Showing posts with label IEP's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label IEP's. Show all posts

Friday, April 13, 2018

The Last IEP or How A White Poppy Blooms

                                        

IEPs suck.
There's no other way around it.

I've thought about this a lot...having been through many, many, many.

It feels like we could make them easier on the mama's heart.
We could just stop talking about all of the many ways the student isn't measuring up and start considering the one-of-a-kind, unrepeatable gifts they bring to the class.

Why must we test and test and test...
using measurement tools that have not been created for people with intellectual disabilities at all?

I'm pretty sure I would fail a test in Chinese...it wasn't made for me.

Why do we force kids with Down Syndrome to take tests that weren't made for them and then act surprised when the scores reveal that the test wasn't made for them?

Why do we make educating children so hard?

Why do we sit as a panel of experts judging, critiquing, analyzing...
while the parent waits with dread at the guilty verdict:
We pronounce your child disabled.

Why do we see disability as brokenness?

Why can't we see the rare gift of the individual?



Before Patrick, I would have been bothered by that bold white poppy.
I would have disgustedly thought it should fit in.

Its difference would annoy me.

Today I see that poppy and cheer...or, in this case, stop and take a pic.

You, Go, White Poppy!

How did you become white?
Aren't you your bad self, standing there so bold and defiant.

Best of all, I marvel at the environment.
Somehow, some way, the circumstances were configured so that this white poppy could bloom...alongside the orange ones.

How can we help our classrooms be like that?

What does it take?

It sure doesn't take a panel of poppies sitting around a table pointing out the whiteness...
or should we say "severe lack of orange-ness"...the deficit in orange is noticeable.

Spoiler alert: it's never becoming orange.

And, yet, it is beautiful and capable of being a white poppy perfectly and
needs no panel of experts telling it what to do.

*****

I propose this for the next IEP you must attend:

Ask them to tell you about your white poppy.
Ask them to SEE the beauty in your white poppy.
Ask them to understand that the white poppy is never never turning orange and yet it must live among the orange bounty.

What can they do to ensure the vibrancy and flourishing of the white poppy
among so many orange ones?

Let's just start by valuing the white poppy.

Let's stop trying to make the white poppy anything else.

Let's just notice the beauty...and work to fertilize the soil and water it enough and offer sunlight.

*****

Today, we reached the end of a long long journey.
No more IEPs and panels and tests.

I can hardly believe it.

Patrick's journey through kindergarten to high school is almost complete.
Because Patrick is graduating with a high school diploma,
he will have no transition services
from 18 -21.

Somehow, miraculously, my white poppy has been able to grow/thrive/learn/live with all the
orange poppies.

Yes, there were people who thought that my white poppy didn't belong...
but there were way, way more gardeners who saw his unusual beauty
and created the climate for him to thrive.

I am so grateful to the teachers who said yes.
So grateful for the willing hearts.
So humbled by the gift of educators who found a way to welcome a white poppy
into an orange world.



Today, my 18 year old son with Down Syndrome signed his own damn IEP.

He shared his hopes and dreams - his strengths and his struggles.
He offered his vision for his future to a bunch of adults.
He acknowledged his heroes and dreamed out loud.

I sincerely doubt if I could have done anything close to that when I was 18.

It was a crystal clear moment of courage and clarity.

I was sidelined and in the cheering section...
as it should be.

*****

I can only echo the words that are at the top:
Believe in your child so much the world thinks you're crazy.
Then believe more.

The problem isn't that we dream too big...
I know that much.

Today, I am grateful for the grace of endings, the blessing of beginnings and the power of prayer.
Lord, hold him close.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

A Powerful Force For Love


Today I had Patrick's IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for his transition to high school.

I wasn't expecting too much since we had recently had another IEP meeting and pretty much set up all of the expectations for next year and planned it all out ahead of time.
This was just a more formal hand off:
You, junior high group, formally pass the torch to the high school group.

It was an intimate affair.

One school psychiatrist. One inclusion specialist from the high school. 
One junior high inclusion specialist and me.
And the person of honor: Patrick.

So we started out the meeting in the usual way.
Let's list Patrick's strengths.
Patrick, you go first.

Patrick was prepared.
Mike, his awesome inclusion specialist, had worked with him.
He listed off his reading, his love of Shakespeare, his love of drama...
and then he paused.

So the team, ever conscious of time, and the need for a steady pace, stepped in.
Mike asked pointedly: "Any more strengths, Patrick?"

Patrick was thinking about it.
I wanted to jump in and list the many, many strengths that I know he has.
But I resisted.

I distracted myself: I pondered how I would have handled this question 
asked of me in a room full of adults as a 15 year old.
I would have said way more ummmms.

[Once again, I considered how faulty this whole process was...
how contrived and forced.
What 15 year old would want to discuss his or her strengths or challenges in a room full of adults?
What adult would?
Asking a typical student to do this is hard.
Asking a teenager with a developmental disability to do this is Herculean.]

Patrick ummed for only a short second and then he hit it out of the park:

"Oh, and I'm a powerful force for love."

What on earth?
Never.
Honestly.
Ever. 
Have I said that phrase.to anyone.

There was a silence in the room.

I wasn't sure if they had heard him...but Mike did.

I agreed with Patrick and chimed in.
"Yes, he's a powerful force for love...but I'm not sure where that will go in our paperwork."

In my mind, I'm in a trance.

Powerful force for love.
Powerful force for love.
Powerful force for love.

Why, oh why, isn't that measurable?
Why does an ability to move fractions into percents seem to this audience as a greater strength?

Where's our humanity?

*****

What I love about this whole episode is that to those of us who have our days graced with someone with Down Syndrome this whole conversation doesn't seem so far-fetched.
People with Down Syndrome have a remarkable ability to keep it real.
To be candid and spot on.
They get to the heart of a situation.
They speak their minds...
without pretense or hidden agendas.

We just have to listen.

Or their genius gets overlooked...or lost...or worst of all, remains unknown.

No adult took the bait.
Patrick's comment went untouched.

Except for me.

His words just echoed. Over and over.

Powerful force for love.
Powerful force for love.
Powerful force for love.


His words became the haunting opportunity that remains largely missed in our schools.
Students with intellectual disabilities should be,
MUST BE,
included in typical classrooms...for this very reason.

THEY ARE A POWERFUL FORCE FOR LOVE.

And our classrooms need way more love.
Our typical students could sure use some love...
some acceptance...
some social, emotional acknowledgement.

Our schools need this powerful force,
way more than fractions or dates in history or grammar.

LOVE is the answer.

*****

Still, hours later, I'm hypnotized by those words.

Powerful force for love.
Powerful force for love.
Powerful force for love.

Maybe he said them just for my benefit.

They have forever changed me.
Patrick's words have become a mantra...
a challenge...
a request from the universe.
Most of all, they have become my heart's desire...
a daily affirmation...

to live more forcefully...
for love.

Let's be a powerful force for love. Today.