Teachers Who Make a Difference

It's the last week of school in our district, and my own children have been through tremendous transitions this year.  In the hands of less capable educators, this week might have felt very different for us.  I have had school years as a mom -- and I'm sure you teachers and students have had them, too -- when you're just grateful the year is OVER.  Scrounging for a scrap of fabulous with which to redeem the missed opportunities can be emotionally exhausting.  But this year, I could fill a book with victorious vignettes.

I don't know how I didn't hear of it sooner, but the responsive poem by author-advocate Taylor Mali regarding "What Teachers Make" struck a chord deep in my heart when one of my daughter's classmates shared excerpts from it at their year-end celebration this week.  And as I wrote out individually the twenty (yes, when you have two kids with special needs, the numbers add up!) notes for teacher gifts, there was one in particular that got the waterworks going.

To understand why, I have to back up the timeline.  My son started high school this year, and at the new parent orientation the preceding winter, I was expecting to understand how my boy would fit into the school culture.  His autism and mental health challenges can be obstacles to social acceptance, but when the social emotional conditions are favorable in a school community, they generally are not immoveable barriers.  After that orientation, I left feeling as if students like my boy were either an afterthought or no consideration at all in the school culture.  There was plenty talk of AP courses and athletics, but very little about different abilities.  There was talk about embracing racial and socio-economic diversity, but none about neuro-diversity.

Contacts with key people at the school and district were promising, but everyone's busy.  And this isn't their mission.  But it is mine, as a parent-professional.  So I got busy.

This wasn't a year of jumping into the social emotional current with both feet.  It was a year of studying the river and dipping in toes.  It was a year of learning the landscape and befriending the natives.  And we found a tribe for my boy.

So the thank you note that I wrote to this teacher, as the advisor of my son's newfound tribe, was the one that made me cry.  Because, you see -- he helped create a community of acceptance for this one kid.  This one student who I thought might be forgotten.  Left out.  Not included.  But he was accepted and included.  And it makes a difference.  Forever.

I know the good administrators and educators like this one never stop thinking and planning.  So for all of you difference-makers out there, really consider this summer how you can be more inclusive of students with neurologically diverse experiences.  Because there are a lot more moms like me who love nothing more than a good end-of-the-school-year cry.

Talking TO our friends with autism

When you're a "neurotypical" person orbiting the autism universe, you have to keep some things in mind:

• You are more alike than different.
• Don't force your way in to their atmosphere.
• Time your entry well.
• Be respectful of their planet.  (You sure do expect them to be of yours!)
• There's nothing to fear here, but plenty to learn.  Be a careful observer.
• Know when it's time to leave.
• Make a report, and ask your people with autism to provide feedback on your observations.
• Plan frequent return visits, modifying your interactions based on information gathered.

"Grand Universe" ©2005-2014 ANTIFAN-REAL

(Caution: Do not overthink this metaphor.  I am not suggesting that people with typical neurology are human and those with autism are not.  I'm simply expanding the "Wrong Planet" concept.  I mean no offense or disrespect.)

As Good Friend co-founder and fellow autism mom Denise Schamens and I have expanded our observations of and interactions with this autism spectrum cosmos, we have gained a better understanding and appreciation for the wonder and beauty it holds.  One of the most revealing discoveries we made was while attending an AUTCOM (Autism National Committee) Conference in Milwaukee in 2010.  For the first time, we beheld live the power of those who type to speak.  Attending a panel presentation on public policy advocacy, we were surprised that most of the presenters used some form of Augmentative and Alternative Communication.  Though sometimes conveyed with great effort, their thoughts were so sophisticated.  I marveled as I observed the outward autistic symptoms of unrelated vocalizations or dysregulated movement, often while the advocate continued typing insightful feedback to questions posed.  I was at once exhilarated and ashamed.

I was ashamed because I had made assumptions about intelligence outside that room that were more likely than not untrue and harmful.  I based my assumptions on observations: slow (or no) speech, uncontrolled body movements, facial affect.  I realized after this panel presentation both how little I understood and how much more I wanted to.  My "a-ha" moment encouraged me to dig deeper and presume competence.  Talking to people with autism instead of about them or to their support person extends dignity.  Our words matter -- and so do theirs.

Seeing Wretches & Jabberers deepened my appreciation for the plight of Tracy Thresher and Larry Bissonnette and other people with communication and movement differences.  And I was encouraged to infuse this appreciation into Good Friend's staff and student trainings, as well as in my parenting of my two neurologically-diverse children.

What does that look like?  It's encouraging self-awareness in your student with autism; because in order to advocate for him- or herself, your student with autism needs to understand what he or she needs.  It's expanding your concept of communication; because for young students who haven't found their voice, you owe it to them to discover their other "tells".  It's being patient while they're learning and not rushing their communication attempts, or otherwise disrespecting or discounting their input.

What "a-ha" moments can you share with readers to be encouraging?