How It All Ended or College Course I, The Test

I have time to write tonight because Jessie and Dan (Dad/husband guy) are off at the college taking the Introduction to Media Studies course.

Jessie took her first college course last year. Having opted not to attend a segregated program for students with intellectual disabilities at the college (there is no inclusive program here), she decided, upon leaving high school, to focus on dance and take a few courses to see what kinds of things she was interested in. Of course, she’s interested in everything—from music recording to physics to fashion design—with the flavour of study changing about as quickly as her clothes (read: at least 3 times a day, that’s why she does her own laundry).

The last time I blogged about that course—Introduction to Public Relations—we were uncertain as to the outcome, at least in terms of her mark. We had already determined that the outcome in terms of connection (with peers, a mentor, people in the field) and learning was pretty fine. But as for her actual grade? Still a great deal of uncertainty. The whole course was largely test-based and the only accommodations Jessie had were the use of a computer and time and half. She bombed the first three tests (all the questions she answered, she answered well; but the ones she didn’t answer counted for more than half the test), scoring just under 50 %. She was devastated, but also knew that she aced all her assignments and loved the interaction in class.

So. She decided that she wanted to continue, even if she didn’t pass the course, and we would use it as a test (sic) case for determining what worked and what didn’t. We were also fairly certain that we could work with the instructor (an experienced and well-respected PR professional in the city) to make suggestions for future accommodations that would meet Jessie’s needs without major changes in course expectations.

Our goal, at least for her first course, was to go in slightly under the radar, working with the most basic accommodations offered by the college and without ruffling any feathers or making even “reasonable” demands. We wanted to see how Jessie negotiated the class; find out what her natural inclinations, talents, and challenges were without us intervening too much. After all, we were in the thick of transition, switching gears and making her responsible not only for driving (we’d help her with the map if she asked), but also for filling the engine up with gas. No more parental determining what and when to study or prepare for the course—that was now up to her. And we (read I, I with an old biker jacket with Mom From Hell emblazoned across the back stuffed in the back of the closet, where I wanted it to remain for a while longer) did not want to push the college until we knew that Jessie was motivated and would follow through to the best of her ability.

As we moved towards the final exam, we realized that there was a lot on the line. Jessie had to pass with at least a 75 to pass the course. Could she do it? This is where the instructor stepped in and suggested that Jessie write the test along with another student (whose first language was not English) in the room next door, so she could ask the instructor any questions that might help her target her answers.  Jessie studied. Hard. She wrote the test. She came out beaming because she knew that she had answered all the questions; being able to ask for clarification helped a lot. And then we had to wait. And wait. And wait. For the final mark.

Which, when it came in, was a solid B–! Which, when we thought about it, meant she did really well on the final exam. Which, when we asked the instructor, she did! She actually got a 92 and the second highest mark in the class! Whoee Jess! We had some cake that night!

But for me, and I think for Jessie as she moves forward, the icing on said cake was the delightful letter she received from the instructor after the course was over.  A full and beautifully written page of appreciation (for her contribution to the class), of thanks (for the privilege of being her first college teacher), and of advice (for growing in the world). It was a wonderfully wise and encouraging letter. One that I think shows, once again, just how blessed we are to have Jessie lead us to these inspiring and wonderful individuals. While I could easily tell you our war stories and regale you with the downright insensitive and litigious things people have said or done to Jessie (yes, there are many of those stories), what I have loved about our journey into community are the people we have met who have embraced us, been willing to struggle with us to find solutions, changed our way of thinking, and shown us how to be better people.

So I will give Jessie’s instructor the last word, with her last words:

My warmest wishes to you, Jessie, as you dance forward in life. I know it can be confusing at times. I know that you will always have more questions than answers—that is true of all of us. I know that you will never get yourself or the world figured out—none of us do. But celebrate the wonder and the confusion of life. Being alive is not a destination; it’s a place on a moving bus. And if you have family and friends on the bus who share your life and your values and your beliefs, who share the laughter and the worries and the sorrows, you know your trip will be memorable.

Be Out There

photo and page copyright Hannah Beach, I Can Dance a Better World

One of the things that I have learned over the years with Jessie, is that just being OUT there in the community—going to the library, walking to school, using the community centre, drinking coffee at the local coffee shop, sending her out for movies or bread, or just to the bank at the corner—is the best inclusion strategy there is. While the goal might sometimes look like getting books or doing the banking, I have come to see that the “real” goal (i.e., the most meaningful goal) is connection, to become insinuated into the warp and woof of this multi-textured tapestry that is community.

This has often meant letting go of certain outcomes (such as learning to do up buttons, or ensuring total safety, or getting the exact movie that we wanted, or paying a reasonable price for bread), but being open to experiencing others (such as learning how to sneak up the down part of the slide without the teacher noticing, or a complex people-based safety net that returns your daughter when she escapes the house without you knowing and heads off to the river, or her being a shoo-in for a coveted volunteer position at the library, or being asked to preach at church in front of an adoring congregation).

Over the years, Jessie has taught me that to be out there is critical: to life, to living, to loving, to contributing. And only IF our children are out there, if we take a risk to let go of some of our expectations and let the world (and God/the universe/or some other un-nameable higher power) help determine outcomes, is it possible to live a good and meaningful life. A life filled with giving and receiving, freedom and responsibility, loving and being loved.

So we committed ourselves to getting her OUT there and continue, as her world expands, to see the unexpected outcomes create new possibilities and connections that nurture her and nudge her into places we might not, on our own, lead her.

As she gets older, being out there also means that she is much less dependent on us for her sense of self. Which is a good thing! As I can be a bit of a naysaying witch master (you call THAT putting your clothes away?) at the best of times. Being out there also means that she builds circles of support and meaning that are rooted in her daily pursuits and passions.

When Jessie registered for the Introduction to Public Relations course, we had a few goals in mind. These included learning to: take notes, track assignments, participate in college-level discussions, negotiate the Centre for Students with Disabilities, take a new bus route, take tests, and begin to find her way around the college campus. Her goals included: being a college student, learning about public relations, being a college student, eating in the college caf, and, being a college student.

Instead of waiting for the perfect circumstance (an inclusive and supportive program and structure), we jumped in with what we thought might be enough to sustain the experience and trusted that the universe might just bless us with a few surprises. And it has.

Jessie has had the experience of a wonderful instructor who fully includes her in all discussions and who seems completely and naturally comfortable with Jessie as a full-fledged member of her class (what does that tell you that we did not assume that this would be so?). While the mark on her midterm is still an unknown (they get their marks tonight), it seems a smaller part of her education and definitely a smaller part of her experience. She has made new friends and contacts . . . eager to share her accomplishments with each other. This is the e-mail that came in the other day:

Good morning all! [sent to class list]
I was enjoying a lovely commute in to town this fine spring morning and what lovely voice did I hear on CBC radio? Our very own classmate, Jessie! Here is the link to the full segment: [click here to link and listen to the CBC morning show item]. Jessie, I recognized your voice and passion for dance right away. Awesome job! Talk about great public relations for such a wonderful initiative!
X

It’s so wonderful to have peers and people with whom to share your accomplishments!

For those interested, I've included a brief clip from the video of the dance that Jessie created below; Hannah’s full website can be found here.



I wonder . . . what unexpected consequences have you had from being OUT there?

First Midterm

Earlier this week Jessie wrote her first midterm for her first college course—An Introduction to Public Relations. At this point, the only accommodation she has is time and a half and the use of a computer. This was a bit problematic, as, aside from Centre for Students with a Disability (CSD) having only a hard copy of the test, formal tests have never been a great way for Jessie to demonstrate knowledge, even with extra time. However, we decided to jump into college with this one class—with just basic accommodations and no real modifications—to test out the waters.

Of course, a basic accommodation on this trial run includes Dan taking the class with her. As an instructor at the college (he teaches screenwriting) he is allowed to take the course at a preferred rate (compared with the $345 or so Jessie had to pay), and it allows him to rack up credits towards the various certificates he seems to be working on. However, after the first class he was pretty well banished from her sight as she got in with the cool group of young women taking the class, all of who are now her Facebook friends. Now Dan is just trying to teach her that the “I-told-you-so” face that she turns around to make at him every so often—such as when he told her not to hog answering in class and then the instructor kept calling on Jessie—is actually visible to others and doesn’t do much for her claim on maturity.

However, according to Dan, she is more than holding her own. The instructor adores her and has established her own relationship with her, she participates fully in the class and is able to give examples and responses that show her clear grasp of the material, and she is actively included in the small group discussions. In fact, her dance company, Propeller Dance, was chosen as a case study for some marketing brainstorming, which I thought was a brilliant move on the part of the instructor. So for an interim run at college, it is going pretty well.

Jessie desperately wants to be a “college student” but is adamant about not entering a segregated program. I could write reams about that, and most of you could link me to the reams written, and the research, and the myriad opportunities . . . everywhere but here. I read posts like the ones Gary is writing about Alex and try very hard not to be incredibly jealous. Unfortunately, at this point here in Ottawa, we have few choices when it comes to post-secondary education: a segregated class called Academic Assistance for Adults with a Developmental Disability (AAADD) or mainstream classes with minor accommodations. A truly inclusive post-secondary experience doesn’t (yet) exist, but we are working on it! Mostly at Jessie’s insistence, as she feels that the next natural step in her growth and independence (aside from moving out) is being a college or university student.

It is interesting, and understandable, just how much weight she places on following what she sees as being the acceptable/defined/normalized road to independence. She has a tendency to ignore, or at least at this point, discount, her work as an artist and advocate (such as performing, teaching, and giving workshops for Propeller Dance), which takes up much of her time and provides her with an income! But the drive to independence through recognizable means sometimes overrides the unique journey that is unfolding. The challenge is to support her, as what she wants always seems to involve inventing something that doesn’t yet exist.

As she left for the college on the night of her test, she was a bit anxious. Okay. More than a bit. This was going to be her first test in over two years. She hadn’t written one since leaving high school and the academic stream (she was fully included all the way through her school career), and even then, formal tests were never the best measure of her learning, knowledge, or understanding. I tried to reassure her, but what do mothers know? So I called Dan and reminded him to reassure her that just writing a college midterm was the goal. Whatever mark she gets will be okay. I’m not sure she believed him either (Dads are just slightly higher on the humanity/level of consciousness/life form scale than Moms), but by the time the test was finished (Dan said he found parts of it challenging, and Jessie didn’t actually complete the whole thing), it was apparent that she had already processed the experience and was on to the next thing.

I knew this from the phone call that I usually get from Jess as they get on the bus at the college reminding me to get ready to drive to our local bus stop to pick them up (by 10:30 pm in our cold Canadian winters I am willing to do at least this much so they don’t have to walk home late):
“Mom, we’re done.”
“How did it go?”
“I didn’t finish, but I did alright I think.”
“Just remember, and I don’t say this often, you’re perfect just the way you are no matter what your mark.”
“Not everyone is perfect Mom,” (said with an exasperated sigh).

A Jessie-ism: This post was originally written to include a bit from her first class, where, on the bus on the way home, Dan went over what they were going to do in the next class. “It will be about ethics,” he said. “You know what ‘ethics’ is?” “Sure,” said Jessie. “Ethics is about different people like those who are black or aboriginal or from another country.” While this little Jessie-ism didn’t quite make it into the post, it was too good to omit completely.