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.