Sunday, October 15, 2023
Thank you to everyone who has reached out in the past week to offer information and support. It has been SO helpful to hear from real people about real lives being LIVED with diabetes. I think we can all agree that my “educator” was not the right fit for me and it will be best for my future if I try to forget that meeting ever happened. An extra thank you to Carla and Mark and Johanna and Jeffrey who met with me and gave me hands on help and love and attention!
Now, on to my thoughts for today. The picture of the day is from Friday. It is a nice tie between diabetes – or WHAT NOT TO EAT – and my sub job for Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.
I have been wondering what to say about my experience. I want to talk about it, because it was hard and I did it, but more importantly, other people do it every day.
I worked in an ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) classroom with seven students and three paraprofessionals to support the one teacher. I know very little about autism beyond its definition: it starts by age 3, affects social interactions and communication, and….it seems to be different for everyone. That last part might be my own addition. I don’t choose to sub in ASD programs because it is just plain hard. At best, I am an unknown, therefore disruptive, person coming into a delicately balanced environment. At worst, I…I don’t even know. I make everyone cry. All day.
A friend of mine without any background in special ed has taken on the job of this classroom because she was ready for a change from battling middle schoolers who don’t want to learn math and whose parents don’t want them to have to do any work. The principal of the elementary school with this program needed someone to fill the spot – dare I say anyone? – a week before school started. You can get a variance on your license to work out of your discipline, so that is what happened.
No two people with autism are alike. None of these seven kids is remotely like each other.
Some crave attention – any attention. Some DO NOT.
Some talk, some do not.
Some understand when you talk to them, some do not show outwardly that they might.
Some run. Away. Out of the school, if given the opportunity.
Some can go to art and phy ed and music with just a little extra adult assistance.
Some can read. Some tear the pages out of any books they can touch.
Some hit – the floor, the equipment, themselves, me.
Some spit.
Some swear VERY loudly.
Some do their handwriting practice.
Some like to dunk plastic animals into a little bowl of water.
Some ask questions. Over. And over. And over.
Some like dryer lint and will laugh A LOT when you mention it. They will laugh even more when you say one son gave the other dryer lint for Christmas. Twice.
Some can attend to something for only a few seconds. Some can keep going for 15 minutes.
Some throw anything – chairs, buckets of supplies, bins of toys, books – whenever the mood moves them. This happened a LOT.
I loved being asked what my favorite type of wood is. (“Probably maple.” “No, that is not a good wood. What is your favorite kind of wood?”) I did not like having my glasses broken in the first hour of the first day (quickly enough that the adults were weirded out when I returned the next day wearing glasses – they didn’t think of me as a glasses wearer. Going a day without being able to see clearly was not my idea of fun, but I can see enough that it was okay.)
There are four adults assigned to the room, but that does not mean there are EVER four adults in the room. The paras get two 15-minute breaks and an unpaid 30-minute lunch. I got a 30-minute unpaid lunch. That is half of our seven-hour day right there. Kids who leave the room almost always have an adult with them the whole time they are gone. Poof – gone adults. Three of the kids really can’t go out of the room without several adults because they will run and possible not interact appropriately with kids around them, so they don’t go anywhere except recess.
There is never a moment when everyone is calm. Never. Someone is running, someone is screaming, someone is asking for help, someone is dumping something onto the floor. The people who come every day and try and try and try to provide stability and support for these kids in addition to trying to TEACH them something are nothing short of incredible. I didn’t see any warm, fuzzy moments. I honestly don’t know how they come back every day. It is physically hard, mentally hard, and emotionally hard. They kept thanking me for coming and for coming back. Are you kidding? I was treading water in the deep end just trying to be more of a help than a hindrance.
Yup…. While I did something like this (as a music teacher) three days a week for three years, the out-of-control chaos factor was part of what made me decide that working with young adult tuba players was better for me. I felt and still feel the same way about the people who can do this day in and day out for an entire career – or even part of a career. Bless them every one.
Yes!!