The Flavor of Smartness

"What is the flavor of smartness?"

The kindergarten teacher asked that question of her students through the computer screen.

As an observer I wrote it down in my notes...

and promptly began to consider such a compelling question.

What is the flavor of smartness?

The kindergarteners looked through their screens at their teacher.

She was wearing a plastic shield over her face.

She was sitting in her empty classroom with the afternoon kindergarten teacher sitting a proper distance away.

The teacher lets the question sit in the air...and then quickly says that the flavor of smartness is chocolate chip cookies.

She leans in to the screen and asks her students what they think the flavor of smartness might be.

I am an extra box on the grid of people attending this virtual classroom.

I observe teachers for my job.

I watch them on the tightrope of teaching...twisting to connect with a student...walking with flare to model the latest educational concept...gripping the rope as they barely hang on as it sways with uncertainty and upheaval.

Mostly I observe beginning teachers...but sometimes I am gifted with a shining moment of academic clarity or super human compassion from the resident teacher that generously shares the classroom with and mentors my student teachers.

This was one of those times.

What is happening in virtual classrooms right now has never been done before.

It is innovative.

Creative.

Difficult.

Heartbreaking.

Silly.

Embarrassing.

Brilliant.

Teachers are exposed like never before.

The ones I see, labor for hours figuring out an app or a website or a way forward for students.

They read stories.

Do art projects.

Tackle science experiments.

Sing and dance.

Teach math and history...

all over a screen.

They try to make the distance shorter with familiarity.

They use pocket charts or posters or puppets that the students know from school.

They try to maintain the routines that made their classroom a community.

They smile and cheer over a screen.

What is left unsaid is the colossal loss for the students.

Classrooms are more than the shared space.

They are more than the students and teachers.

They are a magical brew of intimacy and knowing...the instantaneous teacher response to a student's facial expression or body language...the unwritten comfort of a teacher placing a student in a specific space...or the hand over hand guidance of beginning writing...or the millions of micro-encouraging moments that teachers do without even thinking...

the smile...the eyebrow uplift...the wink...the nod...the deep breath.

It's the give and take of conversation...and commotion...

that kids and adults have everyday in the classroom.

All of that is lost today.

But for a split second, the magic happened over the screen with that mind-tickling question.

*****

Eight weeks earlier...that same mentor teacher used her decades of knowledge of five year olds and her deep understanding that all students want to learn...and tried something unusual with a student who was struggling.

It was center time and this student was working on handwriting and letter formation. 

The student put his head down.

Forming words with a pencil, fitting it onto a line...it all seemed like too much.

Overwhelming.

In order to avoid that, the student left the table and meandered over to the easel. 

He crawled underneath it.

Positioned himself like the roly poly bugs the kindergarteners find in the garden.

Most teachers would cajole the student...or reprimand the student...or sigh at the student and imply that the student was making a bad choice.

The master teacher chose none of those options.

Instead, she was curious.

She asked a question:

"I see you are over here in a tucked in place but you don't look happy. Do you know why?"

The student pointed at the table.

She asked him if he would like to try writing in this small tucked in space.

He nodded.

The teacher created a hard, stable writing platform resting on two wooden blocks...

AND THE STUDENT WROTE.

After a while, the student walked himself back over to the larger table where students were working on handwriting.

The teacher made space for the student to learn.

She sent the message that she knew the student could do the work.

She offered her encouragement and her belief in him.

She adjusted and modified.

While at the same time holding the student to the same expectations as other students.

Her ability to be curious instead of angry allowed the moment to be educational and productive.

I just took notes.

*****

What is the flavor of smartness?

Like so much of life, there is no right answer.

It is wide open.

Negotiable.

Is it the crisp freshness of a crunchy apple?

The cozy of hot buttered cinnamon toast?

The comfort of ginger peach tea?

The tang of an orange?

The exotic gift of mangoes?

The flavor of smartness is within every student.

It takes a master chef to see the beauty in each ingredient.

To find a way to bring out the flavors in a complex dish.

Whether it is done over a screen or in the classroom, 

teachers find a way to bring out the flavor of smartness in their students.

Indescribable.

Ineffable.

Sometimes impossible...yet they do.

May we stop and notice the impossible done with grace.

Thank a teacher. Today.

The Power of One

For most of us, we live our days thinking we can smile at a stranger and make someone's day.

We can make a nice breakfast for someone we love.

We can take a photo or write a letter.

We can take out the garbage or fold a load of laundry or pick up someone at soccer practice -- living our days in our way, helping in little ways, being kind to the people we love 

and hoping the ripples keep going...out there.

We're making a difference in our way.

We've seen great people make great changes.

Martin Luther King

Nelson Mandela

Susan B. Anthony

and we think those people are "others" 

-- knowing greatness and living bigger-than-life lives their whole life.

They weren't doing laundry, right?

We plug away and that is good enough.

When you have a child with a disability, even the basics of plugging away seem far-fetched.

Laundry?

There's a life skills class for that.

Taking the bus?

Better have that written into the IEP.

Holding a job?

Having a relationship?

Making a difference...how real is that?

So on Wednesday night when Emily wrote down her life goals...

how much of a difference could it make?

She has Down Syndrome after all.

She's only 15.

Really, does anyone really care?

It was a shout into the void.

Or maybe it was just a secret of the heart...written down so that it got a little bit more real.

Here is her letter in her own writing, with her own spelling 

(checked by Emily with her cell phone -- motivation at its finest!)

The top three listed are her life goals:

1) go to college

2) keep learning

3) graduate like normal kids

*****

I'd like to take a minute here and discuss this idea of "normal" kids.

Seeing that written out so plainly actually hurt the hearts of several people who actively work for inclusion for students and people with disabilities. 

Those words brought people to tears.

But Emily is not dissing herself.

She's not feeling unworthy or less.

She's merely reflecting back what the school system and probably a large part of our world has been sending her as a message.

She's calling it like she sees it and there's a whole lot of power in that.

It's not sad or pathetic.

In her world, for her, it's merely accurate.

She wants to graduate.

(FYI: Many people with Down Syndrome are not allowed to graduate from high school...all they can do is get a certificate.)

*****

Three jobs Emily would like to have:

1) Make-up artist

2) Teach toddlers in preschool

3) Work at Jamba Juice making fruit smoothies

The last three listed are what she hopes will happen in high school:

1) Have the peer tutors put their phones away and help me.

2) I want the teachers to treat me kindly. 

Don't act like you are frustrated with me. I have Down Syndrome and I need help.

--> again we get a dose of Emily's realism...people, she needs help. She has Down Syndrome. 

Can somebody put their phone down and help??

What I love about this is that if this was written by someone with only 46 chromosomes, this comment could have come off as snarky or abrasive. But with Emily, there is beauty in her candor. She has no pretense. She has no idea that this letter is going to a larger audience. This is for her and she is listing what she truly needs. 

There is a take-your-breath-away honesty here that holds us all captive.

Suddenly we can see clearly into the heart of someone with an intellectual disability...

and you know what...

her heart is just like yours and mine.

It's full of hopes and dreams and basic needs.

She wants to be useful.

She wants to learn.

She wants some help.

Here is her final wish for high school:

I love the way Emily weaves the timeless and well known words of the song from Frozen into her own hope, her own truth, her very own plea:

DON'T LIMIT ME!

Emily lives in a world of limits and limitations.

We all do.

But for people with Down Syndrome it seems like the world loves to tell you what you can't do.

Your baby won't be able to breast feed.

Your baby will get sick often.

Your baby will not eat solid food for years.

On and on it goes...the list of can'ts and won'ts.

It's hard enough to hear when you're the parent. 

I can only imagine what it must be like to live with day in and day out.

Emily's final words were a battle cry.

A reminder for all of us.

Who are we to say you can't do something??

What do we know?

Emily is asking for a chance to be fully included in high school and we owe her that much.

She deserves the opportunity.

Clearly, she's capable.

Who could know how loudly Emily's words would resonate??

None of us could have guessed.

But her honesty, her raw pleas for help and her dreams have been heard.

Big.Time.

When Emily's mom shared her letter with me I knew I had to share it. I shared it on Facebook on our National Catholic Board on Full Inclusion page where in two days over 4,000 people had seen it! 

But it was when I shared it on Twitter that I watched a miracle unfold. 

For a while there on Twitter her letter was getting shared over and over.

The hashtag beside it:

#dontlimitme

Here is a moving blog post by an amazing educator and advocate for students with learning disabilities, Lindsey Lipsky. We connected via Twitter on the power in Emily's voice and her truth. 

http://www.lindseylipsky.com/dont-limit-me-a-message-for-all-teachers-and-students/

Yes, Emily, you, my friend, have made a difference.

You have changed minds, inspired educators and energized an army of warriors who are on your side. Teachers, principals, professors, creators of programs and people in government agencies have heard and responded. 

Your words are rippling and sparkling and tickling the minds of so many.

Thank you for speaking your truth.

And for wishing out loud.

One person can make a very big difference.

Together we can change the world.

Let's get busy.

We have work to do.

Being Nice Isn't Nice

My heart is so heavy today.

Discouraged.

Worn down.

Feeling like I was scaling a mountain and I fell...way, way down...and I'm stuck.

I recently listened to this podcast about expectations.

It is amazing and terrifying and profound.

It tells the story of a man who lost his eyes to cancer before he turned two...both eyeballs removed.

Completely blind.

Only, not really.

Because, like all two year olds, he adjusted.

He intuitively started clicking and making noises to echo-locate in his world...just like bats.

He got so good at it that he uses a cane as a very minimal guide often just holding it up by his side.

He can ride a bike.

Yes, no lie.

This blind man, rides a bike on his own by clicking as he goes.

He maneuvers through his world, very capably. 

He has his freedom...

but because this is so rare for blind people, he goes around the world explaining how it can be done.

Proving all of us who don't know any better, wrong.

So, all of us, with our über compassionate hearts who want to reach out and hold a blind person by the elbow and guide him along, take it all down a notch right now. 

It's not necessary.

What does Daniel Kish need from us?

Opportunity.

An open mind.

Equality.

To be seen.

*****

I have a son with Down Syndrome.

His name is Patrick.

He is 15 years old -- capable and reliable and smart.

He's someone who always knows where his cell phone is -- much better than me in that regard --

and charges it up faithfully.

Patrick, as you may know, loves theater and Shakespeare and being in plays. He's been in over twenty performances of all kinds.  He memorizes scripts; writes his own scripts; plans cast lists and eagerly awaits the latest soundtrack from his latest Broadway favorite.

I know that's not the message that most of the world gets when you find out about 

Down Syndrome...but it's the truth.

Yes, he needs to be supported in his learning.

But in his living?

He is fine. Thank you very much.

He just needs to be seen.

He needs to be given opportunities and support.

But isn't that what we all need?

Tonight was the play that Patrick has been preparing for since early November.

He didn't get a part so he was allowed to do tech.

He was excited to be in charge of a spotlight.

The only problem was...he wasn't in charge of a spotlight.

He was in charge of following along in the script and cueing the student who was using the spotlight.

Ummm...that's not a job.

We all know that the student doing the spotlight knew the cues and needed no reminding.

I am cringing thinking of Patrick taking this job so very seriously, offering the cues, while the student who was doing the spotlight just played along.

That job which was no job sent a devastating message of incompetence and unreliability to every single student performing in the play...and every audience member...and every faculty member.

That message isn't one of inclusion.

It's one of exclusion.

A message of being set aside.

A message of:

you're only good enough to breathe the same air...not actually work on the same play.

Ironically, the play is called Metamophoses.

So much change and growth could have happened.

Should have happened.

But people who had very good eyesight turned out to be unable to see. Blind to the opportunity.

People with very big hearts and genuine concern for students tried to be nice.

But nice isn't nice.

Reinforcing stereotypes is never nice.

Lowering your expectations is not compassionate.

The result of these good intentions: people in the margins stay right there.

*****

I don't know how you help someone to see.

How you change a perception.

All I can do is show up with my kid and hope for the best at every opportunity.

He knows what to do.

He just needs a chance...

a chance to be seen.

God bless Patrick.

Who took his job that wasn't a job and did his level best.

That's all you can ask of your child.

But I can ask the world to do better.

I can ask the world to blink.

Rub your eyes.

Pause for one minute and contemplate who you are not seeing.

Who do you overlook -- even with good intentions?

Who sits on the margins of your world?

Can you expand your view of the horizon a little bit more?

Who can you reach out to and lift up?

World, open your eyes.

You are missing out.

******

*UPDATE*

Sometimes, very rarely, things tie up with a bow.

They circle around and make sense.

This is one of those times.

After an early morning email to the director with many of these same thoughts enclosed, 

the director, kindly, thoughtfully, responded with his eyes wide open.

He had a second chance and he used it.

Tonight, the last night of the play, Patrick worked the spotlight.

Someone else read the script.

He stood on a cafeteria table...

"it gave me balance" he delightfully noted,

and used the pink or blue lens and shone that spotlight right where it needed to go.

He did it.

Awareness + second chances = opportunity

I'm grateful for a director who was willing to think about it.

Grateful for kindess.

Grateful for grace in the ordinary.

All my heart can say is thank you.

I Have Some Data Too...

Ummm...hello, out there...anybody home??

Can we talk for a minute?

Can we discuss what on earth is going on for teachers right now?

Our world has had an information explosion and schools have been bringing up the rear.

We have old fashioned desks, limited wi-fi, email that barely works, projectors that still use VCR tapes (no joke) or CD's for music and an old computer or two hanging around the back of the room, posing as a computer center.

Of course there are fancy districts with the latest technology.  

Those lucky teachers might have smart boards, doc-cams, the ability to stream something from their computer onto a screen or even a class set of Ipads.

But that's a tiny portion of our school districts.

Many are sadly out of date.

Shame on you Google, Yahoo, PayPal, Apple and the rest.

Have a symposium or some sort of summit, pat yourself on the back for your initiative, your drive and your stunning intelligence and for God's sake get some leadership going.

I know, I know...not your focus.

But you sure love to provide the data, don't you?

I have this job where I get to go around to all sorts of schools in all sorts of districts and see what's going on.  

I work with the best teachers who mentor my student teachers.

It doesn't matter how fancy the technology, the size of the cafeteria or if the school has a garden, a PE instructor, or a science lab.

It's the teachers that matter.

In the poorest districts, in the richest districts and everywhere in between the divining rod of excellence is the teacher.

And, boy, am I privileged to see excellence in action.

I'd like to be the Lorax and speak not for the trees (they seem to have plenty of people wanting to talk for them) but for the teachers.

The-day-in-day-out-nitty-gritty-not-glamorous warriors that take our children and love them like their own. They plan, teach, re-teach, assess, reflect and just generally obsess on how to help their students succeed.  These people come in early, stay late, use their own money, attend conferences on their own dime and with their off time and they love it.

They sign up and stay in the trenches for decades.

Not for any reason other than that is their life's calling.

They care.

They take pride in their work.

It matters.

Guess what has happened?

We've turned students into a commodity.

We can collect data on them.

Like the early cave man, we are hypnotized by the fire we've just discovered.

We can't stop staring...and we are getting burned.

We are drowning in data.

Oh, it's so very sexy.

Bar graphs.

Line graphs.

Pie charts and percentages.

Can you really measure a six year old like that?

Maybe.

But it better be a damn good test.

And trust me, I haven't found a single one that slides into the "damn good" category.

Most are junk.

Testing on standards that aren't used anymore.

In ways that are pedagogically unsound.

Most of the numbers are meaningless...but they are numbers and that makes them powerful.

Very powerful.

So powerful that I sat in a lunch room today with two stellar first grade teachers, one with 26 years worth of expertise and one with 28 years, who were shaken to their core.

These two are no joke.

They embody every single accolade I can  possibly think up:

selfless

hard-working

tireless

a true advocate for every child

generous

kind

child centered

professional

miracle worker

Those two people got data from their principal that gave them a sleepless night.

Their scores in literacy were down.

Way down.

The lowest in the district.

Alarm bells went off at the district level.

The data had spoken.

One of the teachers actually said, "Yesterday was the worst day of my teaching career."

No one bothered to wonder out loud why that data was so off.

Like the proverbial 5th grade science experiment, nobody bothered to ask a question.

Or hypothesize.

Or just say...sorry, that doesn't make sense.

The data had spoken.

Ummmm...yoooo hoooo....can you all pause for a minute?

I have data too.

My data says that after 28 years of learning your profession you actually know something of value and it's damn hard to measure.

These two are experts in teaching reading, writing and math but they are living sensei in the bigger picture.

They know how to comfort a child.

They know how to inspire a child.

They make school magical and wonderful and creative and fun.

They know what to do for second language learners that do not know a single word of English but get tested in it.

They know how to help the child whose mom "just forgot to pay that bill that keeps the lights on".

The child who's hungry.

Or dirty.

Or hungry in their heart.

No test measures those things.

There's no data on that.

And guess what??

What those teachers do day in and day out on behalf of the most vulnerable, voiceless victims in this whole data game is nothing short of heroic.

Shame on administrators who believe the data first.

Shame on parents and cities that take pride in high test scores when in reality all it measures is privilege and access to opportunity.

Shame on testing companies who make gobs of money convincing districts that they don't need field trips but instead a whole lot more tests...that measure what exactly?

Literacy?

Numeracy?

Character?

Honesty?

Grit?

Courage?

Creativity?

Spoiler alert: There's quite a bit of teaching and learning that is hard to quantify.

And I would argue that the non-quantifiable things are truly what matter most.

How do you measure a teacher who won't give up on a child?

A teacher who believes that every child can learn?

A teacher that can transform the way the child sees himself?

Tonight I am grateful for two very special teachers and the tidal wave of other similarly fantastic teachers who never hear this:

YOU ARE DAMN GOOD AT YOUR JOB.

You rock.

You stay strong and drown out the nay-sayers.

Own it.

I am proud to know you and see your excellence in action.

No test can measure what I know to be true.

You are what every educator aspires to be.

And the test is what has failed, not you.

We Long To Belong

 

Sitting in my seminar this week with my student teachers we talked about how to manage kids in the classroom.  

We discussed the three guest speakers we had had the week before --

excellent teachers from all walks of life.

All three of them kept repeating the same message.

Even though they were from different cities and from different schools with different populations of students.

They said it many different ways but it all came down to this:

The student must feel unconditional acceptance from you.

The students need to feel loved and connected...

...and then, said so simply by one of my student teachers, this gem revealed itself:

we long to belong.

I've been rolling that around in my head for a few days...

smoothing it over like a favorite blanket...

petting it...

visiting those simple rhyming words...

and letting them sink way down deep.

No duh.

We know this at such a basic level that we overlook it.

As parents.

As friends.

As family members.

As community members.

As a couple.

And yes, as teachers.

I've been working on a little dream of my own recently and it has everything to do with belonging.

Everything about feeling worthy and celebrated and accepted.

We long to belong.

Every child should feel worthy.

Every child should feel cherished and treasured and wanted...

especially at school....

most especially if we say we're Catholic and work to have our children attend Catholic school.

Parents of children with disabilities are a special group.

They've been separated and isolated through almost their entire parenting journey.

That feeling of isolation can be crushing.

Not to mention lonely.

These families have most definitely felt like outsiders standing at the gate.

They knock on the door...but they just aren't sure it will open.

It's time we threw the door wide open.

We long to belong.

Yep, folks, right here.right now. we are working on full inclusion in Catholic schools.

We are supporting families, educators, administrators and priests or other religious with our 

vision and hope.

 Turns out belonging has a name -- fullinclusionforcatholicschools.org  

There's no entrance fee.

No golden ticket required.

You belong just by being you.

You are welcomed and wanted.

Come on in.

Tony Tobin Elementary School -- What Do You Stand For??

*** Note: This might seem eerily familiar to my last post.  It is!! This is a special post written on behalf of a friend who is working full tilt to have her son attend his neighborhood school fully included.***

Do you ever wonder why

social change takes so long?

PEOPLE AWARE OF AN INJUSTICE

THOSE WHO CARE ABOUT IT

THOSE WHO SPEAK UP ABOUT IT

THOSE WHO GIVE MONEY

THOSE WHO GIVE TIME

THOSE WHO TAKE INITIATIVE

Be an ally.

*****

Beautiful Temecula, California holds an elementary school called Tony Tobin Elementary.

It's named after an amazing long time citizen of Temecula, Tony Tobin.

He was interested in recording his area of the world's history.  

He helped to build a museum and worked to save the historic chapel in town.

He was proud of Temecula and worked to make his city better.

Would he be proud of his namesake school?

Here is the mission statement of Tony Tobin Elementary:

"To ensure that each student will build a strong foundation of knowledge and skills, think independently, work collaboratively, and develop mutual respect and self-worth.  

Our school will set the educational standard of excellence of 

today, tomorrow and into the future."

That's a pretty noble mission statement.

I'd be pretty proud if I was the real Tony Tobin...

except for one tiny thing...

that mission statement doesn't seem to apply to all of its students.

It appears that if you have Down Syndrome, 

you don't get to attend the same school as your sister.

Monday was the first day of school and Hudson had to stand at the door of his home and watch his sister get her backpack on and head to second grade.

He had his backpack on.

He was ready for kindergarten.

He was uninvited.

To a public school.

His neighborhood school.

Alongside his sister.

Why???

Husdon, it turns out, has a little too much Down Syndrome.

Which, by the way, isn't even a thing.

People with Down Syndrome either have it or they don't.

They are all learners. 

They all have hopes and dreams.

Some might be more delayed but that doesn't mean they aren't learning.

What's going on in kindergarten that a child with Down Syndrome can't participate in?

Is it the social skills?

Well, let's be honest, Hudson won't be the only one who needs to work on that.

Is it the academics?

Pretty sure that Hudson isn't the only one who could use some extra help there.

Do you think that Hudson is so retarded that he can't "develop a foundation of knowledge, think independently, work collaboratively, and develop mutual respect and self-worth."

Pretty positive that Hudson could do every single one of those things with your guidance, support and high expectations.

Hudson isn't broken.

He doesn't need any fixing.

He just needs an opportunity.

The opportunity to go to his neighborhood school.

You know when they wrote the federal law in 1972, the authors had the audacity to write that "disability is a natural part of human experience and in no way diminishes the rights of individuals to participate in or to contribute to society.

Way back then, before the internet, Google, apps and Ipads, those visionaries thought 

BIG and BOLD.

They actually believed a person with a disability had the ability to learn and contribute.

How can Hudson learn or contribute if he can't even attend his neighborhood kindergarten?

How can he contribute if he is segregated?

May 17th, 2014 marked the 60th anniversary of the United States Supreme Court Decision of Brown vs.The Board of Education.

SIXTY YEARS ago the Supreme Court decided that "separate was not equal".

How in good conscience can you perpetuate segregation sixty years after the fact??

It is educationally unsound.

We have thirty years of research to support the academic and social success for students with disabilities who are fully included.

We also have the research for the rest of the kids.

Every single study.All of the research.Supports the positive social and academic benefits for typical students too.

We need bravery.

We need courage.

We need a whole crew of people to step up and shout that Hudson deserves to be here.

Right alongside their own kid.

Learning and growing.

We need voices.

We need action.

We need to live social justice and not just talk about it.

Come on.

Tony Tobin -- the school, the faculty, the parents, the students -- where are you??

Do you even know this is happening?

*****

I know because I've lived it.

My own son, Patrick, who also has Down Syndrome, went to kindergarten at 

St. James School in Davis, California.  

His neighborhood school...six houses away from our house.

He actually went to first and second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth and seventh and yes, even eighth grade there.

Fully included.

He just graduated this year.

Was it perfect?

Nope.

Did we learn a lot?

Yep.

Was it worth it?

Most definitely.

Could we help you??

Of course!!

I've got not just one kindergarten teacher but two that would be willing to help.

(Heck, I've even got a couple of principals who would talk to you!)

They are amazing teachers and yes, they believe that Hudson can learn 

alongside of his classmates.

In fact, they know he will read and write and learn his math facts just like the rest.

It might take some more repetition.  It might take several different ways.

But it will happen.

In Hudson's way. In his timing.

And it will be exactly right.

And, I'd love to have an excuse to visit you down in beautiful Temecula 

and introduce you to Patrick...heck, maybe I could even meet Tony Tobin himself!

I'd love to do an inservice for your teachers and share what we've learned.

I work with beginning teachers as my job with our local university, UC Davis.

I can send you a resume.

And guess what?

We know what to do.

We know the teaching techniques that work.

We know what apps work.

We know how to use technology to help learners like Hudson

...and here's the good part...

that research, that technology, those teaching techniques won't just help Hudson, 

they will help all of your struggling learners...

and let's not pretend that Hudson is the only student who struggles.

There's a guaranteed  10% that struggle.

In every classroom.

Your entire school will benefit with Hudson's inclusion, both academically and socially.

Here's another mind-blower:

In the entire United Kingdom, it is standard practice to place every child with 

Down Syndrome into their neighborhood school fully included with support in kindergarten.  

If it's good enough for the UK, don't you think Tony Tobin Elementary could try?

I know you want to do what's best for Hudson 

and the rest of the students who attend your school.

I know you care.

What's best for Hudson (and the entire student body) is creating an environment that allows Hudson 

to learn at the same school as his sister.

What's best for Hudson (and the entire student body) is the message that he is valuable.

And worthy.

And good enough.

That's how you develop "mutual respect and self worth."

You actually walk the walk and talk the talk.

You live it.

As a school.

It stops becoming just some words on a website and starts to actually become the vision for your school.

ALL students can learn here.

ALL students are valuable.

We'll find a way.

Can you imagine how proud Tony Tobin would be??

Can you imagine how proud you would be as educators??

No one gets into education to be a separatist and exclusive.

Educators by their very nature love the underdog.

You should love your struggling students in such a way that they feel valued, honored, supported and expected to do great things

...and then watch what happens...

they'll do just that.

They will rise to the occasion.

They just need an opportunity.

Access to the curriculum.

And an unwavering belief that they will achieve.

Tony Tobin could put his name to that.

Stop being afraid.

Stop thinking you can't do this.

You just have to believe it is possible.

Do you think it's an accident that Hudson's mom and I crossed paths?

I don't.

I know it's what the universe intended.

Here is Patrick on his graduation day, May 30th, 2014.

It is my fervent hope that Hudson's mom will be inviting me to Hudson's graduation from his fully inclusive placement in 5th grade at Tony Tobin Elementary in six years.

Believe it.