It’s the eve before the first day of school, and in the stillness of the night, my heart is a flurry of emotion. I share the excitement of my two kids who are going back to school tomorrow. They are excited to meet their new teachers and reunite with old friends. Lunches are packed, clothes have been carefully selected, and their alarms set in anticipation of another year of elementary school adventures.
Divided between traditional schooling and homeschooling
My other two children don’t have alarms set. They’ve met their teacher, but it’s just me because they have both been unenrolled from public school and we’re working to figure out homeschooling as a team. Homeschooling wasn’t our first choice, but it quickly became our only choice.
My eighth grader spent most of last year trying to speak to her school administration about how students with disabilities were treated and spoken about at school. She came home several days crying over the idea of her brother entering into that school culture where she knew from walking those halls herself, that he would not be seen as the amazing kid he is. She heard how kids with Down Syndrome were spoken about and how autism was mocked. She saw how the students in the special education classroom were kicked in the hall and openly mocked in the cafeteria. And when she tried to raise her concerns with the school leadership, they didn’t even bother to respond to her until I escalated the concerns to someone sitting outside of that physical building.
"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen." - Winston Churchill
Divided between advocating and parenting
For those of you who don’t know my story, I’m an advocate for inclusive education. The right for children with disabilities to be educated beside their peers without disabilities is fundamental to the human experience, and I have dedicated years of my life trying to make that a reality for all kids.
But the transition to middle school made me question what I’m fighting so hard for, and before you judge me too harshly, I ask that you listen to the things that have weighed on my heart.
First, I know from my advocacy experience that there is a trend in the transition from the elementary to middle grades for school teams to categorically strip away all inclusion time, citing increasing demands of academic standards as the primary reason. Middle schools have “programs” for kids with disabilities so there is often an automatic switch from being in an inclusive placement to being in a “program” - which is almost always fully segregated from students without disabilities. It doesn’t matter that the forced segregation on the basis of disability isn’t legal. Middle schools tend to be really open with parents that they aren't equipped to support inclusive models of education or guarantee access to accommodations and modifications in general education settings.
How can I make sure my child gets the education he deserves when the system that is supposed to educate him only sees him as a category and not as a person?
Second, I have worked with multiple families who are in due process with their school districts over allegations of abuse that have occurred in these segregated middle school classrooms. I have seen photos, read court documents, and heard parents grieve over the trauma their child has endured and the innocence and joy that trauma has stolen. In many cases, staff continued working in those classrooms without disruption. In nearly all instances, it was an outsider such as a substitute or a parent volunteer who saw something wrong and said something.
How can I send my child into an environment where I know others like him have been intentionally harmed?
Third, my oldest child noticed the prejudice towards kids with disabilities in her own school and was ignored when she spoke up. She has been afraid that she would not be able to protect her brother if he went to the same school, because she could not physically see him or be around him throughout the day. She felt an authentic sense of fear for his safety and well-being in that building.
How can I wipe her tears and not heed the warnings of what she has seen and heard?
So with a heavy heart, I made the decision to stop fighting to break down barriers and focus on protecting the quality of my children's lives. I want my son to focus on what he is capable of, not how he stack ranks to his peers without disabilities. I want my daughter to recognize and adapt when an environment is in coflict with her core beliefs. I want my son to know that learning is fun and infinite in nature, and not meant to be punitive or overwhelming. I want my daughter to realize that there are many ways to achieve the same objective and deviating from the "norm" isn't wrong. And I want all of my kids to know that no matter what life throws our way, we’ll figure it out and get through it as a family.
Divided between the loss of what has been and the joy of what is yet to come
I am excited for my two children who have the option of a fantastic traditional school year, and I will take the celebratory first day of school pictures like so many other parents. I am also looking forward to the first day pictures for my two children who homeschooling is the better option for. As with most new beginnings, there is a bit of grief with the recognition of a wonderful ending, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I wish the world was different. I wish people were better humans. I wish our education system was more accessible and more inclusive for students of all backgrounds and abilities.
Many hearts and minds were changed through an incredibly inclusive elementary school experience and I will forever be grateful to both the adults and the kids who embraced my son with love and readily recognized his dignity and worth. For middle school, I look forward to playing a more central role in his education and in building a new community around him.
I’m not going anywhere as an advocate, so for the families that need me, I will still answer the call.
For my own family, inclusive education is going to mean something a little different than what I once believed it would be. But I have learned that if God brings us to it, then He’ll bring us through it - and I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for us on the other side.