Learning to Care

When Merrym writes about people staring or trying to ignore those who are different, it reminds me that I used to be one of those people. The truth is, I still am one of those people sometimes. I am used to taking care of Merrym and her surgeries as you will learn in later blogs, but any time we see someone different it is so hard to know what to do.

Sometimes it takes time to get used to seeing someone, whose body is mutilated or burn victims with horrific scarring, people with chins, noses, eyes and limbs missing. I don't really think most people mean to act the way they do, it's just that they are not used to being around people who are different.

During my 27 years of teaching, I have had students with physical and mental disabilities in my classroom. I have heard teachers say: "Wouldn't they be better off in a special school with less students?" "They could meet their needs better than I can with 30 other students in my class." "Because of their disability they can't even learn." There was a time when I had wondered myself why these students were not placed in a special school, but through several of my teaching experiences, I have came to this conclusion: "It's not what we can teach them, but what they can teach us, both teachers and students." I want to give you a few examples:

I had a young man in my fifth grade class who had CP (Cerebral Palsy). He was so critical, he had an aid with him all day. He had to be fed, diapered, and he could not even pick up a pencil. I noticed that the students would try to help him and want him to go outside to play (he was in a wheelchair and could barely hold his head up). The students would create games for him and you would see a whole group playing with him. It was heart-warming.

I also had a darling girl in my fifth grade class who had CP. She was fed intravenously and was diapered. One of her exercises was to practice holding her head up. She also had a full-time aid. She was such a happy girl. She was not allowed to go outside very often, so she would spend her recesses in the resource room strapped to some exercise board or on her tummy. Her friend, who lived next door to her, asked to stay in with her. Of course we allowed this. Before long we had so many children wanting to stay in and play with her that we had to put up a sign-up sheet and schedule who would be in with her (boys included). The other fifth grade classes were so jealous, we had to include them on the schedule also. It brought such joy to me to see so many children accepting of a special-needs child.

I have many other stories, but I will end with my favorite. On the second day of school one year, my principal told me she was transferring a boy (Joe, not real name) into my class. He had moved to our school from the inner-city. There had been an incident with Joe on the first day of school, that had caused some concern about a potential gang situation and the principal wanted to dispel it. During most of my teaching career I have always done 'buddy readers' with a younger class. This year the first grade class we were working with had a child (Brad, not real name) who was extremely disabled. He was blind, deaf, intravenously fed, could barely make any noise, was in a wheelchair that laid down and that was his normal posture. It seemed that his only sense was that of touch. One day the two classes were doing a Leprechuan breakfast (green pancakes, with green syrup, and green milk). We were at the end of cooking pancakes, so we asked who had not had one. Everyone was saying, "Joe hasn't eaten". I said, "Where is he?" as my eyes scanned the room. I saw him over in the corner, sitting with his buddy Brad's hand in his much larger hand. Joe was stroking Brad's hand tenderly. He said, "I don't want to eat." and he kept stroking Brad's hand.

Then King David said, "Is there not someone of the house of Saul, to who I may show the kindness of God?' And Ziba said to the king, "There is still a son of Jonathan, who is lame in his feet." So the king said to him, "Where is he?" II Samuel 3-4

Love, Mother Hen (Glory)