Uncommon Decency
( AN ODE TO A SPECIAL ED. TEACHER )
Rebecca R, leaves in the dark , Monday through Friday, to drive an hour south, from upstate New York’s Putnam County to get to the school where she teaches intellectually & emotionally disabled children.
She can do it in 45 minutes, if she takes the thruway down, and you stay the fuck out of her way ; and it’s probably wise to do as she says. Her diminutive stature, belies the bob cat within - one that fiercely loves and defends her students, colleagues, and friends, and fights daily to get her charges the hard won education these extremely needful children require, and that their parents hope against hope, that Rebecca can provide. In some ways, Rebecca is the best hope that they have - someone who will take on the , at times, nearly impossible tasks , like -
Teaching these kids to say their own names, or learn to say anything at all.
Recognize shapes and colors
Look you in the eye and say hello, say goodbye
Most of the students at her school are severely autistic , and are unlikely to ever be able to take care of themselves independently . It is hard to imagine the worry of the parents of these children - for the rest of their lives , wondering ; who will love and protect their adult child, after they are gone ? Are they condemned to isolation in some asylum ? Who will care enough to advocate for this loved one, who has never said “ I love you “, or even “thank you “ ? Or maybe is prone to seizures that are hard to recognize at times, due to the child’s silent nature ? Or tends to panic and lashe out, without a favorite stuffed toy in hand ?
Sometimes, they wind up another statistic, maybe shot by a startled cop, who has no training in dealing with autistic persons, and only sees a large, agitated person flailing about, who isn’t angry , but instead, is frightened and disoriented , lost in a loud , complex and terrifying world , that doesn’t make any sense, and wont give them back the plush toy, that keeps their fear in check, and smells like home ?
These are the souls that got caught between worlds, cast into systems they cant understand, driven by odd, often disturbing compulsions they have no grasp of , or any control over.
They are absolutely vulnerable, and totally dependent on the mercy of the world.
For these kids, this school is an Oasis of mercy ; and it is : a combination of wise civic investment, and our “better angel’s “ ambitions to leave no one behind -
We get there together, or we don’t get there at all .
However, all civic enterprises are prone to administrative bone-headedness , eventually, like all human endeavors ; but schools like Rebecca’s, require tremendous energy, and an often superhuman reserve of patience, in the face of heartbreakingly frustrating labors, labors that can only be sustained , if born out of compassion, and love. The best teachers and aides and direct support staff, wind up becoming emotionally invested, because they had to first make themselves “ available “ to their charges . Conversations with the Neuro-divergent , start with , well, letting them feel your vibes, so to speak . In short, you make a genuine effort to find them, wherever they are. God knows what my words sound like to this person; so, Ive got to let him or her show me what they know, however he or she conveys it to me.
I have to learn their language , and It’s weird sometimes ; but I liken it to suddenly taking up the bassoon , after a lifetime of playing the bugle.
It’s just a very different set of chops you have to develop.
I admit to feeling pretty good about myself, when a long-time moody, difficult kid, seems more calm and relaxed when I’m around them.
As I mentioned, Rebecca , seems to know the heart of all her students. Even the seemingly lizard-brained Kid behind the pvc pipe & canvas movable barriers , is celebrated for simply not chewing his adult diaper off, with his pants still on.
( true story)
I watch her with her students, and I know , she bears the burden of worry for all of them.
Rebecca leaves no one behind , though she’d just love it , if they would stop pulling aides out of her classroom, almost everyday, leaving her with 3 support staff for 6 one-on-one students. It’s nuts, sometimes ; I often feel like a plate spinner, running to and fro between the plates, trying to get to the wobbly ones in time .
Some kid cant sit down , and this kid wont stand up -
smells a bit pissy, all of a sudden, too.
The teacher, tells the kid who can barely sit still , that if he returns to his seat and waits his turn, Ms. Rebecca will call on him to go up to the big list of kid songs listed on the touchscreen at the front of the classroom, and pick whatever song he likes and for about 15 minutes, he complies.
Rebecca beams at this twilight child.
Her eyes twinkle , as she smiles with obvious affection ; and says , “ good job, D. !”, and he is radiant with joy.
Her job requires her to celebrate every tiny victory with them ; every wisp of growth, every fraction of improvement, and for some of these kids, this is likely the only place they ever get this kind of consistent praise and appreciation
She is their teacher.
Most days , though, she’s more like a Shepherd -
Protecting the flock , mostly from itself, and often having to go deep into the cognitive wilderness they are lost in, to return them back to the fold.
Rebeccas heart is a radar ; a beacon
For all these mute seraphim to follow,
and none shall be left behind