Prison is better than this!!!

Nev was meant to start at the school last week. Instead he was at 'her majesty's pleasure'. He still got a look around - cuffed to the accompanying prison guard. Seemed like the most normal thing in the world to him, as did the electronic tag he wore when he started, almost like a trophy.

It's difficult to see things from another person’s point of view sometimes, especially when that someone is only 13 and already in prison.

Nev was a difficult kid, but he had a 'smooth guy' charm and was excellent at sweet talking the ladies. When you looked at him it was very difficult to believe what was beneath.

I didn't really have much connection with his family, I was just his teacher, but did he ever give me a headache. You really had to be careful that everything was nailed and screwed down, or it might just vanish out of the window! (if you hadn't checked at least 20 times a lesson that he hadn't deliberately left one ajar!)

It was easy to forget Nev had been in prison already (if you could forget for a moment about the 'trophy' tag on his ankle!)   However no-one was prepared for his reaction when his mother decided to turn up at the school.

She was very drunk, and as it turns out, also very 'high'. Nev didn't know whether to cry or shout, stay or run. He chose to run. The staff were understandably concerned, as he could be anywhere, or up to anything. The police were meant to be informed. We asked the other students where he might have gone in the hope that we could find him and stop him.

He had told the others he had heard about a car that was in a garage nearby, deemed to be 'easy to nick'. Staff raced round there to try and talk him round.

After a large heart to heart he was apparently asked why he did this, he was on tag, he had a record already, did he want to go back to prison for goodness sake?! Here was his reasoning:

His mother, he said, was a heroin addict, prostitute and alcoholic. He didn't have a father. Prison was better than real life. At least there he had a roof over his head, his washing done and guaranteed 3 hot meals a day. So yes, he wanted to get caught, he wanted to be arrested and YES he wanted to go back.

What kind of life has he got, I ask myself, when they see a prison as a 'better option'. It makes me very sad, because deep down inside, Nev was a great kid, just looking for someone to take care of him. It's a shame that he saw 'her majesty's pleasure' as the only people who 'cared'.

How many more youngsters, I wonder, are in a similar position to Nev, and how many teachers and schools really have no idea about it at all?

Terry's new transportation!

Terry rolls up at school this morning, actually early for a change. Seems cheerful, swans in saying

'can you unlock the side gate ease, I need to put my bike in the bike shed?'
Sure, no problem we think. A teacher went outside then promptly came back in exclaiming

'I think you better come and look at this'.

We all pile outside expecting maybe some vandalism, a broken window, for example. Instead we are faced with this.... A postman's bike! 

'where did you steal that from Terry?'
'I didn't, I found it'

We all laughed out loud. Terry realised very quickly that this was one theft he should have thought twice about!

Magic Moment

It was a brisk but bright sunny day. I am standing outside, coffee in hand, wrapped up in my thick winter coat. William walked by, and as usual I said 'hello William' like I usually did, addressing him by name so he knew I was talking to him, and asked him was he ok. He walked up to me, stood beside me, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes, gently putting one arm around me.

'I miss those sessions we used to do last year miss, and I miss you' he said with a sad look on his face.

William has autism.

This little moment was a momentous moment. He showed me in those few words that:

• He understood appropriate social physical interaction
• He understood the meaning of our sessions
• He recognised they were beneficial to him
• He understood the importance of our teacher student relationship

Easily missed, to someone who could not see the Autistic William.

This was a truly magic moment.

Am I in the thicko's group?

Having been a team teacher in a particular mainstream lesson for a while now, a few members of the group were clearly struggling with the class dynamic. There had been several requests to ‘come out’ of that room, etc. So I formulated a plan. Divide and conquer I thought. With some consultation, a small group of four was decided upon, and I asked them what they thought of the idea. Smaller group, quieter room, potential to get more done. One member of the proposed group asked me ‘Am I in the thicko’s group then?’

This comment has been on my mind for quite some time. I have concluded that the institution and us as teachers are to blame for this thought. Consider for a moment the idea of ‘special needs’. SPECIAL.... what does that mean to you as a term? What does that mean to students as a term? Here is seems to mean:

·        I am not as bright as the other students

·        I must be in the bottom set

·        I can’t do the work without the help of an adult.

·        Getting help from an adult is a clear sign of weakness

·        I am isolated from my peers if I need ‘help’

·        ‘help’ is BAD

Then I wondered, what must it mean to class teachers? Here are a few offerings:

·        The student can’t cope with the work alone and need LSA help

·        They have an impairment

·        Their impairment means they are not as bright as everyone else

·        They would usually be in the bottom set

·        They need separately prepared work

Bear in mind for a moment, I have not always been a special needs teacher, so I have tried to look at it here from the other side of the fence too. Regardless of that, the two lists are remarkably similar, are they not? So are WE to blame for destroying the self esteem of special needs students? What do you think?

Here are a few web definitions I came across for ‘SPECIAL NEEDS’

·        Wikipedia: ‘In the USA, Special needs is a term used in clinical diagnostic and functional development to describe Individuals who require assistance for disabilities that may be medical, mental, or psychological’

·        Wikipedia: Special education is the education of students with special needs in a way that addresses the students' individual differences and needs

·        www.charlestonctc.com/s.htm: ‘Needs generated by a person's disability’

·       http://www.direct.gov.uk/en/Parents/Schoolslearninganddevelopment/SpecialEducationalNeeds/DG_4008600 The term 'special educational needs' (SEN) has a legal definition, referring to children who have learning difficulties or disabilities that make it harder for them to learn or access education than most children of the same age.

It is my belief that the last one is closest, but even here, attached to it is a tone if ‘disability’ wouldn’t you say?

What would YOU define as special needs? I would be interested in your thoughts.

It angers me that teachers see special needs as a DISABILITY. Just because they are defined as having a special need does not mean that your responsibility lies in merely ensuring that they reach first base. NO! They should have the right to reach their full potential too. In the case of this student, yes, they have a special need, but they are also one of the brightest people in this particular class. Why do they not know that, or even believe it? It makes me so angry!

Back to my student who asked were they in the thicko’s group, my response was this: ‘No, you are not, in fact you are in the extension group. We are going to make sure that you reach your full potential and get the best grade possible.’

Francesca learns the clarinet

It wasn’t long before Francesca realised that her heightened hearing made her VERY popular in the music classroom. She became a popular girl and EVERYONE wanted to be in her group. This did her confidence the world of good. It also meant she decided she wanted to learn the clarinet.

Oh my gosh, I thought, a blind clarinettist? There can’t be many of those!?! The visiting woodwind teacher refused to take her.

‘How on earth can she learn the clarinet?’ he scoffed. I was not deterred. I explained how she could memorise the music, or learn it by ear from a recording. The finger holes can all be found using touch, what was the problem? ‘She’ll break the reed, she can’t even see the reed, let alone the music, no it’s not possible. I’m not doing it, and that’s final.’

At first I saw his side. I am a flautist, not a clarinettist. I could see the problems, so I spoke to her., reasoned that maybe a piano would be a better option, or violin, they were both well known for having teaching methods that involved memorising music. Nope. She wanted the clarinet, and nothing else would do.

Well, there was only one thing for it. I took a school clarinet home and got to work. I agreed to take her, but it took all my spare time to teach MYSELF the flipping instrument, so I could make sure I was one step ahead of her (trust me, I was often not much further than that one step ahead!)

Having not had a single clarinet lesson before ever, I learnt from tutor books, and taught her from the same tutor books. We went through lots and lots and lots of reeds. It often looked a right state when she came to the next lesson, of course, not being able to see the end of the reed, how would she know it had millions of little breaks in it?! Sometimes, I wondered how she got a sound from it at all; they were in such a state! She learned the music by rote, listening to me first (which is hilarious, considering I probably only learned the tune a few days before myself!) We raised the letters of the music on the page, using Braille, so she could check it if she forgot when she was at home practicing. I even tried to learn braille, so i could appreciate what it was like for her. It was extremely difficult, and she thought it was hillarious that she was better at it! As for the clarinet, she loved it. She played it for 3 years, reaching about grade 3 standard, before boys and sports got in the way, like any normal teenager.

I went to see someone for a one off lesson myself. I was curious how well I was doing, never having had a single lesson myself. I was told I would probably have passed grade 5. Not bad considering!

I still play the clarinet on and off, to this day. I wish I had started before I did, in fact. But I have Francesca to thank for being able to play it at all!

We did it, together, we proved that it IS possible, if you want it enough, you just need to apply a bit of lateral thinking to work out HOW.

MISSING

Tasked with the job of getting in contact with a boy who was due to start at my school seemed simple? Well not so.

After several attempts to contact the house, several visits, and no luck, I discovered that in fact the boy was missing. What a can of worms. When I finally made contact, (months later) he gave me no explanation as to where he had been, why, and the circumstances surrounding his return. Hold no grudges, every day is a new day, we began the school journey.

Frankie was a lovely boy, only 13 years old, and had attended school for only a handful of days in the past few years. Feral would almost describe him. He had completely forgotten the social rules, how to talk to people, how to make friends, or for that matter, have a conversation. It is only when you get to know the background that you discover that getting a child through the school gate, through lessons and out again with minimum drama is actually a momentous occasion.

Frankie came from a troubled home. He had several ASBO’s CRASBO’s, you name it. I think he most likely had a criminal record too. His mother tried her best, however Frankie always had other ideas and the two hardly ever saw eye to eye. Compromise was NOT in the language in this household.

Frankie didn’t much enjoy spending time at home. He was always the one to blame if things went missing, got broke, so he spent most of his time elsewhere. Perhaps that was the problem. I very quickly discovered all sorts of things that explained his behaviour in school. He was often locked out of the house if he didn’t return home at the designated time. This could mean being locked out ALL might more often than not. He came up with a solution – broke the bathroom window lock, so that he could ‘break back into his house’ if necessary. Mum discovered this plan, so got the window fixed.

No wonder Frankie was missing when I tried to make that first contact… it makes you wonder doesn’t it? What would you do if you were in his position? I doubt that he had nice mates who were willing to put him up, and I doubt that he spent those nights locked out simply sleeping somewhere.

It seemed that we have some serious work to do, but a special needs teacher NEVER gives up……

Broken Promises

I walked up the wide block paved drive towards a bright, well kept house, it was a sunny afternoon. A well dressed couple answered the door, and invited me into the kitchen. It was a very clean, new kitchen and the house was excellently presented. There were reserved looks on both the faces of the parents, as they looked at me, and then called Andrew down from upstairs.

‘We’ve been here so many times before’ the lady explained, as Andrew entered the room, and sat slumped on a chair in the corner. He was a well groomed young man, clearly taking great pride in his appearance. He didn’t say anything other than hello, then looked at the floor, the walls, fiddle with the fruit bowl in the centre of the table, everything other than engage in the conversation.

She seemed rather tense, an air of expectation about her. Our Andrew shouldn’t be at this school. He shouldn’t even have been kicked out of the first school. It wasn’t his fault. The school let him down, let us down. Very angry and resentful of the school system, she stated ‘He’s not going there you know. I’ll educate him at home if I have to’ and folded her arms in a decisive fashion. It was clear who made the decisions in this house.

This was going to be tough.

Andrew’s parents had been let down several times in the past by the school system. Andrew had faced 3 exclusions as well as a managed move that did not go well. He smoked, did drugs occasionally, had lost interest in his passion for football. He resented every school move. Understandably, he wanted to be with his friends. This was NOT the school for him. He was beyond this. As for getting up early to catch a taxi to the next town, you had to be joking, right?

I explained at length what we could offer Andrew and his family. This school had a flexible timetable; we worked hard for the needs of the students.

‘What if he refused to go, he often does that you know?’

‘Well, we discuss the problems, find out his interests, try something else. We won’t give up you know’

‘What about qualifications?’

‘Yes, he will still do GCSE’s’

‘Andrew NEVER sees anything through, you’ll never get him GCSE’s’

‘Yes he will, we are experienced at this, we have got all our students through at least some GCSE’s’

‘What if he won’t get in the taxi?’

‘Then just tell us, we’ll work something out, it’s no big deal, we won’t get you arrested or anything’

And so the questions went on, endless lists of them. Andrew got fed up and left the room long before the end of the conversation.

She was out of questions. I think we had covered absolutely everything. She began to weep, and then sob... she couldn’t control it any more. Through tearful eyes she quietly said ‘this sounds like the perfect school for him. I wish we had met you a long time ago. I think he will be ok there. Let’s give it a go shall we? ‘

I smiled gently at her and held her hand.

‘You’re not alone any more. We’ll work together to get the best for Andrew, right?’ I reassured her. She smiled back, and relaxed at last.

Don't give up

The head teacher came into my tutor group the other day. 'Can I have a word? I have a new student for you; you're good with the naughty ones aren't you? I'm giving you Ben. He starts next week, but I wouldn't worry about him, I'll have him out by Christmas'

And thus started my journey into Special needs. Ben had a marked and moving effect on me. He, single handed, is the reason why I am now a special needs teacher. When I tell his story, even to this day it upsets me.

He was your typical 'naughty boy'. A bit unkempt, extremely thick school file and a long list of 'previous schools'.  Ben's life at home was rather complex. He was the oldest of several siblings who lived with their mother. Social services knew the family well.

It was the small signs that spoke volumes. He would turn up to school with only some of his uniform, sometimes wearing girls socks, often had no lunch, and whenever he was anywhere near the deputy head's office ALL the complimentary biscuits were gone in a flash.

But, he loved his mother dearly and would do ANYTHING for her. In fact I think he did most things for her. He knew far too much for his age, and before very long some of his siblings were no longer allowed to live at home.

School was the least of his worries.  He was an extremely intelligent boy, and sadly Teachers didn't have time for him. All they saw was the answering back, disruptive behaviour and violent outbursts. He was regularly sent out of lessons and this concerned me. I was NOT going to allow the head to determine his future based on a reputation that preceded him.

Ben and I struck up a deal. If he was ever in trouble in school he agreed he would come to me, work and all. This happened extremely regularly indeed.  But, he was coping, amongst the hell that was his life. I fought against exclusion when he broke a fire door; I regularly defended him to the head teacher and rescued him from several more exclusions, becoming his rock, his shoulder to cry on.

We talked at length about all sorts. He would often ask about his rights, talked about his father, and the anger he felt for the fact that he left the family when he was young. He missed his younger brothers, there was only him and his sister at home now, and when social services went round it had been very ugly.

I knew things were still tough though. I heard from the police that his absence one day was because he was in the police cells. All sorts of things spun through my head. But in the end I was deeply saddened to discover that he had been arrested for stealing food.

Some details I feel are even too sad to share, but this was just the tip of the ice berg.

Disaster struck the day I heard the news from the hospital about my long awaited major knee operation. It was on the first day of the autumn term. I feared this was the opportunity the head was looking for. I was distraught. What would Ben do without me? I honestly worried that he would not cope.

We arranged a support Network involving staff he preferred, and I thought I had everything covered. Even though I was only a teacher, I felt I had become his social worker.

I bid him farewell, reassured him he would be ok, and departed for the summer break.

The news reached me shortly after I got out of hospital. On the third day back after the summer break, Ben has been caught trying to start a fire in a classroom. The head permanently expelled him. That goodbye in July had been the last time I would see Ben.

I was inconsolable. I had deserted him. He needed me and I was not there. I felt truly awful, words cannot describe my distress. I tried to find out what had happened to him next. Data protection prevented me from finding out anything more.

A message to Ben if I could talk to him now would be thus:

'I am truly sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me but you must understand that my heart was with you. I hope life has been kind to you. You are never far from my thoughts and I want to thank you for helping me find my own path in special needs teaching, one I wouldn't have found without you'

The man from the fayre - a snapshot into a life.

I received an unexpected phone call. A new student. No file, no background, nothing. Lived with Dad, who seemed willing to co-operate and do the best he could. Jamie seemed like a typical teenager but was into things he shouldn't be. We had him for a few months, that was all.

It turned out Dad wasn't Dad after all. Jamie's parents actually lived in another county, still happily married. Jamie's 'Dad' was the ex-affair his mother had. It is unbelievable to think that he actually tried so hard with Jamie, considering he had no maternal connections. Sadly though, Jamie was getting into trouble with the police too much.  I discovered this revealed a pattern. Jamie was then sent away. 'Dad' didn't need the stress any more. Unfortunately though, neither did mum. So Jamie was 'pass the human parcel'. I only knew him a few short weeks but this was enough to make me extremely angry. How dare parents treat young people, THEIR CHILDREN in this way? How on earth must Jamie feel knowing that even his parents, even his mums ex didn't want him! No wonder he was angry at society, angry at everyone. I wondered if Jamie actually got an education at all, or was he simply ‘lost in the system’ in between two counties.

Jamie happened to pass by the school some 4 or 5 years later. He stopped at the doors to talk to some students, recognised me and said 'hello I'm Jamie, I bet you don't remember me do you?' None of the staff did, his visit had been too brief.

To his surprise I did. I remembered. I remember you all, you are all special to me no matter who you were.

A tear on a mothers face

My first experience of teaching troubled teenagers... the task: GCSE Expressive Arts, in less than a year, from scratch, to non musicians. Meet Bradley. He was no ordinary young man, and this was no ordinary new job. I had already told the head teacher that a GCSE in half a year would be impossible, but Bradley was on a mission. He was just looking for a light and the light for him was music, plain and simple. So the decision was made, in February that Bradley wanted to give it a go. Three pieces of major coursework to be completed in 3 months, followed by an exam, meant Bradley was going to be busy.

It’s amazing how much a student responds to a teacher that simply gives that little bit of extra time. He learned how to use music software programs, write lyrics, MC, digital design, and much more. His reward was an interview on local radio, and his music on air.

The sheer excitement on his face when I took him down to the studios was unforgettable. But the real reward was still to come, in three short months, Bradley earned himself a B Grade in GCSE expressive arts. I am so so proud that I was able to facilitate such creative genius. From no hope, to great achievements, I hope Bradley went on to build on the much needed confidence this brought him.

I’ll leave the words to Bradley. Here are his lyrics.

Young boy sitting alone in a cell

Knows all the ones in, out, oh well,

3 months 6 months and then a year,

Yeah, robbing and mugging seemed a great idea.

Someone’s brother, someone’s son,

Caught like an animal cause he carried a gun,

Only thing was a life’s gone to waste

Seeing a tear on a mothers face.

In cities all over this world, everybody knows a gangster or a ho

Carrying a gun doesn’t make you big,

It’s just another grave for someone to dig

Listen to someone that knows,

I aint preaching to you man, I’m just someone that knows

Yeah it’s happening in all kindsa places

Always tears on mothers faces.

Young girl stands on a dirty street,

Selling her body like a butcher sells meat,

Doing time on her back to pay for the crack,

She says this is the last time but she’ll be back.

Her body tells a story of fists and blades.

What it doesn’t tell her is she’s dying of aids,

Only one thing worse than a life gone to waste,

Are the tears on a mothers face.

In cities all over this world, everybody knows a gangster or a ho

Carrying a gun doesn’t make you big,

It’s just another grave for someone to dig

Listen to someone that knows,

Not preaching to you man, I’m just someone that knows

Yeah it’s happening in all kindsa places

Always tears on mothers faces.

Anon

I received a file, confidential. No name, no previous school, just a scrawled note with a number. Not knowing what I was calling, I dialled it. A homeless women’s shelter. I didn’t quite know what to say to the lady on the other end.

‘erm, I have just received a file, a new student but I don’t have a name, can you help at all, or do I have the wrong number?’

‘oh, hello, you must be calling about Belinda. You had better tell me where you are and we’ll come round and see you.’

Belinda walked into the room, smiling, cheerful, radiant. She was a tall slim beautiful long blonde haired girl, extremely friendly, yet shy. She sat awkwardly on the chair, facing the corner of the room, periodically looking at the floor. The two things didn’t quite seem to go together. The lady she was with explained that I was not allowed to record anything she was about to say, for Belinda’s safety. The police were involved, and she had a protected identity now. I wasn’t even told her real name.

I could only imagine the horror this poor beautiful smiling girl had endured to be sitting in front of me now. To this day I do not know the extent of story. All that needs to be said is Belinda was a brave young woman who fled to save her own life.

She explained how she thought it was cool that she got to choose her own name, got to see all these new things, meet new people, amazingly positive for someone who had obviously endured much already in her relatively short life.

She found the school placement a struggle. There were so many things that we took for granted. ‘What were playing cards?’ She asked. Why are they staring at me like that? So many questions, so many social rules she didn’t understand.

I lost track of Belinda, after she was moved again, however I understand she now has her own flat, took her GCSE’s and did well, and even has a boyfriend. I understand that is a BIG deal for Belinda.

It’s amazing how someone so young can touch your heart in such a deep way. It was only a fleeting encounter, but I really do hope she is doing well. My gosh, she deserves some luck in her life from what I can gather. I often think about her and wonder how she’s getting on. That’s teaching I guess.

Francesca

It was my second year as a teacher, mainstream secondary music, year 7 and it’s their first lesson. It’s the first week of my new job, I have tried hard to make the classroom inviting and stimulating. I decide that a practical lesson is the way forward - make it fun, exciting, engaging; I'm feeling positive. I wait patiently, they all file in; sit down at tables facing me. One girl is still wearing her coat, only one. She sits calmly one row from the front, facing me and smiling gently, long, dark shiny hair, with a black streak running through.

'coat off please' I ask her trying to make eye contact.

Her smile remains constant, she doesn't move, still staring ahead somewhere into the space just to the left of me.

'coat please' I repeat.

She still doesn't move, but her smile remains.

'please don't ignore me, coat OFF' I say, in a stern voice, becoming a little irritated.

'miss, she's blind' the girl sat beside her explains. Silence fills the room, and the class all remain staring at me.  

Autism and the Autistic Spectrum

I am by day, a special needs teacher. I have always been one for supporting the underdog. 7 years teaching permanently excluded students in a pupil referral unit taught me to see the finer details, and judge progress on a whole new parameter.

Autism has always fascinated me. When I started my current post I was lucky enough to attend a TEACCH course and now I work with ASD students (among others). The student themselves have taught me so much about the ambiguities of speech, things I have never even thought about or considered before.

I did in fact take the Autism spectrum test on facebook:

http://apps.facebook.com/autismspectrumtest/?ref=bookmarks&count=0

My score was 34. I poo pooed it, did really read the writing on the top before i started, you know, like we all do. I told the ASD co-ordinator about it in school and she looked at me astounded and told me that test is actually very accurate. 80% of people in the test sample that had an aautism related disease scored 32 or higher.

What does that mean for me? Nothing. It was nothing i didnt expect to be honest, and those I work with didnt look that surprised either.

are you going to get a diagnosis?

Why should I? i know how my mind works, my husband knows that i need to know BEFORE hand what is happening, and I he says he will do something then doesn't, that just might be a big curve ball for me. Why do I need a shrink to 'officially' give me the label?

Do YOU think I should?

What does sadden me is that not enough people understand or appreciate the difficulties surrounding Autism Spectrum Disease (ASD). There isn't a leg missing, nothing can be seen on the outside, yet, ASD makes the sufferer very different. They see the world in a very different way to other people.

One of the most charismatic speakers I have ever seen (only on DVD sadly) is Temple Grandin. http://www.templegrandin.com/ who is a doctor, and has autism herself. She explains in a fantastically easy way to understand, what it has been like for her.

Ultimately, I wanted to share this poem with you. I found it on this site:

http://www.child-autism-parent-cafe.com/autism-students-in-inclusive-classrooms.html and I think it puts things beautifully. I assume from the source, that it is written by Ethan's mother..

Autism Poem: I Am Ethan

I am Ethan.
You may not understand me, or the way I feel today.
You may not understand my reasoning for things I do or say.

The reasons why I'm so loud and say things over & over again,
Why I run so differently or lose my homework every now & then.

I write my letters backwards and sometimes numbers too,
and when in a conversation, I'll say "Guess what" 100 times to you.

Too much noise, light, or excitement can set me in a spin.
I don't like the way these pants feel rubbing against my skin.

I try to be good, but sometimes it's hard to control,
I have to do it, it's an impulse, I don't always do what I'm told.

Ketchup, Ranch and BBQ sauce on everything I eat,
sometimes I have days that I just can't sit still in my seat.

I like to talk a lot even when it's out of turn,
my mind plays tricks on me and interrupts what I'm trying to learn.

Sit up straight, wipe my face, and play ever so soft,
some of these things I have trouble with and I usually lose my train of thought.

I didn't mean to spill the milk mom, or slam the door so hard,
everyone else is done with their homework, I don't know where to start?

My heart's as big as gold, my feelings get hurt too,
I get sad, cry and have bad days just like you.

My brain works differently than other girls and boys,
but one thing always holds true, I can give your life so much joy.

I get frustrated so easily and my hand won't work that way,
I don't understand why those other kids won't let me come over and play.

Please don't think of me any differently or love of me any less,
I'm just like other kids and trying to do my best.

I am very special in my own unique way, and every moment with me
you'll never have a dull day.

By Kelly Graham