day 2

Day two of writing begins with a story of blissful sleep. I can't remember the last time I slept as well as I did last night. Even after watching a scary movie called "Insidious," which left me genuinely chilled, I slept soundly. So soundly that I woke up to my alarm and turned it off, thinking I'll just close my eyes for a few more minutes and hold Alicia close to my body then get up and start the day. I woke up at 7:40 which is what time I normally leave for work. I got dressed and Alicia helped me make breakfast and get out the door in record time.

The only reason I need to get to work exactly on time is to be there when one of my students gets off the bus. It's our daily routine and, although I'm confident he could make it to the classroom on his own, I need to be there, if only to keep appearances with the administration. Strangely, when I pulled onto Orange Avenue on a red light right turn, I almost hit a purple Scion, the same car that Alicia drives. I was listening to Panda Bear which makes for good chill out music and reminds me of living in Germany and coming home to visit for Christmas. It does not necessarily make for good driving music. It's strange how when following your own routine, others seem to fit in with that routine. I see the same handicapped bus pulling onto Elm about the same time as me. I often see a purple Chevy Nova in Vinton. There's also a tall black man walking an Irish Setter near Fallon Park Elementary every morning. The same people doing the same thing at the same time every morning.

I drank my hazelnut coffee and everything seemed to be better. I would get to work. I would feel greasy all day having not showered, but at least I wouldn't have dog vomit on my pants like I did the day before. I got to work at a little past eight and stood at the bus drop off to wait for the student. His bus was late. Really late. All of that rushing and stress for nothing. Working in Special Ed can be rewarding, but can also be incredibly frustrating and boring. The students need so much more time to do anything you want them to, and you often have to keep reminding yourself to not give up. You have to remember that there is a point to what you are doing, even though at the end of the day, it may not make a difference. They'll never be able to tell their parents what they learned or did that day. The most important part of their education is that they show up everyday. Do they make progress? Do they learn new things? It's almost impossible to tell. Some things they were able to do one day are completely absent a week later. Their behavior is erratic and unpredictable. And sometimes it feels like us teachers lie to ourselves. We tell ourselves that we are in control and that our words make an impact, but they are immune to consequence, impulse control or deeper emotions like shame and embarassment.

An opportunity came up in the form of a homebound instructor position. I jumped on it as soon as I saw the e-mail. Working with a fifth grade student at home for four hours a week. Actual teaching, actual instruction, actual conversation with a cognitive student. I miss working with regular ed students. I've been away from it for so long that sometimes I feel like a special ed student. Unable to effectively communicate, struggling to make connections with peers and forgetting what I have learned from day to day. Special ed students and teachers are the ignored, the overlooked, the pitied. I can relate to our students in so many ways. I don't pity them anymore. I relate to their isolation and I am often jealous of their blissfull ignorance. Their problems are miniscule, they smile more and get high on the little joys that life can offer. While I feel guilty for my idolatry, they seem revel in sitting in one place without concern or awareness of anything other than the present.

I do pity their parents who have to live with the impending reality of their graduation from high school at the age of 21, at which time, the duties of the state to care for them, to look after them 8 hours a day and to feed them 2 meals a day will be lifted and the burden, financially and otherwise will lay solely on them. They may pass them on to a live-in care facility, but then the financial burden becomes frighteningly high. They will never be able to live on their own or take care of themselves. Their parents will die, but the burden of their children will carry on for years after.

Alicia once told me that she won't feel ready to have children until she knows that she could love and care for a special needs child. It's a frightening thought at any age. Is anyone ever ready?