Month: November 2018

I just came home from a field trip with my neurotypical daughter. On this field trip, not only did I observe blatant disregard for the laws and needs of people with disabilities, I actually witnessed an assault on a special needs child in my daughter’s class.

I am angry. My heart is still racing even though its a couple of hours later, my face still feels hot to the touch. I keep imagining what it would have been like if it were my son that was assaulted. Would anyone have spoken up for him? Would anyone have protected him? I want to cry.

Our field trip was to a public heritage museum. We were in a group of thirteen students, several parents and the student teacher that is with my daughter’s third grade class this year. The special needs student in our group, we’ll call him Ben, is autistic, highly intelligent, and has observable differences in body language, facial expression and interaction choices. It is not uncommon for Ben to put his face close to another student’s face, touch random people’s clothing, ask personal questions and move around a lot. ALL of his classmates and most of the school know him, accept him and let him do what he needs to do without question. Occasionally, you might hear a student tell him to stop doing something if it’s bothering them but, in general, he is one of them and they care for him. They care about him.

The museum is both in and outdoors and we went from building to building, meeting up with new docents in each place. When we got to the old time barbershop, the boys were told to enter first and line up to the left. The girls then entered and were invited to sit on a bench to the right. The docent, an older male in his late sixties or perhaps 70, explained that in the old days women and girls were always invited to sit and if there were not enough seats, men stood. He went on to explain that he expected the students to listen to him as he spoke and to raise their hands and wait to be called on if they wanted to speak. He was gruff, almost insulting in his interaction. He began to speak.

Ben was moving around in the boy’s group, near the docent. He was talking quietly. His arms were waving around a bit. This seemed to bother none of his classmated. It was just Ben. That’s what he does. The docent reached out, grabbed Ben by the collar of his jacket, yanked him forward so that his face was right in Ben’s face and yelled at Ben to stop. We were all shocked. Ben was scared. The student teacher went to him and led him away. My husband, who was standing by the door and knew Ben, invited him outside and kept him out there for the next few minutes, comforting him as the man finished his speech about the barbershop. I looked around and the parents and I were eyeballing each other, thinking, “Did that really just happen?” The students looked scared, perhaps worried that he would do something to them as well. I crossed the room and went outside near my husband and Ben. My husband was furious. We have a special needs son and we are strong advocates for him and anyone in the special needs community. Even if Ben hadn’t been special needs, there was no way this behavior was OK but because Ben is differently abled and even less able to speak up for himself, it felt even worse. I saw red. I told my husband that when the group moved on, I was going to speak with this man.

The group left and I approached him. There was no one else in the room. I leaned in to talk quietly and said, “I just wanted to let you know that the boy whose collar you grabbed and yanked is special needs.”

This man responded with disregard, “Well, he needs to learn somehow.”

I was disgusted! I told him, “It is absolutely NOT OK for you to put your hands on any of our students.”

The man smiled at me and said in a most sarcastic tone, “I am so glad you were here with us today, ma’am. Thank you for visiting and have a nice day.”

I lost it. I should have kept my temper. I wish I would have handled it with more grace. As I turned away to leave, I said, “Asshole.”

He called out to me, “Ma’am, what did you just say?”

I turned and looked him in the eye. “Asshole.”

He looked angry. “Ma’am you just verbally assaulted me.” I swear, this just happened today. You can probably tell from all the “ma’am’s” that I live in the south. He was bothered that I verbally assaulted him? Are you kidding me, buddy?

I replied with, “Yes, I did. And you just physically assaulted our student and that’s not OK with me.” No, I don’t work at the school. I was a teacher for fifteen years and I guess in my mind, it is still ‘our student.’

I turned and left. I went to find Ben. The student teacher had him and my daughter was well taken care of. This wasn’t over. My husband and I went to find management.

The manager was a woman of at least 75 years old who was wearing early 1900’s period dress and had obviously never had an angry New Yorker approach her before. When I relayed what happened, her eyes widened and she said, “Oh, my, that’s terrible! I can’t believe that he did that.”

I looked her straight in the eye and said, “What are you going to do about it?”

She said, “Well, I want to apologize to you.”

I said, “That’s not enough.”

I thought she was going to have a heart attack. She replied with, “What would you like me to do?”

“I want that man to apologize to Ben. And I want him to apologize to me. I also don’t think he needs to work here anymore.” Remember, he was a docent, a volunteer. No salary loss but no way should he have access to kids.

“Oh, honey, oh, sweetie, calm down.”

“No, darling, I don’t want to calm down. This man needs to apologize. NOW.”

As we walked with her back to the barbershop, I also explained to this woman, the PRESIDENT OF THE MUSEUM, that her facility was not ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) compliant. Another student, who used a wheelchair, had two adults who were forced to carry her backwards down six wooden stairs to exit one building. Every building had steps and not a single one had a ramp. She told me that she had let the school know that they did not have disability access and the family said that they were fine with that. I told her that the family wasn’t fine with that, they didn’t have a choice and wanted their daughter to be able to go on the field trip just like everyone else. Also, whether or not the family was OK with it, the museum is still non-compliant. This was the law. She looked distressed, and said, “I guess I should have just called the family and told them not to come.”

I just couldn’t believe the ignorance, the lack of caring, the lack of inclusion. So, what, all “special people,” should just stay home?

“You CAN’T DO THAT. It’s the law. Whether the family says that they are OK with this or not, you are by law, legally required, as a public museum, to make accomodations for access for people with disabilities.”

Well, she said she didn’t know that!!! That when she opened the place in the 1970s she was told it was fine as it was.

I said, “I’m telling you now, you better look up the law because you are out of compliance, and you need to fix it. I’m going to come back and check,” (Yes, I realize I have no power and no badge, but at least I could report them).

By now, this was a VERY nervous woman. We approached the barber shop. She went in and got the man as I went back toward our group to see Ben. The classroom teacher had either been texted or called by the student teacher (very smart move) and was with him. I went up to Ben and said, “Ben, the man from the barbershop wants to tell you that he’s sorry.” Ben looked unsettled and was leaning against his teacher, his bottom sort of sticking out toward her, a familiar pose to me. This is what my son does when he doesn’t want to move. The president of the museum brought the man over and they stopped about six feet away. I stared at him angrily. He tried to maintain eye contact with me and finally just looked down. They called out for Ben to come to them. Ben wouldn’t move. After three requests I finally piped up, angrily, “You need to go over to HIM.”

They approached. The man got down to Ben’s eye level and said he was very sorry that he had grabbed him and yanked him and he wouldn’t do it again. Ben asked, “Are you the barbershop?”

The man said, “Yes, I am the man from the barbershop.”

“You aren’t going to do it again?” Ben asked.

“No, I’m not going to do it again,” the man said.

Ben didn’t reply. He burrowed into his teacher’s body. The man stood up. The president said that he also needed to apologize to me.

“I’m not going to apologize to her. I didn’t do anything to her,” the man was adamant.

I stepped closer. “You offended me. You physically assaulted a special needs child. Now, you can apologize to me, or I can call the police right now and tell them that you assaulted a child. PICK ONE.”

“O-KAY, I’m SORRY.” This was said with attitude.

I leaned in, looked him in the eye and said his own words right back at him, with the same sarcastic tone. “I am SO GLAD that you were here today. Thank you for being here. Have a NICE DAY.”

I turned and went to find my daughter.

During our picnic lunch the president was walking from person to person getting information from the teacher of the student in the wheelchair, asking others what they saw and heard. She also took my personal information and I got the man’s name. She said that he would never be allowed to be a docent there again. I don’t know if that’s true but that’s what she said.

After we left we went back to school, had a meeting with the principal and shared our experience. I told her to offer our contact information to Ben’s family in case they had questions or needed our support.

I am very glad that the Americans With Disabilities Act exists. It is our job as parents of these incredible angels to make sure that it is adhered to. If no one had spoken up, nothing would have been done. This man would feel that he could put his hands on children he doesn’t even know, special needs or not. People with physical disabilities would not be able to venture out with their walking peers to explore the world.

I need to control my temper better.

But I was right.

I am tired.

Merriam Webster defines the word BITCH in two important ways:
As a noun: often offensive – a malicious, spiteful or overbearing woman
and
As a verb: to complain of or about

I read an article about a woman who was worried about being perceived as a bitch when asking for services for her child. Here it is for you to check out.  http://coloradomoms.com/specialneeds/how-to-advocate-for-your-child-without-being-a-bitch/

When I read the article, the first thing that gripped me about the title is, “Why would I fear being a bitch?” Why would advocating for my child and making sure that he gets what he needs and deserves give me a derogatory label? If a man were advocating, he would NEVER be called a bitch. So why is this a worry for women, and, apparently, special needs moms?

When dealing with schools, therapists, Early Childhood Intervention, and anyone else who provides services to your child, the more vocal you are as your child’s advocate, the greater the chance that your child will get the appropriate amount and level of services that they need. As a general education classroom teacher for fifteen years (general education and, now, special education certified) and as a teacher who sat in on loads of IEPS and ARDS, I have seen, repeatedly, that the advocate that keeps showing up, keeps being verbal and keeps pushing the boundaries, gets more and better quality services.

Case in point – my son was getting what they were calling “small group speech.” They had SEVEN kids in his special needs class around a table having a speech lesson a couple of times a week for 20-30 minutes. That is beyond a small group, even in general education. My son needs one-on-one interaction. He, like his classmates were at that time, is low functioning. If there are 6 other kids in the group, he may or may not be paying attention AT ALL to the lesson. He needs constant one-on-one interaction to focus on the task at hand. It’s not that he shouldn’t also attend these group lessons, but I wanted him to have BOTH.

Disclaimer – Most of the people I have come into contact with in IEP meetings are fabulous, want you to have what your child needs and do everything they can to make it happen. These are amazing folks! But the following is about someone who just didn’t want to get on board.

When I brought this up to the IEP committee, I got a negative response. The speech teacher didn’t want to do daily short lessons individually with my son. It didn’t “fit into her schedule.” She was “overwhelmed with students on her list, too many.” So they wouldn’t have time to do both small group and individualized speech with my son.

Now, if I had accepted this answer, that would have been it. However, because I know the law and my rights as a special needs parent, I pressed on.

Below is a list of who makes up the IEP (Individualized Education Program) Team, taken from this website, which clearly states the IDEA rules and regulations (and the link to it):
http://uscode.house.gov/view.xhtml?path=/prelim@title20/chapter33&edition=prelim

Individualized Education Program Team
The term “individualized education program team” or “IEP Team” means a group of individuals composed of—
(i) the parents of a child with a disability;
(ii) not less than 1 regular education teacher of such child (if the child is, or may be, participating in the regular education environment);
(iii) not less than 1 special education teacher, or where appropriate, not less than 1 special education provider of such child;
(iv) a representative of the local educational agency who—
(I) is qualified to provide, or supervise the provision of, specially designed instruction to meet the unique needs of children with disabilities;
(II) is knowledgeable about the general education curriculum; and
(III) is knowledgeable about the availability of resources of the local educational agency;
(v) an individual who can interpret the instructional implications of evaluation results, who may be a member of the team described in clauses (ii) through (vi);
(vi) at the discretion of the parent or the agency, other individuals who have knowledge or special expertise regarding the child, including related services personnel as appropriate; and
(vii) whenever appropriate, the child with a disability.

Note the number one slot – you. Without you, there is no meeting (unless you waive your right to be there). All of the other people are experts in something. YOU ARE, TOO. You are the expert on your child.

I have never, and I mean NEVER, observed any of the other experts on this list being called a bitch (assuming that they were female) when they pressed hard on what the student’s needs were. When advocating for a student, these educators are classified as, “doing their job to the best of their ability to make sure the student gets what they need.” Of course, there are some on the team that don’t want to go that extra mile. But that doesn’t happen on my watch. It shouldn’t on yours either.

Please read the laws. Because it is to your advantage to know that a speech pathologist cannot decline a request of individualized speech based on “not having time.” It is, in fact, illegal, according to IDEA. You better believe that not only did I tell her so, I gave her a copy of the law and everyone else at the table received a copy as well. You see, the school is required to hire extra people to fulfill these services if the therapist has too much on their plate. They know this. But they count on the fact that I don’t.

The room got very quiet. In fact, silent.

The speech pathologist replied that what I wanted was statistically shown not to be a better method for a special needs child taking speech. She showed me a textbook to back up her point.

I countered with the fact that not one, NOT ONE, of the children in the study that the textbook was based on was my son. That I am the expert on my child (as schools always tell you until you want something that they don’t want to give you).

Did I win? You bet. Check mate, my friend. My son got the extra services he needed and it helped him to progress.

If I was a man, I might be described as strong, forceful, determined, a force to be reckoned with, business-like, a good father, someone who cares about the needs of their special needs son.

I am a woman.

So, why, because I have a vagina, does this make me a BITCH?

This doesn’t make me a “malicious, spiteful, overbearing woman.” This doesn’t make me a person who just “complains.”

On some level, this makes me a superhero. For my son. It makes you a superhero for your child too. And there is absolutely no reason why we should apologize for that.