Re-Write of Opinion Paper

HED: Grab Bag Classrooms

DEK: How Special Education Isn’t Working

BYLINE: Emily Brammer

WORD COUNT: 586

COPY: I am one of three C.S.S. (autism spectrum) aides at an elementary school. We have eight kids that have little to nothing in common, dubbing us a “grab bag” classroom. This means that the kids don’t match educationally, emotionally, mentally, physically, physiologically, intellectually or socially.

This is a story about Troy. He’s one of my special friends, a first-grader that fits into the three core symptoms of autism (Communication, Sensory and Social skills), so he belongs in our classroom. He is six years old and is technically in first grade; however, he can do math at a second to third grade level and read better than most fourth graders. He has excellent communication and written skills and will remember anything he ever hears from anyone. He is autistic, so a lot of his time is spent in an imaginary world made up of Cartoon Network characters. With the gentle coercion of his teachers, Troy can work at any pace you set him to. He’s probably more intellectually brilliant than all of the kids at my school combined, but no one besides his dad and his teachers may ever figure this out. I wonder why.

The “lowest” kid in our class can barely feed himself, the “highest” kid is Troy, and all of the other rugrats vary heavily between throwing violent temper tantrums and eating anything that they can hold. If a child falls into just two of the various areas of CSS or the autism spectrum, they are dropped into our room. Via the “No Child Left Behind” abomination and the IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act), each child must be given individual education programs (IEPs) in the least restrictive environment possible.

Wait. Four teachers and eight kids. That should work, right? In a big, beautiful theoretical world, it would. We would write yearly goals and curricula for each kid, adjust them accordingly throughout the months and shuffle the darlings off to regular education next fall because of their astounding improvements. Except, in this world I spent today keeping the two six-year-olds from hurting each other or themselves because I can’t understand that their far-off mumbling means that they’re not in the mood to learn. And, because we are the teachers that refuse to give become babysitters, we hide the movies and struggle day in and out with these sweet little devils. If all Jack learns is to how to wait in line for his lunch—success. Greg can finally tell me when he needs to pee? Score. Take note: we are not holding them to the low standards that Bush wanted us to so that we could shuttle these kids to the next grade. Any small advancement will exponentially improve the quality of their lives.

But, what happened to Troy? During the skirmish of our guerilla teaching, he sucked further into his imaginative mind. We left him alone because we never had any behavioral problems with him. What did he learn today? It seems ridiculous to claim that only Troy belongs in our classroom (as it was intended), but he’s the only one who truly fits the bill. All of these children deserve an education, but none of them belong in a classroom together. And, in this scenario, where the placement of children is based on equality laws and a system of diagnostics that doesn’t different behaviors within a single disability, the child with the largest capacity to learn and be integrated into regular education is the child that will—thanks, Bush—be left behind.