What's Your Sign?

Sometimes I wish there was a sign plastered to my back, forehead, or worn around my neck that answers the questions that are frequently asked of me.  I think my sign would say:

• No, I'm not thirty.  Yes, I'm sure I'm only 24.  Yes, I do act older than my age.
• Yes, teaching special ed requires patience.  A lot of the time I lose mine.  No, it doesn't take a special person to teach special ed.  It takes someone who loves volatility and variety.
• No, I'm not dating anyone.  No, I don't know why.  No, I don't want to meet your brother's neighbor's uncle who is 47 and works at Quick Trip.  I'm sure he's nice, though.

Ok, I'm done being cranky.

If you had a sign, what would it say?

Lest you think I'm warming hearts one student at a time-here's what I heard last Friday as I felt hands wrapping around my neck:

"Darcie, I'm gonna kill you.  I'm gonna kill you, Darcie!" 

This is not how I thought my career was going to go when I was in college.

(In the pursuit of full disclosure, I must add that  I never once feared my life and knew the student probably wouldn't hurt me.  He watches a lot of pro wrestling on TV.)

Immortalized

Unicorn Club Girl:  "Oh no!  I forgot to get Darcie out of my backpack.  She wasn't feeling well this morning."

Me (very, very confused):  "I'm not sick.  I feel good today." (totally neglecting the whole me being in her backpack thing).

UCG (totally ignoring me and kind of worried): "Do you have a blanket I can cover Darcie up with?  She has a fever and wants to lay down when she gets out of my backpack."

Me  (still confused): "UCG, I don't need a blanket."

UCG:  "No, silly.  I'm talking about the Darcie with the bows in her hair."

Me (still confused):  "Is there another Darcie here?"

UCG:  "No silly!   I named my stuffed rabbit after you.  She has bows, and you don't.  Do you have a blanket for her?"

Me:  "I bet we could use a placemat to cover her up.  I bet she'll be well enough to go to second hour."

I'm happy to report that Darcie is feeling much better.  

I'm also happy to report that I have been immortalized as a stuffed rabbit.  

I'm not happy to report that UCG doesn't differentiate me from a stuffed rabbit by our size difference, my lack of total body hair, or the fact that I walk on two legs instead of four. Instead she differentiates us from the bows in the rabbit's hair.

It's just been in the last week that I have had a major shift in my attitude.  As awful as it may be to admit, since I am a special education teacher, I have always viewed children with disabilities as, well, disabled kids (this is where that whole People First language comes into play).  While working with one of my students, who has major autism, I had an awakening of sorts.  This student is usually obsessively focused on two things-a 5 second clip from the movie "Beauty and the Beast" on YouTube and frozen waffles (odd combo for sure), and most of his actions are based around them.  He makes odd noises in a deep voice, and for the most part, is nonverbal.  

I was working with him on an odd task (I don't remember what it was) and he made eye contact with me for the first time and, instead of kicking me or pinching me like he typically does when I get to close to him, he verbalized something that resembled a word, in a normal voice.  It was in that split second that I had my "aha" moment and realized that this is a normal person who is trapped by their disability.  This is not just my job.  He has a spirit and probably probably a desire to be "normal."

I hope that as I work with these kids that I can remember that each one of them has a spirit, just like I do, only it is masked and distorted by a disability.  When I forget this, I pray that a glimpse of that spirit will come out and remind me.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my car (a Honda Civic), but I have never thought it was cool-until I heard this bit on NPR this morning.

Who else can say that their car can play the William Tell Overture at perfect pitch?

As part of the health and nutrition aspect of my class, I've been having my students fill out a daily "Food and Fitness" journal.  They write what they've eaten and how much they've exercised, and eventually we're going to analyze it (and by analyze it, I mean "Is this healthy or not?").

My Unicorn Club Girl is REALLY into this.  She likes to spell out her foods by brand name and portion size, and she tries to always have something to write in her exercise spot.

Last week the following make-me-scratch-my-head conversation took place:

Unicorn Club Girl (UCG):  What's that thing that you do when you roll on the floor and your clothes catch on fire?

Me: Stop-Drop-and-Roll?

UCG:  Yeah.  Is that exercise?

Me: I guess it could be.  Was there a fire?

UCG:  No.  I practiced in my room last night.  Just in case

As I looked over her fitness journal that evening, sure enough, the entry said, "12 Stop-Drop-and-Rolls."

I haven't worked out in awhile.  Perhaps tonight I'll give that a try.

Circus Circus

The setup of my new school is different than my last.  In order to help students generalize skills, the students rotate classes and teacher throughout the day.  Each student has a daily schedule that follows them around so that each teacher knows what has happened academically (and behaviorally) in previous classes.  They get sent home at the end of the day.

One of my students has a kind of funny (as in different-at least I think it's different) case of autism.  She loves/obsesses over all things ridiculously happy, especially on the internet. During her free choice time she'll search out Barney videos, the Disneyworld website, Kid Songz, etc.  If you open up Word, she'll type stories about bunny rabbits frolicking through meadows and other pleasant things like that. Well, another one her "things" is the circus.

One day last week I received her daily schedule and it had a bright yellow sticky note with the following message written on it:

"(Insert Happy Student's Name Here) got to go to the circus this weekend.  She had lots of fun, but please don't mention the flying trapeze.  She had to go to the restroom when it happened and she is very upset that she missed it." 

There should have been a note on top of the note that said, "Please don't read this not aloud." 

Because I did.  

And she heard.  

And the note was right.  

She did get upset.  

And she head butted me. 

Thank heaven for ringling.com.

Loose Lips May Sink Ships

Having verbal students is a big change for me.  My laugh reflex is something I definitely have to work on (as in, getting rid of it) as some of the things they say are absurd/hilarious.  Today was picture day, and my new Diva (who is twelve going on 29) came out of the bathroom stall with hot pink lips.  

The conversation that took place between her and the prevocational teacher:

Teacher:  Diva, come with me to wash that lipstick off before you have your picture taken.

Diva:  I'm sorry.  I can't.

Teacher:  Yes, you can.  Let's go.

Diva:  Actually I can't.

           (looking very smug).  

          It's marker.

And she was right. Despite the scrubbing, in her pictures this year she will have hot pink lips.

And I Get Paid For This?

Oh my.  Oh my.  The new job has provided so many stories for me already, but, unfortunately, less time to post (at least so far). 

Today one of the students in my homeroom asked if I wanted to join her Unicorn club (she loves them).  Soon after I agreed, I found myself taking this sacred vow:

"I promise to protect the unicorns.  I promise to feed the unicorns.  I promise to protect the members of the Unicorn club."

I then promised not to speak of this to anyone else but members of the Unicorn Club.  

Oops.

This, my friends, is only the tip of the iceberg.  More to come...