I think most people who know me know that I am a rule follower. A pragmatist. Which is good, mostly, because I work a lot in bureaucracies (like special education, school admissions) where your best bet is to step through the system. Know the law. Check the boxes. Smile. Be prepared. Make progress, step by step.
This is my 20th year in education. I know the systems - and I like to think I get things done. It might not be flashy or fast, but the work I do is thoughtful, complete, and responsive - to my families but also to the system. I explain what the system can and cannot do - or at least help families take note of when they are pushing the boundaries of a system.
I always thought this is what made me an effective advocate. The ability to tell people all the ways you can push on a system and how that may - or may not - work out for you. How much effort will one action mean for you? For your family? Your child? I help people weigh when to push on a system - and when to leave it alone for another day. This has always made sense to me.
I think what has not been sitting well with me recently, is that in order to navigate systems, I (obviously) participate in them. And to participate in them and get things done you have to keep your eye on the ball. That has meant that sometimes I have to ignore the snide remark of the behaviorist in order to focus on getting services for the child. That means I have to nod with understanding as a person explains why they are cutting speech and language services for a child who is years behind in order to wait for my moment to present clear data to show that support is necessary. I smile at the admissions person who asks for my help in placing a child because "we simply couldn't support him here". This means that I have to speak in a measured way in order build relationships, even with people that I don't respect. I do it to move processes forward for a child - and for other children down the road.
Its not them - I tell myself - it is the system. It is lack of money. It is systemic discrimination. Its lack of training. They are overburdened. And that is all true.
But today I have something to say. To private schools today. To public schools tomorrow. I can't be measured anymore. Sorry for the moments of all-caps in advance. This has been building up for a while.
Private schools: Here are some things that have been bugging me.
(1) Neurodiverse is not the new term to describe children who have been given a label around their learning. It isn't code for special needs. WE ARE ALL NEURODIVERSE. All the people. No one is "normal". No one would score at the middle of the bell curve on every test. That kid doesn't exist. We all have different ways of processing information, different speeds of learning, different interests, different ways we store information, different ways we show what we learn - everyone's brain has strengths and weaknesses. So when you tell me that you simply can't take another neurodiverse kid because you don't have "the resources" - you aren't being sensitive or PC. You are being ignorant.
Read a book.
(2) That family with a child with ADHD or that kid with anxiety? THOSE ARE YOUR CLIENTS. Their parents pay tuition. They volunteer. They support other families at your school going through an assessment or dealing with a unsupportive family member. That kid has a best friend at your school and helped that other student when they were scared the other day. They are your community. Don't you dare treat them as if they are screwing up your precious school with their presence. When you treat them as "less than" that is the experience they feel throughout time in dealing with educational settings. And whether you want to think about it or not, that experience translates over to the child.
(3) Admissions people: Be gracious. Be kind. Be inclusive. Do not turn up your nose at the family with an autistic child who showed up on your admissions tour who dared to ask how their son could be a part of your community. Or avert your gaze to go and talk to someone else once the family says the word ADHD. Those families are looking to you with hope in their hearts that the could find a small, inclusive community that would love their child. You don't have to accept them into your school - I get it. But at least be kind. Oh - and you could also be knowledgeable about where that family might go or where they can get support. But if you can't do that, kindness works.
(4) Heads of School: How dare you - how dare you - kick a child out of your school in October? You couldn't try for longer than four weeks? Children and families need you to try and to commit to doing the right thing. And then trying another thing. And then another thing. Because when you kick a child out of your school - especially in the middle of the school year - you damage them.
Yes. That is what I meant to say. YOU DAMAGE THEM. No child can think through what it means to be kicked out of school all of a sudden. To have a daily routine, relationships, and activities on Tuesday and nothing on Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday - from there on. The child's translation: I am so bad that not even my school wants me. I am so wrong that I can't be at the place that is supposed to love and accept everyone. I can't go to the place where every other child in the world is expected to go each day.
It is an experience that will impact them for the rest of their lives.
And guess what else? THIS IS THE BAY AREA. Everyone has jobs. That kid you just kicked out? He has to be cared for by someone full time until another plan can be established. You not only damaged the child, but you just took a crowbar to the knees to the family as well. Congrats.
Thanks. I feel a little better.
A little.
