education and teaching

Four Inches of Paper

Saturday 16 September 2006 | 0 Comments

The staff at the center I work has been, from time to time, encouraging me to take a look at the psychological profiles tucked away in each student's file. The other day, I finally got around to looking at them.

It's the closest I've come to holding anything "Classified" in my hands. Big thick folders filled with forms, evaluations, surveys, histories, and legal documents -- all of it confidential.

While working in an EC classroom last year, I sat in on a couple of IEP meetings. The IEP ("Individual Education Plan") is a road map of issues, proposed solutions, expected outcomes, and standards for quantifying success prepared for each student receiving special services.

IEPs are usually heafty tomes as well.

The discussion ranged from previous goals to the student's medical issues, from how to incorporate the student more in regular ed opportunities to amusing things the student had said recently. Throughout the meeting, teachers, administrators, and parents alike referred to the child's records on file -- also a Tolstoy size packet of forms, notes, and evaluations.

It was a long meeting, but for me as an observer, fascinating.

"What if we had this kind of involvement for each and every student?" I muttered to my colleague as we left the meeting.

Scorecard

Sunday 10 September 2006 | 0 Comments

At the day treatment facility where I work, we use the Teaching Family Model (see Teaching Family Association), a method of behavior modification that at first seems a little silly, but becomes more reasonable the more I work with it.

Basically, it’s point system, with each student (or “consumer” in the social services parlance) having a point card, which staff members use to help the consumer (really, I hate that term; what is being consumed?) keep track of beneficial and detrimental behaviors. Basically, for doing something good, they earn positive points, and that word choice is critical — we’re not to say we “give” them the points. For doing something negative, they earn negative points.

“Bob, I really liked the way you took the initiative when you saw the trash needed to be taken out. Take your point card out, please. I think you’ve earned a thousand points for that.”

“Sam, I need you to take your point card out. You know that using profanity is socially unacceptable, and can really lead to a bad impression of you as an individual in many situations. I need you to take of four thousand points for swearing…”

The points are then used as a gauge for moving up through the treatment levels, each of which requires more responsibility, but also has more privileges.

Usually, we staff members tie their points into their individual goals for the day, or their general program goals. That way we’re reinforcing the same basic things, rather than assessing random behavior.

“It all seems so artificial,” I initially thought. “People don’t go through life with point cards.” But watching the behaviors the students (I’m their teacher — I shall call them “students”! What assertiveness…) struggle with, I came to a different conclusion.

While no one carries point cards in the “real world,” we do go through our day assessing points mentally. If we meet someone who reluctantly holds out his hand when he meets us, weakly shakes our hand, mumbles, and refuses to make eye contact, we assign that individual negative points in our mind, consciously or not. On the other hand, meeting someone who seems gifted in conversation and immediately draws us to him/her racks up positive points. That’s what “making a good impression” is: positive points on our mental score card.

Making points depends on following the rules of society, which has “decided” that certain things are acceptable, others are not. Yet many of the students I work with are not aware of these rules — the rules of the game, one might say.

Soon after I’d started working at the facility, I was having a conversation with another staff member in the presence of the students, and the student butted in to tell me how I was wrong, how what I was saying was stupid, and how anyone with any sense would no better. Now, his tone was not overtly disrespectful, but his interruption certainly was, as was what he actually said. When I told him to give himself negative points for being disrespectful, he was genuinely puzzled, not to mention angered. A heated discussion almost ensued. Instead, we were able to calm him and explain that, while he might not have intended any disrespect by it, I felt it was disrespectful. “And unfortunately,” I explained, “disrespect doesn’t depend solely on the definition of the speaker, but also — more so, even — it depends on the definition of the listener.”

The Teaching Family Model’s point card system simply tries to make students aware of the mental point assessment that’s going on all around them. It’s intended to help them keep a positive score on the mental scorecard of those in authority.

Whether it works or not, I can’t say. Much of it depends on consistency. Perhaps key, though, is making sure the students don’t see point deductions as punishment, which is much more difficult than it might seem. Privileges depend on the number of points a student might have. There are “gates” at our program, thought they might be described as levels. With each gate come more privileges, as well as more responsibilities. Moving up to the next gate, in turn, depends on having a certain number of cumulative points. This is certainly not the only thing necessary to move up a gate, but it is an important facet. To gain points, a student must be consistently improving his social skills. Thus, taken altogether, it’s easy to see how students view a point deduction as a punishment. It’s too abstract for some of them to think of the staff as simply score keepers working within a framework imposed, even on us, from the outside.

Manifestations and Questions

Thursday 07 September 2006 | 0 Comments

When someone is intensely insecure and lacking self-confidence, anything--and often, everything--can be an insult. Just looking at someone can bring about such an astounding level of posturing. So can accidentally stepping on toes attached to feet at the end of legs stretched out into what might otherwise be considered a row between desks.

Many of the kids I work with can so quickly switch into the posturing mode that it's difficult to keep track of all the triggers. Indeed, the "triggers" are often arbitrary. That's not to say I (and other staff members) walk around on egg shells, but there are times when avoiding confrontation is in the best interests of all.

A posturing student is a student who is not receptive, and the question arises, "What to do?" Do I let the little tantrum run itself out, or do I put a stop to it immediately, knowing that that might escalate it? Any number of factors play into this decision:

Is this exceptional behavior for this student?
Is this disrupting other students?
Could other students join in and thus escalate it?
What are the students doing next (i.e., can I just let it run its course if it gets out of hand)?
What am I trying to accomplish with the student?
Is there another staff member near who can help with the other students if this behavior takes all of my attention?

And then there are the inappropriate factors, the things that run through my head that I really shouldn't take into account, but probably do more often than I should.

Do I have the energy to continue doing this?
Can I just let this simmer down and let whoever is working with this student next deal with it?
Is lunch soon?
Is there any coffee in the coffee pot?
Do I have to do anything with this student later in the day that will require him being unusually compliant with me?

All these things bouncing around my head, and all I really want to say gently, is "Be still. Be calm. There's no reason to be upset."

But to whom would I be speaking?

Something positive I can do today is…

Friday 01 September 2006 | 0 Comments

The boys begin each day by deciding and declaring to the group something positive they will try to accomplish that day.

My desired daily positive accomplishment never changes, but that’s only in the broad view. Really to make a difference with these young men, I have to do what they do: come up with a concrete goal for each day.

Theirs: learn to identify and deal with anger; practice coping skills when frustrated; gracefully accept “No” for an answer; eliminate irrelevant responses. These are things we probably all have trouble with from time to time. They also provide a concrete example of how they can accomplish each goal.

Wonder what society would be like if we all did that every morning.

Addition

Thursday 31 August 2006 | 2 Comments

Such an up and down job I have. If only I had a performance car with the handling of my average day: to say it turns on a dime would be an understatement.

Two boys give me hell in the morning. In the afternoon, one of them comes up to apologize, and the other faces off against me in a friendly game of air hockey. I know the apology was not voluntary, and my participation in the air hockey game was by self-invitation, but let’s not get too picky here.

Progress will be progress in the little things, the program director has told us several times, and slowly the little things will add up.

Prank

Monday 28 August 2006 | 0 Comments

Just before my senior year in college, I invested in a beautiful fountain pen: a Cross Townsend. I later learned that somehow I got the pen for almost half the actual price thought a pricing mistake or something. Now a new one costs roughly four times what I paid.

That pen accompanied me through Europe and was instrumental in recording thoughts about Strasbourg, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, and a number of other cities.

For twelve years, I’d never even misplaced it.

Today, at work, it was stolen. Or was it?

I had inadvertently left it by my computer, tucked in a notebook I’d been using for notes during a training session we’d had on Friday. After four of the lads had been using the computer, it was missing.

“Stealing is not beneath some of them,” I’d been told. Still, is that something one really wants to communicate to one’s students? “Alright, you jerks — I don’t trust any of you. Who stole my pen?!” Not the best way to build relationships with young men in need of help.

Instead, I gathered the lads together, told them that my pen was missing, and asked them if any of them saw it, to put it on my desk and then let me know it’s there.

A few minutes later, a boy came to ask me if I’d checked in all the desk drawers. “Maybe someone put it there — you know, like a joke.”

Sure enough, in the second drawer was the pen.

A prank? A bit of mercy? Misunderstanding or malice?

So much of our lives is inexplicable like that. Indefinable. Was this a reconsidered theft? Was it a joke? All I know is the pen was missing and then it wasn’t. Almost like I lost it…

Still, for safe measure, I unplugged my SanDisk memory stick and put it in my pocket.

I want to trust these boys, to give them the benefit of the doubt. But at what point does trust become naivety?

Reunion

Friday 25 August 2006 | 0 Comments

I dropped by the “old school” yesterday to see the kids. They were walking out into the breezeway just as I was turning to go into the office to sign in as a visitor. They saw me and suddenly I was attacked by six children in a simultaneous hug. One, who liked to call me “stupid old man” last year in times of crisis, hugged me about three times while we were standing there.

One child wasn’t there, having already gone to eat lunch with her one-on-one. I snuck up on her and simply squatted beside her and said, “Hi, [Catherine].” She looked at me without recognition for about two seconds, then dropped her fork, squealed “Mr. Gary!” and threw her arms around me.

That gives you a fine feeling indeed.

Thoughts on the First Week

Tuesday 22 August 2006 | 0 Comments

After a week on the job, I’ve already been called names and cursed, yet I’ve also begun building decent relationships. The two, it seems, are not mutually exclusive.

Working with autistic children got me accustomed to the idea that a child can express great joy at working with me one minute and then call me “stupid teacher” the next. Life in the special ed classroom was life on a swing.

The same, it appears, can be true working with “tough kids.” Indeed, the similarities are sometimes overwhelming. The difference is with TKs, I’m left wondering, “Is it a choice conscious or otherwise or is it something automatic?”

As an example, take the ability to generalize. Some autistic individuals have great difficulty taking something out of its context and applying it more generally. “Don’t run in the hall” should be generalized to “Oh, then I probably shouldn’t run in the school in general.” Perhaps not the best example, because younger, non-autistic children might have difficulty making that leap.

The opposite can be the case as well: the ability to realize that a general rule doesn’t apply in a specific circumstance. “Don’t run in the school,” we tell someone then find she was refusing to run during gym class because, after all, we’d said, “Don’t run in school.”

During the first week with the TKs, I realized that this is a popular method of defiance. Extremely popular. “You never said” was one of the most oft-heard phrases during my first week.

Difficult Demographic?

Sunday 06 August 2006 | 1 Comment

Asheville School is a private school on the west end of town. Like most private schools, tuition for four years would buy a small house. The students are easily engaged and eager to learn.

I guess. I don't really know because I don't work there.

I do, however, now work at a school on the other side of town -- in more ways than one. Beginning next Monday, I'll be working with young men and women, between fourteen and sixteen years old, who find themselves out of school because of either long-term suspension or adjudication.

They would constitute, for many -- if not most -- a "difficult demographic." And they very well may be. One thing's for certain: they represent an often neglected demographic.

My job description includes teaching subjects that I'm not certified in: science and social studies. But beyond that, I'll be working with them in community service projects and helping with general "personal development."

In all honest, with most of the folks I'll be teaching, that means anger management and accepting authority. The practical consequence of this, I'm told, is that I'll be yelled at from time to time, and cursed. The "stupid teacher" I heard sometimes last year will be tame in comparison. The old teacher's adage "Don't take anything personally" will certainly be a mantra for me.

Yet with great challenges come measurable rewards. Teaching at a private school would be easier, from many points of view, but I doubt it would be more rewarding than what I'll be doing.

It will be tough, but my new boss assures me they provide psychiatric help...

Seven Months

Friday 09 June 2006 | 2 Comments

Seven months’ work with seven autistic children came to an end last Friday, the last day of school. “I feel I’m a better person for the experience,” I said to a colleague. So many daily lessons – as Elie Wiesel often says of his students, I learned far more than I taught.

I learned how to separate the behavior from the child. The child and the behavior – and I’m talking of crises: spitting, hitting, screaming, kicking, crawling under a table, self-destructive behavior, etc. – are not equivalent. Indeed, it is very seldom the child actually behaving that way, but rather the condition taking over and running things for a few moments, or minutes. You can see it in the eyes, and hear it in the voice.

I learned that there are far more difficult things to deal with as a teacher than a belligerent teenager. Countless times during the last seven months I was at a complete loss as to what to do, what to say, how to behave. This was partially a function of my lack of education in the EC field. When a child is in crisis, it’s a natural reaction to try to discuss it, to try to “talk him down.” In the world of autism, that seldom works. I learned to do so many things in exact opposition to my every instinct.

I learned what true student progress can entail. A couple of the students finished the year as completely different children than when they started. Gains in reading ability, social interaction, verbal expression, math skills, and general life skills left me simply astounded, and understandably proud that I had something to do with it.

I learned that even many regular education teachers feel they wouldn’t be able to work with such “difficult” children. “You guys are the saints of the school,” someone once told me, and a couple of others expressed an inexplicable admiration of “what we do.” What we did was not very different from regular education: try to teach children and minimize the behavior issues that impede learning. It’s just in special ed, the behaviors can be more concentrated. It’s sometimes a triple espresso to regular education’s thin, pale diner coffee.

As something of a correlate of the previous two points, I learned how to recognize true appreciation in the eyes and voice of parents. When I began working there as a substitute teacher, I was told that most subs last one day and refuse ever to come back. Full-time aides must be relatively difficult to find as well. Almost to a parent, everyone told me, “We really hope you’ll be back next year, though given the pay, we’d all understand if you didn’t.”

Finally, I learned that I have a patience I never knew I had, and it also has its bounds.

I leave with a greater understanding of autism, a greater respect for the parents of autistic children who live with autism every day.

Most of all, I leave with greater sympathy and respect for children with autism. They are the ones caught in a trap with varying degrees of understanding what that trap _is_, let alone how to get out. And yet they so often show those of us working with them things we never would have noticed because of the unique perspective from which they see every little thing.