The "Hidden Potential" of Special Children

Our four year old grandson came over the other day.  He collected all of our wooden coasters and decided to “hide” them around the house.  As you might suspect, a four year olds’ idea of hiding something is to pretty much leave them in plain sight.

Once all of the coasters were “hidden” the game continued with the only logical rule—he would go and find them himself!  Interestingly he only collected six of the seven coasters, overlooking the last one.  His little two year old sister saved the day by finding the last one hidden in another room.

Kids are so funny.

Whenever we get a big rainstorm, he comes over to help my husband collect all of the branches that have fallen in the yard.  It’s a thing.  An important thing that they do together.  But, again, because he’s four, when that job eventually becomes uninteresting to him, he resorts to sitting on a corner rail of our deck playing dinosaurs.

If you have ever seen a kid and his dinosaurs, you will know of what I speak when I say it is quite intriguing.  Dinosaur play comes with a lot of action and includes what can only be best described as a low-growling dinosaur sound.

It is so much fun to watch kids at play.  I marvel at their speech development, their thought processes and their ability to problem solve at such a young age.

When our son was young, because he was in a primary special education class, I liked to go to his school to observe his teachers working with him.  I would sit quietly in the classroom and learn from them.  My reasoning was that I could reinforce at home what they were doing in school, thus helping further his education and development.

That was all fine and dandy until we ran into a teacher who, for some reason unbeknownst to us, thought that I was there to critique her—which I definitely was not.

She never gave any indication of the reason for her anger.  She was simply defensive and self-protective.  She even covered her classroom door with paper so nobody could see inside her classroom when she was with her children.

It really was so sad, and a very unusual situation.  I always found his early special education teachers that came after her to be very welcoming.  They saw our involvement as a good thing.

Until 5^th grade.

Let’s just say that’s the year, while I was on spring break from college, that we started homeschooling and got our son “back.”  Within two weeks, of a fateful phone call, our happy, stress-free child returned.  

It was an odd time, 5^th grade.  His teacher told me to stay away.  Well, actually, my husband got the weird phone call that basically sounded like, “Keep your wife in check.  She doesn’t need to be involved in his education anymore.  We’re the experts.”  It may have actually been the aide that called.

If it wasn’t so alarming, I think my husband would have laughed at the ridiculousness of that idea, on both points, knowing me as he does.  He assured his teacher, before even relaying the message to me, that that would never happen.

I liked collaborating with his teachers and usually we got along great.  Most were more than happy to have involved parents.  Grateful, really.  

What happened in 5^th grade was that his special education program moved to a new school, for the umpteenth time, but this time it was determined that they would only have a self-contained classroom.  So he was moved from being included in a regular classroom to being limited to a particular class with pre-determined peers, many of whom were emotionally impaired (which he was not.)

And here’s another thing—I can’t tell you how many times I heard the oft-repeated phrase, “He’s going to plateau.”  They were basically saying, “He’s only going to reach a certain point and then he will stop learning.”

As a mom, I just couldn’t buy that.

There are so many different ways, and things, to learn.  If learning stalls out in one area, there are at least ten other areas growth can take place.

Relative to another situation, a priest said to me recently, “If we are alive, we are growing.”  Amen to that, Father.

Does reaching a plateau mean we will never learn as much as other people, or that we will never learn one more thing, ever?  

Are we talking about plateaus or setting bars?  Plateaus are the equivalent of flat-lining.  Bars can be incrementally adjusted.

It is a dangerous thing to put limits on a person’s potential—no matter what their potential appears to be. Generally speaking, nobody knows your child better than you do and nobody should be working harder than you to help them succeed.

Here’s what our current guidelines say about partnering with parents:

“When families, schools, and communities work together, children are more successful in school and schools improve. Effective partnerships include parents, families, students, community members and educators . . . In forming partnerships, it is important to nurture the collaborative process. To develop true collaboration, parents and families must be fundamentally involved in the entire educational experience. Parents should be recognized as having important information and expertise that they can contribute to the partnership. It is important for school personnel to provide the parents with information and empower them as equal partners in supporting their children’s learning.” (Pg. 17)

Oh how we strived for this, so many years ago.

“Research has shown that the majority of students can successfully learn in the general education classroom environment when the curriculum is delivered through high quality, scientific, research-based instruction. Combining core instruction with effective interventions is key to achieving student success.”  (Pg. 9) (Procedural Guidelines for Specific Learning Disabilities Identification, 2011)

Should we listen to wise teachers who can guide our decision-making?  Yes, definitely.  There are many times that people can objectively help us see things we do not see, or have trouble accepting.

I honestly believe that our education system—like any system really—needs people who offer hope and encouragement, while fully embracing collaboration.  Any system in which even one vulnerable child’s potential can be “hidden in plain sight” is a system that has lost its true mission and focus.

I remember finding comfort over the years in thinking I highly doubt that when our son reaches heaven’s gate, God is going to ask him about his math skills. 

Oh, and by the way, he’s almost 35 years old and still learning in one way or another, every day. 

Janet Cassidy

Janetcassidy.com

Janetcassidy.blubrry.net