Many of our friends and family members are educators, and
many care intensely about what is taught in our schools. I myself am a teacher.
So I feel a bit disloyal and even heretical saying this: as far as my own kids
go, I don’t care, like, even
at all
about curriculum.
Actually, I had always planned to homeschool my children,
but circumstances conspired to bring me one child who doesn’t necessarily want
but desperately needs all the socializing he can get and one who would probably
go postal within three consecutive days spent with Mama and without major
social activity. For Z, adult acolytes will do in a pinch, but peer adulation
and goose-stepped errand-running is preferred; for E, the biggest school
lessons are ones he doesn’t necessarily learn at home: that while everybody is
different, most people judge others for being different; that we can’t spend
all our time reading; that people change their minds and plans change; how to "read" unfamiliar situations effectively…
Figure I – Usefulness of Curriculum Excellence Pie Chart
As this scientific pie chart demonstrates, most learners
benefit enormously from a thoughtful, organized curriculum. I contend that my children, along with
certain others such as perhaps some gifted students, or some with significant delays or
learning differences, do not. It’s not that curriculum excellence always
impinges on these students or is a negative thing, it just does not matter as
it would for other students. My learners gain most from teachers of exceptional character
and eagle eyes. So I don’t particularly care if they spend a day chasing
caterpillars in the meadow or making 3-D models of the Green Mountains.
In my ideal world, time spent on curriculum development (not
to mention test-prep – another post!) might well be used to consider and
research how to teach contentment or generosity or ways to encourage curiosity.
However, in this reality, teachers don’t have that kind of
freedom, regardless of whether they would willingly toe the Full Spectrum line.
So I care that -- insofar as possible -- my kids have shining morning faces and
don’t get dragged down by awful beastly kids or dreadful,
serving-time-until-retirement teachers.
G spends most of his time at home reading and learning thereby. At school, this direct absorption of knowledge is somewhat compromised
by wide-ranging sensory and emotional overload.* In other words, much of his actual intellectual progress probably occurs at home.
Z isn’t too interested in books…yet. But she could
efficiently extract all the necessary knowledge for an astronomical level of
success from two potatoes, a rotten log and a maraca.
So, if not book-larnin’ and curricula, what can teachers
offer such children?
What I hope for from teachers is:
1.
that they be kind, and
2.
that they model empathy,
3.
good judgment, and
4.
integrity; and
5.
hold an atmosphere where bullying is simply and absolutely not
a possibility either for potential perpetrators OR victims.
Why?
1.
Kindness: I hope it is not too much to hope that the logic
behind requesting kindness of elementary school teachers is a no-brainer.
2.
Empathy: Some non-autistic people SAY that people with autism
lack empathy. This has not been my experience at all. G is the most softhearted
person I know. I will say it is sometimes a stretch for him to understand what
other people are feeling when his senses and neurons are feeling assaulted, but
once G knows what's up he cares and understands and acts on those feelings. That is, he empathizes, often too much (so that his
feelings become painful and he finds it hard to function...). Z sometimes lacks empathy because she
is in survival mode. Teachers with
healthy instincts for and expressions of this emotion offer lessons in
positive, pro-social empathy that students can carry throughout their entire
lives.
3.
Good judgment: discernment, moderation, discipline and common
sense are elusive for G, optional for Z; as much as possible, they need to see them
in action.
4.
Integrity: I want my children to see their most esteemed role
models as people who follow their consciences and follow through on their word.
In a classroom setting, this could be as plain as setting clear rules and
consequences. When G kicked his cat because his cat knocked over his beloved
fish’s tank and killed the fish, he felt guilty. I told him, “That was a
natural thing to do – your cat will forgive you and you’ll do better next
time.” When he told his teacher – a former Buddhist monk – about this incident,
his teacher (in the context of an appropriate lesson for the whole classroom, in which many students apparently thought kicking a cat was funny) vehemently scolded him. I like that his teacher did this: he wasn’t
trying to make himself popular, nor was he taking the easy, lame approach; he
was speaking the truth as he knew it.
5.
No Bullying: some kids, like G, are more vulnerable to being
bullied or, like Z, to being bullies. Both kinds lose in a chaotic classroom.
When teachers hold the classroom space as a safe one, everyone wins. This fall,
I finally had an opportunity to enlist Z’s strengths in a positive fashion. A
little boy from her preschool had enrolled in kindergarten and right off the
bat was getting bullied on the playground by some fifth grade boys. Z hasn’t
got a bit of “victim” on and I knew that by her patronage alone, this sweet
little boy would be safe. As well, her kindest instincts would be called into
play in caring for this wee friend. Now I just hope those fifth graders are
ok.
I spend my advocacy, that tacit, somewhat-limited leeway
every parent has, on the above qualities. As long as teachers are decent people
and in charge of the classroom we’re good. We have done very well so far –
after all, why do people choose to become teachers? (Hint: it’s not the
lucrative salary.) I figure the
clan can always learn “the new math,” but if their hearts are hurting that’s a MUCH bigger issue.
Love,
Full Spectrum Mama
* Here is an example. At the end of fourth grade, G’s class
had an end-of-school open house to share the students’ Native American
projects. There were So! Many!
people in that classroom, and so many sights, bright lights and sounds to take
in, that I began to get a migraine. Consequently, at this event, I could barely
see people and when I could they made me nervous as I couldn’t even fathom or
read what they were thinking and feeling in that context. I had a compelling urge to flee.
Adding to that urge was the fact that G was wandering around
aimlessly, talking loudly and constantly to anyone nearby without even looking
at his putative listener to see if he was being heard.
Having cornered them in a relatively quiet spot, I asked his
teachers, “Is he always like this in the classroom?”
“Pretty much,” they told me, with love in their voices,
“Yes.”
With all due respect to G’s WONDERFUL teachers, HOW, then,
can he LEARN? I mean, I know he
learns some stuff but there must be so much that is lost in the process!
On our walk home
that day I shared that being in that classroom was very challenging for me.
“Is it challenging
for you?” I wondered, casually.
“Yes.”
“Is that why you
talk a lot sometimes, and in a loud voice?”
“Yes.”
Having been so profoundly overloaded, I was daunted to realize that this is what G and all students and their teachers deal with every day. I am sure many – most -- kids are able to navigate such environments quite well, but G is not one of them.
Barring private
school or a “separate-but-‘equal’” classroom for those with sensory and other
neurological and/or emotional differences, what can one do to mitigate such
overwhelming environments, with so many people, visual and aural and other
stimuli, social and academic expectations to be met…??? How can students with
sensory integration issues be effectively integrated in the classroom? If help is needed in the classroom, how can we de-stigmatize that help?
?
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