School Update: AS, Academics, and Advocacy

I can't believe that the Boychick's first semester in high school is almost over!
When did December sneak up on us?

Since we are almost to the halfway point of the Boychick's freshman year at EMHS, I think it's a good time to post a school update. (I meant to do so at the quarter, but we were in the middle of the High Holy Days).

This semester has been one of adjustments, testing, social triumphs and tragedies, and learning.
It has been a good semester!

That the Boychick is an Aspie has definitely had an impact, more so now that he is in school.
Although I did a lot of teaching of strategies to compensate academically during our homeschooling days, some of the sensory and social issues were more easily dealt with at home, and some did not rear their pointy little heads.

Now that he is in school, the Boychick has had to deal with being overwhelmed by sensory stimuli and emotional drama--his own and that of others. In some cases he has shut down, and in others, he has become hyperkinetic and contributed to the overall problem in the classroom. He has a skilled special education teacher to whom he can go when he needs help coping. Just today, for example, he left his Humanities homework on his desk in his room. He had worked on it with a friend last night, as was proud that he had completed it without Mom's help or reminding. But then he forgot to put it into his backpack.
So he called, sounding wrung-out and near tears to tell me to bring it with me when I came over to the school. I teach on Tuesday afternoon there.
He told me exactly what to bring and where to find it on his desk.
Bless his pointy little Aspie head! His visual memory is very exact!


When I arrived at school for my weekly volunteer duty (I teach a writing workshop for 6 special education students), the Boychick was in the Resource room. I was surprised to see him, since he is not in the group I teach. I said: "You are the luckiest boy in the world! You forgot your homework for the first time on a Tuesday."
He seemed better then, and took it immediately to his Humanities teacher.
Later, Ms. R., the special education teacher told me that the Humanities teacher did not believe that he had done it. This upset the Boychick, and he shut down and had to go sit in the Resource room to clear his head.

The case of his math class was more difficult. There, he was placed in a class composed of boys with a new albeit very enthusiastic teacher. In the first weeks of school, this group developed a synergy that made them one of those proverbial classes from hell. The problem for the Boychick is that he is very distractible and has great difficulty focusing on his work in a relatively quiet classroom; the drama of this class meant he was not learning.
But the Boychick is perseverative, and easily influenced by others. So he would pick up the pencil tapping or whatever and then continue it long after the others had gotten tired of it.
We have been working with the Boychick on understanding this about himself and developing strategies to cope and prevent the perseverations.

Finally, the day one of the other boys spilled iced tea all over the Boychick's homework, the Boychick had enough.
He got up. He wrung his papers out in the sink.
He put them on the corner of the teacher's desk.
And he left the room.
Permanently.
He told the Educational Assistant that he was not going back there.
Period.
The math teacher invited him for a conference, and the Boychick stuck to his decision.
But he also explained to her why he could not learn in that environment.
They switched his schedule and moved him to another group for math.
Problem solved.
The Engineering Geek and I, Ms. R., the EA, the social worker and the dean of freshman, were all overjoyed at his self-advocacy! This is a giant step towards self-understanding and independence.

There have been other social challenges: dealing with bullies, other freshman boys, upper-classmen. And girls. Oy! But he is finding his way and even met a girl at the Homecoming dance.

Academically, there have been challenges as well.
We told the Boychick that we were not concerned about grade percentages this year, as long as he is passing his courses. He needs to maintain at least a 70% in each class to pass. Otherwise . . . Dum, da dum dah! . . . it's credit recovery a.k.a summer school.
There is also homework every night, major projects and high expectations for performance.

This has been difficult for the Boychick.
This fall, he was re-evaluated for Special Education, and the testing shows why he has difficulty. Once again, no valid IQ score could be calculated.
He had the classic Asperger pattern: very high verbal comprehension (does not require language pragmatics), very high perceptual organization (requires good visual-spatial skills); very low working memory (requires auditory input), very low processing speed.
In the academic testing, he shows large discrepancies between his potential and performance in math calculation (it's the working memory and processing speed), as well as in writing organization and mechanics. He has auditory processing deficits, and considerable visual strengths.

I do expect that we can improve working memory, but only marginally, if we have passed the known critical period of development. We will need to work with him on organizational skills, as well as on compensatory strategies for his deficits.
He also needs to be challenged in his areas of considerable strength.
Like reading: I am so glad that he is a reader!
The IEP will have social and transition (to adulthood) goals as well.

Sigh. I had really thought that we might not need the IEP given the great progress the Boychick made while homeschooling. But because of his social deficits and mind-blindness, as well as his considerable difficulties with auditory processing, he needs interventions to even out his skills and succeed academically in the school setting. He also needs accommodations such as extra time on written assignments, small-group testing, written instructions, and the use of a calculator for speed work in math.

Overall, though, I appreciate that the Boychick's considerable intelligence makes it much easier to compensate for and circumvent his considerable learning disabilities.
The same is true for the social-communication disability which is at the heart of AS.
Cognitive methods can be used to teach social skills and language pragmatics because the Boychick is smart enough to use them.

The Boychick can have a good and productive life.
His considerable intellectual skills may even make it a spectacularly successful life.
But he (and we) will have to work much harder to make it so.

Fortunately, I think we up to the challenge.

Accessing the Real "Real World": Homeschooling and the Special Education Child

Lately, as I have said, I've been thinking about certain issues in Special Education.




I have also been reading. Of course, I have been reading papers and books related to my courses, But I also picked up this book at the library.
It is The Well-Adjusted Child: The Social Benefits of Homeschooling by Rachel Gathercole. I highly recommend it to homeschoolers, particularly those who have confronted the dreaded "S" question from concerned friends and relatives, as well as curious or even hostile strangers. Gathercole puts a lot of these kinds of questions and objections in perspective.



As I was reading this book--in my spare time, as it were--I came across a section that brought another perspective on the issue of the special education child, one that also gelled some ill-formed thoughts that I had about the full inclusion ideology and some of the other assertions that go with it. One of these assertions is that there is really no such thing as disability. From the perspective of the Constructionists, Deconstructionists, and Postmodernists on the left in education, disability is socially constructed and therefore it can be 'deconstructed'--it can be made 'not real' because there is no objective reality to it.



In the midst of all my musing about this really amazing assertion--and it is amazing because the Postmodernists in Special Education are thus hell-bent on 'deconstructing' their own field--I was reading the Gathercole book and in a chapter called 'Independence and Strong Family Relationships,' I came across a section on the gifted or special needs child. Gathercole says:



"If labels ("problem," "gifted," "hyperactive," and the list goes on) were removed, many of these children would be described as bored, different, intelligent, creative, underappreciated, unsuited to the classroom environment, energetic, misunderstood, spirited, and so forth." (p. 93).



And I wondered, does Gathercole mean that mild to moderate disabilities and/or enhanced abilities (giftedness) do not really exist? Or are they a by-product of "the unnaturally restrictive and conformity-oriented setting of school" (p. 94)? Gathercole does not discuss this question. In fact, the question probably did not occur to her. Her point is that these children tend to do better when they are educated one-on-one by someone wholly invested in their development i.e. a parent.



As the parent of a child with disabilities, a child who has Aspergers Syndrome comorbid with Anxiety Disorder, and who has been schooled and is now being homeschooled, I have experience and perspective to comment on these questions. That "unnaturally restrictive and conformity-oriented setting" that is school was very hard on N. because of his disabilities. The constant interruptions, the noise, the pushing, the rudeness of some teachers towards him and others, the light, the stress of the hurry-up-and-wait, the endless homework, the regimentation,...need I go on? ...all of these things and more only served to increase his anxiety, his tics, and his sensory sensitivities. And the conformity...the expectation of conformity...the idea that everyone at a certain age should be able to do certain things and not do others...this created situations in which N. was punished for his disabilities. And his giftedness, which is quite pronounced, was not recognized or engaged. His interests, his passions, his ability to hyper-focus were, with a very few exceptions, not used as a starting point to scaffold to more learning for him.



Gathercole says: "Often "problem" behaviors disappear just by removing the child from school." (p. 94). And we found this to be true for some of N.'s behaviors. But of course the underlying special needs did not disappear. Rather, we saw an improvement in mood and anxiety, tics and sensory sensitivities because we were able to meet his need for order, quiet, frequent physical exercise, frequent small snacks, and fewer and well-planned transitions. The stress of the overwhelming social demands was removed because we separated his social contact times from the times he was expected to be focusing and concentrating on academic learning. This recognition of what Tony Attwood, a world-renowned expert on AS, calls the parallel curriculum, has done wonders for N.'s ability to engage socially. (What Attwood means is that in school, the kids are really learning on two tracks at once--the social and the academic--and due to the large numbers and rigid age-expectations, these tracks are stressful even for kids without disabilities. They are often a nightmare for kids who have significant neurological impairments).



Now, I have been told that by doing this, I am not preparing N. for the "real world." At first this objection from well-meaning, and not-so-well-meaning people confused me. I have since learned to ask them what they mean by the "real world." Adults who have the freedom to do so, naturally separate their social events from work, and work from study and introspection. They choose the timing and intensity of social interactions, alone-time, and time spent with family in intimate settings. They are not left to deal with bullying in "zero-tolerance" settings, nor are they blamed as a participant if they are the victim of an assault.



School children often do not have the luxury of these kinds of choices. They must deal with playground bullies on their own, and can be labeled as the "tattle-tale" or the "troublemaker" if they attempt to enlist adult help. In "zero-tolerance" settings, they can be blamed for being assaulted, defending themselves, or even being an innocent bystander in a situation they cannot escape. And woe to the child who has a neurological disability in such a not-the-real-world setting. My child, for example, "included" in a large, visually busy third-grade classroom, expect to conform to a narrow set of norms, was targeted by the teacher and then by certain students for bullying and humiliation. And there was no escape.



This is far from an isolated situation. Unfortunately. Several studies have shown that general education teachers feel unprepared to deal with special education needs and meet the every-narrowing standards required by NCLB. The "support" promised from special education teachers now in consultative role is either scattered due to large case-loads, or not sufficiently targeted because the support is ephemeral. Special education students in these settings are not receiving the focused, relentless direct instruction that the research shows is effective in developing their academic skills. And the special education students themselves perceive that they are a burden in the classroom, and they prefer being in a smaller, more specialized setting in order to get the leg-up they need in accessing the general curriculum. (The sources for this information can be found in Kavale and Mostert, 2004, The Positive Side of Special Education: Minimizing Its Fads, Fancies and Follies, Chapter 8: 'Ideology and Special Education').



And homeschooled special education kids? What is their experience with "the real world?" Like adults, when they are given the freedom to do so, they learn to regulate the time and intensity of social contacts so that they fit their unique needs. They learn to balance their social needs with their needs for alone-time, study and introspection. They have constant support and modeling from their parents and families when learning to deal with difficult people and situations. They receive the targeted, relentless direct instruction they need, one-on-one, and delivered by those who has the greatest interest of all in their development and future prospects, their parents. And they are out in the real "real world" all the time, interacting with people of different ages, learning from a wide variety of people in many different situations, all with the support of the people who care about them the most.



And in this real "real world," we just might see that there is more to the disability than the problem behaviors. Gathercole again:
"...these "different" children especially benefit from being in a more individualized environment with a caring individual who is genuinely interesting and invested in (their) well being and... individuality. Such a person can come to recognize...the challenges as the gifts they are so that the child may learn to use the gifts behind each challenge in a positive manner. When a parent can take the time to discover and understand these gifts, he has done the child a priceless service that will fortify (the child) for the rest of his life." (p. 93).



Yes, the disabilities are real. They pose significant challenges for special needs children and those that love them. But when the environment is changed to one more conducive for their learning and growth, behaviors become less difficult and easier to shape. Out here in the real "real world" of family and community and relationships, where authority is earned and the real differences between children are respected, the disability still exists, and still needs support, but we also find, as Gathercole says, that these special needs kids, "viewed as problem children in school, show themselves to be extremely creative, persistent, intelligent, and passionate when removed..." (p. 94).



My response to the "real world" objection has become another question: What "real world" do I choose for my own precious child? Personally, I choose the real "real world."

A FAT City Moment: Auditory Processing and Wait Time

Many of us know smart kids who believe that they are stupid. Dumb. Losers.
Some of them are the kind of kids that you just know have more than two brain cells to rub together, but the grades, the schoolwork, and the homework just doesn't reflect what we know is there. For those who have always done well in school, it is hard to imagine what might be going on with these kids, and they get 'teacher's lounge' diagnoses.

You know what they are: lazy, oppositional, a problem child, gorked, and, of course, BAD PARENTING.

It's hard to look at perfectly normal looking kid who is not succeeding and imagine that the problem may be organic rather than moral. It's harder for someone to put themselves in the shoes of such a 'normal' child than it would be for, say someone in a wheelchair. You know, somebody who looks the part, so to speak, when it comes to having a disability.
And sometimes, it's even difficult for us--the parents--who know full well what the problems are to walk a mile in our LD or AS or AD/HD kiddo's shoes.

I had one of those experiences today.
I do not normally think of myself as having a learning disability. After all, I am an academic, I learn fast and do well on tests. But I do have problems with word finding and auditory processing. It is not usually a problem--if I have time to think.

Today it was a problem.
I had a mouse brain anatomy test.
For tests on our human brains, we would go into the lab,and using real brains that we had dissected, we have gone from station to station and looked at where the pin was located in a brain, and named the structure. No problem. If I was stuck, I just went back to the station later. We could spend some time looking at the structure and thinking about it, and if I was having word finding problems, I could think until the word came to me.

Today, the test was different. We never dissected a mouse brain. We used pictures of sections to study. We were not given the names of the structures on the pictures, we had to go on the internet and find the list of structures. But I think I could have compensated for that. What killed my A in the class was the format of the test.

We gathered in the classroom. We were handed a sheet with numbers and blanks. A slide was flashed up on the whiteboard and the professor used a laser pointer to point to the structure in question. She's say something like: "What is this tract here?" Then, after about 15 seconds, it was on to the next slide.

Since I am slow at handwriting, I often could not even write down the whole name of the structure before we went on to the next one.
And when I could not immediately retrieve the word, I was, as we used to say, SOL.
I knew that structure she was pointing to, and that one, too! But the words were not coming fast enough to me. Soon I was getting the lines that I had skipped mixed up, and then I couldn't hear anything at all.
Then she had us exchange papers to grade them.
Boy, did I feel stupid.

Now fortunately, at my age, I understand that one grade in one class is not the most important thing in the universe. In fact, it is not even that important in my life, one of several billion human lives on a small planet a third of the way out in the arm of a rather commonplace galaxy.
And I have a lot of evidence that I am, despite my performance today, a reasonably intelligent person.

But imagine having such experiences day after day.
Imagine having them and being told that grades are the most important thing your life right now. Imagine being told that your scores on high-stakes tests show that you are stupid.
I can imagine beginning to believe that the ubiquitous "they" who says all of these things are right. I can imagine that such kids would easily come to believe every teacher's lounge label that is put on them.

Every now and then, we all need to have experiences to remind us of what some kids go through every day of their school lives.
Smart kids. But they are kids who, with whatever other IDEA label they might carry, have problems with auditory processing and working memory.

For these kids, a couple of very easy interventions would make a world of difference. One is to structure tests so that the auditory working memory component does not mask their knowledge. In other words, avoid oral tests.
The other is really simple and yet universally ignored.

Wait time. If you ask a question or do a quick verbal check to see if students "got it" during a lesson, wait a long time--at least a minute, and sometimes more depending on the complexity of the problem, and do not let anyone answer in that time.

I knew that the first structure was the nucleus accumbens, and in a less stressful, less auditorily focused situation--one in which the wait time was long enough, I would have gotten it. I just needed time.
But as the test went on and I became more and more stressed, I began to get more and more questions wrong. I could retrieve fewer and fewer words.
What was being tested was not my knowledge of mouse brain anatomy.
What was being tested was whether or not I have a learning disabiltiy.

For me, it is not a big deal. I have plenty of academic success to buffer the blow. I am at a point where I can shrug my shoulders and move on, because I know that I know the mouse brain anatomy.

But for a child who experiences these failures over and over again, and who is told that grades will determine his whole future, this experience can be devastating.

It is important for me to walk a mile in the LD shoes now and then.
In fact, it is important for all teachers to do so.
This is why going to a FAT City workshop can be helpful. Richard LaVoie, the one who facilitates them, simulates what it is like to have a learning disability. He is so good that he actually gets grown men and women to throw papers and books on the floor and have temper tantrums. And then they get it.

They say: "This is what my students are going through."

My FAT City moment today reminded me of why I took N. out of school altogether.
And it reminded me that I, too, need to continue to walk a mile in his shoes. Because I get impatient with his auditory processing probems sometimes, too.
Sometimes I cannot help but compare him to the other kids I read about on the homeschool blogs.

And today I got a healthy reminder that he knows a lot. But he shows me what he knows differently.
The point is that he knows it, not how he shows it.

NOTE: I edited this blog because I spelled FAT City as FATT City. So much for my spelling ability! Richard LaVoie's video about his FAT City workshops is entitled: F.A.T. City: How Hard Can This Be? F.A.T. stands for 'frustration, anxiety, and tension.' I just wanted to add 'tired' to the mix.

Residual Anger

A rant!



I have been meaning to write on this topic for some time, but life has gotten in the way.



A few weeks ago, the lawyer for special education at our local school district gave a presentation in my Special Education law class. He talked about how to have your ducks in a row as a teacher so that parent due process hearings are decided in the district's favor. What he did not talk about was what happens to the child when parents lose the due process hearing, or the extremity of the difficulties that would lead a parent to actually go to court with the school district in the first place.



Background:

Our local school district is not particularly respected in our area. It is too big and does not handle money well. The latest issue is that money that was supposed to go to teachers and classrooms went to remodel a fairly new building the district bought--in order to provide posh executive bathrooms. (In the school I taught at, the teachers sometimes had to provide toilet paper for the staff and kids). Somehow, they could never get one of the john's working, so that many teachers had to go well past 4 hours without a chance to use the bathroom.



Another problem with the size is that the middle management does not listen to parents and the tax-paying public very well. One community activist in an area where the children were not learning to read finally told me that she was giving up. She said the middle-management would have to die off before effective change could be made. She ended up starting a charter school when the charter school bill was passed.



This is not to say that there are not good and caring teachers and principals--and even staff at the district office. But the problem with a system like this, is that the needs of the system become paramount over the original purpose for it, so that the good done by well-intentioned people is overshadowed.

End of Background



Anyway, back to the lawyer guy.

I asked a simple question. I asked if the district actually has a policy that says that a child may not be moved from one classroom to another for any reason. This is what I had been told when my son was in third grade. We had just moved into this school district from another, smaller and more responsive district. My son was an identified child with a disability, qualifying under IDEA for Speech Language Impairment. (we had recently learned that my son has AS, but in discussing eligibility with his neurologist, we all determined that SLI was a good eligibility for him until he was up for review in another year). I hand carried a copy of the IEP since I didn't want to risk waiting for the slow-turning of the beauracratic wheels. The head teacher duly called an IEP meeting. I went rather casually, because in the former district the goal was to work together to meet the needs of the child and I was regarded as another professional. At this first meeting, I was told by his teacher ( called Miss Snip to protect the guilty) that I really did not know my child, that she could do everything he needed and that the goal was to exit him from special education as soon as possible. (Miss Snip had known my son all of three weeks). I was not impressed. I provided the diagnostic information from N.'s neurologist, as well as the recommendations for his education. At the other school district he had been provided with Speech and Language services to deal with language pragmatics as well as with Occupational Therapy to deal with the physical difficulties he had with writing and with his extreme sensory integration dysfunction.



This teacher claimed he could write (true--but he was very slow and his hand tired easily) and that his sensitivities were due to poor parenting. The meeting became very adversarial--after all who was this little snippy girl who had known my son for three weeks to make these outrageous claims? Naturally, I was more diplomatic in my vocal response, but that's what I was thinking. We hammered out an IEP, finally, that included the clause that N. was not to be deprived of recess if he did not complete written work or for disciplinary reasons. Miss Snip did not like that at all! But she got her way on the matter of testing--he was to be tested in a large group instead of the small group that his previous teachers and therapists recommended. (Later, when he doodled a pattern into the bubbles of his answer sheet in the NCLB mandated testing she had reason to be sorry. After all, those tests were not about N,--they were about her (in)competence).



When I got home, I shared with N. what the accomodations on his IEP were so that he could advocate for himself. (I have always had an honesty policy with my kids about anything related to health or school). About two weeks later, I got a call from N.'s teacher. (I was teaching at a private school at the time, and my principal courteously took my class so I could respond. She thought the person on the other end sounded a wee bit upset). I picked up the phone to hear Miss Snip yell: HOW DARE YOU TELL N. WHAT IS ON HIS IEP! (Note: Actually, according to the federal IDEA legislation, the child is supposed to be a member of the IEP team unless there is an educational reason why that should not be so). She went on to say that she kept him in for recess because he had not finished a worksheet and a writing assignment and that he told her she couldn't do that because it was on his IEP. She accused me of damaging my child by even telling him that he had an IEP and that it embarrassed him in front of the other kids. (I guess she didn't read the material I gave her about AS). I mentioned that the IEP is a legal document that must be followed according to federal law and state regulations and that an excuse such as "I just can't do this" is highly unlikely to hold up in court.



After this encounter, I spoke with the Sp. Ed. teacher about moving him from her class. I was told that it was not their policy to do so because "then all the parents would want to move their kids." (I was thinking wow, this teacher must be really incompetent if all the parents want to move their kids). This started a year long struggle, during which my child was punished daily for his disability--a violation of federal law--while we had several IEP meetings and had to get advocates and finally had to threaten a lawsuit in order to get N. moved out of the Ditto Queen's room. (At one point, when N. did not finish a written assignment, she actually had him take it out to do at recess and put him on a bench to do it. It was a windy day and when N. dropped his pencil, he set the paper down to retrieve it, and the wind blew the paper away. My adult daughter went to pick him up and found him in the isolation corner. I really don't know how she thought that sending N. out into the wind to write when writing is difficult for him at a desk in a quiet classroom would improve his skills).

I was accused several times of being a bad parent, of not knowing my child, of using poor discipline (after all, I was actually on his side), of allowing N. to "use" his disability to get out of work, etc. etc. All of this from someone who was far less educated in any formal sense than I, clearly knew far less about efficacious interventions, and who had no idea of our home life or anything else about us. The parent advocate said it was one of the more difficult negotiations she had ever seen. I finally asked the principal, in the presence of the parent advocate, if I could see a written copy of the policy they kept refering to. Of course there was no such policy, as it would violate federal law to have such a policy. If a child with a disability is not meeting IEP goals, the school must find a way for them to be met. My son not only lost a year of education, he also became terrified of tests and began a several-year long writing strike. He is only now becoming confident of his abilities--this in a child who has tested in the extreme high range for cognitive ability.



Only now, after several years on damage control at school and the choice to remove him from school completely, am I really seeing the wonderful, smart, curious, goofy kid who is my son.



I explained (more briefly than here) to the lawyer at our class, that with all due respect--(which is not much)-- that a parent's concern is not with "winning" but rather with the soul and spirit of a child. I explained that parents do not want to sue--they only go to due process when no other solution can be worked out. After all, a suit can last for years, and the parents concern is that their child get an education. The district may have chance after chance to obstruct parents, but parents only have one chance with their child. I explained to this guy that I put up with accusations and name calling that could only be considered slander in order to try to advocate for my child. I ended by saying that I finally took him out of school in order to ensure that he reached his potential.



By the way, school does not exist to aid a child to reach his or her potential--you can read this for yourself in the Supreme Court Decision Board of Education v. Rowley. "Free Appropriate Public Education" does not mean what most of the tax-paying public thinks it means.



What is interesting in all of this is two-fold. One, I was amazed at the residual anger I felt about what had happened to us. It is really quite amazing that competent adults can be reduced to tears and anger by a school teacher with far less skill and education. I have still not recovered, despite the fact that I am a licensed teacher, and further I have graduate degrees in biology and in special education. (I have a small inkling from this of what it must be like to be poor, to not speak English well, to be a single parent, etc). And I am still very angry! (I know, it's not good for my blood pressure! Om! Om!).



Secondly, I learned something else when I said all of this to the lawyer guy. I got a round of applause from my classmates, most of whom teach special education in this district. Since I taught special education in that district for two years, I know what it was about. It was about all of the IEP meetings, teacher's lounge encounters and other unpleasant experiences that Special Ed teachers tend to deal with when they try to get the needs of their students met and meet contempt and resistance from general education teachers. It was about all of the times that Special Ed teachers are told by the general education staff that "you aren't a real teacher," "you have it easy" and "please get this child out of my classroom and out of my hair." It was about being part time at three different schools and being upbraided by a general education teacher because you "left early." I understood that round of applause when I heard it, but I was still surprised.



And I thought: We need to have a revolution in the schools--it is clear that these teachers know what is happening to kids and parents.



Unfortunately, the revolution will never come from classroom teachers. After all, how can a person who is not even allowed to go to the bathroom when s/he needs it going to make a break for freedom?



I think one reason so many good teachers leave the field after only a few years is that they come to realize that school systems are the bastions of petty empires and little power plays by people who have no power and get damn little respect. And they find themselves losing empathy for their students and they feel unable to do what they passionately wanted to do--spend time learning with kids. But some stay because they feel stuck, or they are close to retirement and have few options, or they don't know anything better--and some of these take it out on the kids.



There--got that off my chest.

Tomorrow I will get back to the wonderful life we have now--as N. takes more and more charge of his learning, and I have the distinct honor and great joy of really taking the time to know him for the wonderful, unique, smart, and spirited child he has become since being freed from the tutelage of the Miss Snips of the world.



Pictures tomorrow--I promise!



Oh, well--here's one for the road.

With a view like that up the road to feed the soul, why would you want to go back to school?