THE DIVINE MISS KAY

One teacher's epiphany to better understanding special needs children.

Retired after 46 years in the teaching field, my writing and podcasting arsenal includes, but is not limited to my passion for teaching and suggestions on how to better educate America’s children. The following is from Rescue the Teacher, Save the Child! (available on Amazon/Barnes & Noble).

The Divine Miss Kay

A wheelchair, propelled by a paraprofessional adult, enters my classroom. Oddly this chair appears to contain nothing but stacked blankets. The wheelchair must be parked in the back of my room as there is no other appropriate space. As I approach,  I perceive a stocking-capped, gloved child buried in the cocooned layers. I’ve been told Kay will join our choir class a couple of days a week. Her gentle brown face stares blankly as I greet her by name. This is our first meeting so I am not surprised her eyes do not engage. Kay is swaddled in an incasement of blankets, protecting her from a world which might not acknowledge her very existence.

For weeks, I tried in vain to communicate with Kay.  Each day, as she was wheeled in, I made my way to the back of the room. I would greet her with, “Miss Kay, it is so great to see you today!” No glimmer of recognition greeted those words. Not even a head nod. Her beautiful eyes stared  blankly, never acknowledging my voice. In my shortsighted perception, Kay seemed a paralyzed, non-verbal child who entered into my class after it started and was wheeled out before it ended.

With her wheelchair stuck in the back of the room, after greeting her, I would make my way forward to continue with the class. I could not have positioned myself physically or emotionally farther from her. I would glance at Kay occasionally, only to find her asleep. She was lost in her captivity and I was lost for ideas on how to help her morph from her protected covering.

Then the divine happened. One day, after Miss Kay’s para wheeled her into the usual faraway spot, I heard this sweet child utter a nondescript sound. She blinked, fully awake and looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. How could this be possible? How did I not see her potential to communicate? When I greeted her and asked how she was doing, she would still not respond. But we did make eye contact for the first time.

Perception is everything. I began to realize that my decades of teaching had not prepared me for this little girl. Each day in our class, Miss Kay seemed to better acclimate herself as she eventually was wheeled in with no cap, gloves or blankets. But nothing could prepare me for her first word spoken in my class.

When Miss Kay let out a low, guttural F***, I could not believe my ears. In today’s culture, hearing the “F” word from teenagers is a minute by minute non-event.  But in this moment, I had to check with my class to make sure I heard it correctly. They nodded it was true, some blushed and most suppressed giggles. Miss Kay let out the F bomb! I’ve never been so happy to hear such an ugly word! Only then did I come to the realization Miss Kay could not only communicate, but she knew full well the impact of her words. I needed to visit with the special needs staff immediately.

Teachable Moment: Communication is everything. I would soon learn Miss Kay could control when and how she responded, not unlike most teenagers her age! The special needs department began inviting me to meetings with Miss Kay’s mother. Those meetings opened a new world for me. Why had no one taken the time to let me know how capably Miss Kay could function in the classroom? How could I have connected with this very special human being and not known she could communicate? At what point had I dropped the ball?

Upon visiting with the special needs staff, we came to the conclusion better lines of communication needed to be established. I initiated a plan where the Special Education Department would communicate with me, face to face, about each special needs child in my classrooms (anywhere between five to eight children). We also needed to help the choir program’s general education population understand the capabilities and needs of these special children. Every semester, before the special needs kids joined our classes, the staff would come for questions and hold an honest discussion with our singers. The students and I could ask what to expect from each special needs child, and in turn insight imparted on how we could best provide a safe, learning environment.

One of the greatest benefits of teaching special needs children was the general education population understood they could not exhibit poor behaviors. Any negative conduct proved a deterrent to the learning environment for both the special needs and general education students. I used this fact many times when calming the class down. Everyone understood their role in providing a positive experience for our special kids.

The special needs children, due to pre-class personal hygiene care, generally could not make it to class upon starting time so when they did arrive, we would stop everything and greet each child by name. With the verbal special ed kids, our students would ask them how they were doing. If they did not reply, I would get closer to them, establish eye contact and encourage their response. Thumbs up became our agreed classroom sign of approval to reinforce the efforts of our special children.

The rest of the story with The Divine Miss Kay? She learned my name. With a deep, out of character voice from such a petite girl, she would shout at me BAAAACCCKKKK, which was one of the sweetest sounds ever to resound in the halls of our school! The butterfly was set free!

But Miss Kay had one more surprise for me. And it was a doozy! One day her para announced that she could sing the National Anthem by herself. Not at the level of today’s professional singers, but with far more impact than any famous rendition. As she hesitated a few times, I helped her fill in the blanks. Hearing her sing filled my entire being with such incredible joy. At her next IEP (Individualized Education Program) meeting, I asked her to sing it for everyone in the room. By the end of the song, I blinked back the tears, unable to speak. The people who were assigned to her team responded in kind. Not a dry eye in the room! Teaching is a calling and I am blessed my life crossed the paths of these exceptional children.

And Yet Another Teachable Moment: I made a big mistake in not initiating conversations with those special education staff members who possessed the most knowledge about the abilities of their students. I wanted our choirs to be more than a “drop off” class for those children who might not achieve success in an academic environment. Never teach a day without knowing the capabilities of your special needs students. Do not accept the written explanations without getting to know the child first. Make it your goal to provide an active participation classroom instead of one for only observation purposes.

I received recognition for my work with special needs children. But I must admit feeling very embarrassed by the public praise. While it is true our special needs children benefited from their participation in our choir program, more importantly, the general education population and I received so much more. My students and I graduated to becoming better humans when we extended unconditional love and acceptance.  A smile from Michael, handclap from Sarah and happy dance from David made for the perfect day in choir. There could never be a sour note from a choir who extended genuine affection and friendship to these beautiful children. It was one of the most lovely chapters of my life!

Stay tuned for my next blog: Pas de deux (A Dance for Two People: Winging it with Wayne!).