One month ago, I got a job. Well, at the time I thought it was just a job--something to help dig us out of our gaping financial hole. (Yes, I know. It's a lot like YOUR gaping financial holes. Who DOESN'T have one by now? But that's a different post.)
On Sept. 8, I dutifully showed up at Jordan Valley School (a magnet school for kids with disabilities) in slacks and a nice button-down shirt to start my first day as a teacher's assistant in a special education preschool classroom. By the end of the day, I had realized three things: 1) I wondered in half-horror what I had done, 2) I knew this was going to be way more than just a job, and 3) I knew that the next day I was going to wear capris and a t-shirt in order to better be able to play.
Because that's what I do--I play. Every day. With 15-20 kids of varying physical and mental abilities. But the way the adults play in our classroom is a lot different than the way the kids play.
The kids are there to be as kid-like as they possibly can. The classroom is a wonderland of toys, costumes and art supplies. They spend two hours each day "working" with all of those toys, playing outside or with teacher Anthony in the gym, and eating really yummy snacks made by Jane and the other really cute lunch ladies.
But as teachers, our "play" is much different. We structure the classroom without the kids' knowledge, so that they learn to self-regulate and transition between activities. Class is divided between Greeting Time, Small Group Time, Planning Time, Work Time, Gym Time and Snack Time. Every kid sticks to the routine, no exceptions. One thing I've learned is that routine is salvation for these kids, many of whom have disabilites that fall somewhere on the Autism spectrum.
We "play" at eliciting as much language from the kids as possible. We have typical kids in our classroom for whom this isn't a problem. But other kids are perfectly fine physically--except that they won't talk. Therefore, it's become a game between the teachers to see which kids we can get responses from and how many words they choose to say. Many times, hearing a child say in a whisper at snack time "juice, please" is enough to make you bounce off the walls in excitement.
We "play" at teaching kids how to behave around others. Most of the time, they do just fine. But I've lost count at how many times I've said "Hands to self" or "Pockets on the floor" while we're sitting at circle during greeting time.
Of course, not everything is sunshine and daisies. Changing diapers on a four-year-old? Ick. Watching the way some of these kids eat? Totally unappetizing. Listening while our most disabled student, who can't swallow, gets suctioned until she cries? Absolutely heartbreaking. But that's part of the job. And the reality is that these kids need people who can face every aspect of the job and not run away.
I can't run away from these kids. I'm all in.
Now, let me make an important distinction here. Dad wrote in an email last week that he turned down a substitute teaching job in an autism classroom. He said he didn't have my "strength of character." Dad, I don't think I would have had the strength of character to take that job either, knowing what I know.
I am painfully aware of the fact that I have it really good when it comes to jobs in the school. All I have to do is walk down to the cafeteria to be reminded of that fact. I've seen teachers get attacked by older students. I've seen teachers care for their kids as tenderly as parents, with the knowledge that they may never get a coherent response in return. I've seen and smelled some disgusting things. And I'm always happy to return to our fun, mostly-happy preschool classroom. I know my limits. And I don't think I could work in many of the other classrooms in the school.
However, I can concentrate on loving my preschool kiddos and caring for them and helping them learn as much as they can before they get released into an educational system that may or may not meet their needs. I am totally willing to do that. In fact, I enjoy doing that on a daily basis.
And so, here we go. It will be a very difficult, rewarding, and interesting year.
