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