Not one bit I don’t. Miss, that is,
advocating and struggling with the school system to fully include Jessie and
educate her. While we have other struggles and challenges now that Jessie is
out of the public school system and dancing her way through life, I can say
that I do not look back in fondness on those years, or at least those moments,
marked by the sheer frustration of battling what felt like an immoveable,
illogical, uncaring, unresponsive, patronizing monolithic establishment.
Jessie was usually the first student
with an intellectual disability to be fully included in regular classes. The
early years, I will admit, were often fun. God’s jocular inoculation of my
drive and will to the brute force of a system bent on not bending. Those early
elementary years were when the team worked best—we all (teachers, parents,
school community) had a sense of humour and delighted in the unfolding
adventure that was inclusion. We all knew that we really didn’t know what we
were doing, but would share the best of our experience, knowledge, and
creativity to figure it out. We did know that inclusion was the only thing that
made sense and that its difficulties offered myriad opportunities for growth.
We figured out what each of us did best, and then did it. We recognized and
honoured each other’s intentions and always brought homemade muffins, and the
good kind of coffee, to meetings. There were, of course, challenges. As
teachers, administrators, and the curriculum changed, we had good and bad
years. But it was not until high school that I really needed to work some prunes
into the baked goods.
We should have known when, even after
the elementary-high school transition meeting—where Jessie’s grade 6 teacher
promised to bodily harm the resource teacher (God, I loved that grade 6
teacher) if they did not have the accommodations in place when Jessie started
school so that she could continue to learn and grow and blossom into the
creative compassionate Jessie she knew she was—the high school had not one single
accommodation in place when she crossed the threshold with her friends. But should
have known would not have changed our decision to send to Jessie a regular class at
the local high school. We quickly rallied allies, friends, and resources to
support the school and lead them into supporting Jessie so she could continue
to learn and grow alongside her peers. Did it work? Perhaps. In most cases,
when we pushed and moved up the ladder of responsibility, we “won.” Principals
and teachers were dragged from above to do what was right (in all senses of the
word), what was required.
I think Jessie struggled with finding
her place, but in the struggling grew strong and carved a place for herself, identifying
her belonging and contribution in a way that convinced her of her own strength
and meaning in a broader community. She’s a sucker for a cause, wants to fight
for her and anybody else’s rights. Perhaps all the struggling with the school
convinced her that even if you don’t win, the struggle is worth it.
Worth it. Yes. But I do not miss it. I
do not miss being asked to make a choice between having the curriculum adapted and
having an aid. I do not miss a teacher questioning the value of teaching someone
like Jessie about cell structure. I do not miss fighting with a school that
defends mounting a community play with vigourous use of the word r#tard. I do
not miss a point-blank refusal to adapt the curriculum or to follow a written
plan (“But if we write it down we will have to follow it!”). I do not miss
being yelled at for taking notes during meetings. I do not miss hours spent learning
how to write a letter, making sure I take every emotion out of recounting a
challenge and stick clearly to only the facts. I do not miss coming home and (WASP
ice princess that I normally am) throwing a Cuisinart bowl across the room into
the wall and collapsing on the floor with tears and snot and bubbly body fluids
cascading out of every facial orifice in sheer frustration at a system so bent
on not making inclusion, or learning, possible for my daughter.
