Am Happy To Be In Private Practice

"Sai"

My new business seems to be growing.  As an advocate/tutor I get to see schools from a different perspective than when I was in the classroom.  I see pretty much the same things, like noisy libraries, administrators denying services*, teachers so overworked they can't possibly attend to the accommodations in an IEP without spending lots of time at home on the phone with parents, and limited parking for guys like me that show up in the middle of the day.  I also see hard working teachers, competent office staffs, clean bathrooms and overworked librarians.  I can't tell you how nice it feels to walk into a school as an independent contractor who works for the student and not the school--I am stress free.  Sorry current classroom teachers.  I feel ya.

One of the things that I have noticed is how homework seems to provide me with clients.  What I mean is that a few of my students' parents hired me because of the homework wars they were experiencing with their kids at home.  These parents, who clearly have enough money to hire a person like me, have chosen not to become the enemy to their child, and have hired me to help with homework.  I am fine with it, because it pays the bills.  Hiring me also reduces stress in the family's home, and that can only be a good thing, too.

Homework is mostly busy-work, often difficult to decipher due to the 30th generation copy being given to the student, and it's usually a complete waste of time because kids race through it so they can get to the Xbox.  I am becoming more and more anti-homework.  My stance could cost me, of course, but I am not thinking of me, I am thinking of students and their families.

* In an IEP meeting for a high school student last year the district administrator, parents, educational therapist, psychologist, mentor, some other lady, and I were crammed in a little office to discuss the IEP.  One of the things we were/are trying to help the student with is autonomy (he has executive function issues, among others--a very bright kid though) and following through with assignments--turning them in, mostly.  During the meeting the district administrator discussed the fact that the student has 2 tutors, an ed therapist, and others who are paid by the district (I am paid for by the district) and it is expensive.  She said this to the student.  Most of us shot looks at each other wondering who was going to punch this idiot in the face for saying such a thing to the student.  We refrained, but over coffee later, we all realized we should have punched her.  One of the student's moms (he has 2) is a 4th degree black belt--she is a Sai (see photo) expert.  She looks like your little Italian grandmother, but she can kill you in 2 seconds with just her thumb.  And her partner, who looks like your little Jewish grandmother, is a brown belt.  They showed such restraint!

This interaction with a district administrator is not typical, but the sentiment overrides everything.  School districts have NO money for kids who need/deserve services.  They are literally short-changed and short-changing kids as a result.  Parents have to hire a guy like me just to make sure the school takes their request for a meeting seriously, especially if the student has a diagnosis that falls under section 504.  School administrators must get trained in how to avoid classifying students as falling under section 504.

This is what needs to get reformed--how we deal with the neediest among us.  How we deal with our neediest brothers and sisters will determine or worth as human beings.

Spectrum Humor

From McSweeney's:

AN OPEN LETTER TO ANYONE WHO HAS EXPERIENCED MY SON'S MELTDOWNS.

BY KATIE SCHNEIDER


Dear [Family Member/Friend/Relative Stranger/Jackass],

I'm sorry my nine-year-old son disrupted your...
a) beach vacation.
b) trip to the grocery store.
c) soccer game.
d) appointment with Doctor Vestergaard.

As you may/may not know, my son has Asperger's Syndrome. It is a form of autism which impacts...
a) how he communicates.
b) his gross motor skills.
c) his fine motor skills
d) his sense of smell, taste, and hearing.
e) his ability to learn from his mistakes.
f) all of the above.

I'm sure you noticed one or more of these when he started screaming during the...
a) outdoor wedding.
b) estranged uncle's funeral.
c) family photo shoot.
d) Yom Kippur service.

I can tell from your comments that you think I'm...
a) too strict.
b) too smothering.
c) too permissive.
d) not spanking enough.

In the heat of the moment, though, it was hard to hear your...
a) self-serving psycho babble.
b) succinct analysis of my flaws.
c) concerns about the state of my [marriage/mental health/recent weight gain, etc.].

Incidents of the type you witnessed used to happen in our family about twice a week. This is why we now employ the services of (including, but not limited to)...
a) a specialist in pediatric neurological development.
b) a speech-language pathologist.
c) a special education teacher.
d) an occupational therapist (who in addition to weekly appointments currently has us brushing his arms, legs and torso 5 times/day).

We have learned that his crying and wailing can be due to...
a) over-stimulation.
b) under-stimulation.
c) sibling rivalry.
d) anxiety.
e) who the hell knows.

In addition to your event, he has stormed out of...
a) Tryon State Park's wilderness camp.
b) Congregation Shir Tikvah's religious school.
c) ACCESS Academy (an alternative program for highly gifted youth).
d) all of the above.

For the record, he never stormed out of religious school. He put himself in the corner when he grew scared and overwhelmed. The teacher had to come and find me because he was starting to bang his head against the wall in front of eight other children.

We no longer take him to...
a) movies (too loud).
b) sports practices (he can't keep up with other kids).
c) hiking (when he stops halfway through we can't get him back to the trailhead).

I'm sorry he turned down your offer of...
a) yogurt.
b) hot cereal.
c) crackers (except Goldfish).
d) cheese (except on pizza).
e) salad with dressing (except Ranch).
f) cooked vegetables (except broccoli).
g) parsley, cucumbers, tomatoes, salsa, or avocados.

He won't eat them at home either. He used to adore canned pineapple and peaches, peanut butter sandwiches, and tuna fish. Not anymore. There was one brand of tomato soup that he loved, but I can't figure out which one it was.

In the [days/months/years] since his diagnosis and the [years/decades/lifetimes] before that, I have been trying to figure out my beloved child. Things have definitely improved, due to...
a) medications (they may cause permanent metabolic damage, but lessen the temper tantrums).
b) a change in our expectations (if he needs help putting on underwear, I'm going to goddamn dress him).
c) what I hope (keep your fingers crossed) may be maturation and growth in the structure of his brain.

Unfortunately, he is still largely unable to...
a) make eye contact.
b) understand that others have feelings.
c) plan ahead.
d) do schoolwork on his own.
f) stop smearing his fingers compulsively in the mashed potatoes and gravy on his dinner plate.
e) refrain from blurting out every random thought he has about Super Mario Brothers.

So forgive me if I seem...
a) bitter.
b) frightened for his future.
c) exhausted.

It's only because I am.

a) Yours truly,
b) Love,
c) So screw you and your ill-informed advice,

Katie Schneider

"He Is Not Normal"

Full inclusion requires that people actually practice the tolerance they preach:

Walking the Plank

This morning, when J took our boy onto the school yard for morning lineup, he noticed the other kindergartners pointing. He heard them talking about the Rooster as they entered campus. "He is not normal," they said. J held Roo's hand and approached the group, who continued to point and talk animatedly about our boy. "He is not a normal human being," a little girl said, "he spits." Another boy in the throng didn't like my husband telling the kids to back down, telling them to not say that any more. "He is not normal," the boy said, turning his back on my husband and my Roo.

Around 1:15, J called me. He told me what happened, how my son began his Monday morning after our first decent weekend in months. He told me my son did not even react, he simply held firmly to J's hand. "Why did you wait so long to tell me this?" I shouted, looking at the clock, torn between listening further and racing to call the principal before the school day ended. "That was 5 hours ago!" And then my resilient husband's voice broke.

I'm the kind of girl who compulsively asks people, "Are you okay?" I have asked J about a dozen times a day for a decade. It's a reflex; he gives the same honest answer every time except for today. Today he said, "No."

The teachers tell us this: It does not begin with the children. It comes from the parents. Parents who worry that No Child Left Behind means All Kids Left Behind, and think my son will keep their kids from a good education. Parents who know little or nothing about autism. Parents who think inclusion is like a tax they don't want to pay, a charity they don't wish to bestow. Parents who think "those kids" like mine should be in "other" places.

I have to end this post now even though I have so much more to say. I have 20 pirate birthday party invitations to fill out, address, and stuff with treasure maps to our house. I have 20 children to kill with kindness. I have almost 40 parents to think about, long and hard, so I can remember my empathy, my compassion. I have toy eye patches and other booty to buy for a six-year-old Matey who is very much a normal human being, a normal human being who has what is becoming an all too normal challenge: intolerance and discrimination because of his autism.

I have some experience with this kind of intolerance. Schools are not built (but could and should be) to deal with full inclusion. Most parents of autistic kids either get lucky and get a teacher who cares enough to do what's necessary, or end up spending time with their kid in school to make sure things go well. It's a sad commentary on the state of public schools and speaks volumes about how we treat kids generally.