Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am deeply thankful for many things, but something happened this past week that made me exceptionally thankful for my children’s teachers – and for ALL the wonderful teachers out there who work so hard to promote the inclusion of children with special needs.
There was a video that went viral of a teacher in West Virginia forcibly removing the microphone from a boy with Autism’s hand when it appeared it was his turn to speak in a Thanksgiving play – and thereby consequently, visibly devastating him.
(If you haven’t seen it, here is a link for reference): http://ktla.com/2016/11/21/boy-with-autism-brought-to-tears-as-teacher-snatches-mic-at-thanksgiving-play/
Needless to say, Daniel and I were both furious when we watched it. We each made simultaneous comments to the effect of, “I don’t know WHAT I’d do if I saw that happen to one of our boys,” etc.
My eternal sympathy goes out to that sweet boy (Caleb), his poor mother who had to witness it (Amanda), his family – and to every other special needs parent out there who watched it in horror. I hope the amazing outpouring of love for him somehow makes up for that despicable situation.
Anyways, that video was the impetus for this week’s post, as I have a shining example of a polar opposite situation – a situation in which an autistic boy’s teachers believed in him and gave him an amazing opportunity to shine in a concert – when they most definitely could have placed him in the back – or even made the plausible argument that it would be too overwhelming for him to perform.
It’s like I feel the need to talk about this pure act of kindness to counteract the unintended (or intended) malice displayed in that video.
So when Noah was four years old, he was in a small concert with his class, and he did his best to stand in front of people and attempt to take part in the songs and moves, but it ended up being pretty overwhelming for him, and he cried through most of it.
(Here’s a happy picture of him before he went on stage and turned on the water works. They performed the nursery rhyme, “Hey Diddle Diddle,” and he played “the little dog who laughed to see such sport“).
So the following year, Noah was five, only speaking maybe 20 words, stimming (shaking) all the time, and very, very shy.
The concert came around again, and Daniel and I were hopeful that he would be able to perform as well (if not better) than the year before.
Baby, just stand up with the other kids, try your best to sing, (and if no singing, just try and mouth some of the words…) maybe participate in a couple of movements with the other kids, and a little less crying would be the BEST bonus! 🙂
So Daniel and I show up to his concert, and watch as all the other PK4 (4 and 5 year olds) classes sing their songs, do their dances, etc. Precious as always.
Then Noah’s class comes out in front.
Daniel and I slink our way up through the crowd to try and see better. As we’re walking up, we see all the children in Noah’s class nicely lined up in a straight line parallel to the crowd, quiet and ready to perform, some sitting in a row of chairs and others standing behind the chairs.
BUT, Noah is standing up out in front of them all, BY HIMSELF!
Daniel & I freeze.
What the HELL?!
We exchange horrified glances.
I begin screaming in my mind. “WHY IS he out in front by himself, and WHERE is his shadow teacher?
WHY is she allowing him to be standing up like this, out in FRONT, sticking out like a SORE THUMB?!?!
He must be so scared, or stunned, or embarrassed by being in front of so many people that he doesn’t remember what to do or where to go..
Poor sweetheart. This was too much for him..
I’m actually on the verge of quickly walking around the back of the crowd and moving closer to where he is to try and fix this situation, since his teacher and shadow teacher seem oblivious.
But I don’t move because just then, the music starts.
I now know I’m too late – it’s too late to do anything about it without causing a scene.
I catch a side view of Daniel – he’s covered his mouth with his hand, and seems to be bracing himself. He’s as mortified as I am.
I’m FURIOUS. And we work with his teachers. They’re our colleagues – and before this moment – I loved them dearly and deeply respected them.
I start strategizing how I’m going to handle this diplomatically. Maybe a carefully worded email to the Elementary principal? Or better yet, a face-to-face meeting with the principal. Yep, this requires face to face, and I’ll open it with my usual, highly-practiced, soap-box rant about the importance of special needs inclusion.
So before I know it, Noah starts spinning around with his hands out.
This is weird. This isn’t usual. But what I also see is that while he is still definitely out in front, his classmates have stood up from their chairs and are spinning around too.
I watch in confusion.
Then Noah stops spinning, walks over and clocks one of his fellow classmates over the head, and both he and the boy fall to the ground.
Nothing in the world makes sense at this moment.
Before I have time to begin praying, both Noah and the boy pop up to their feet, the boy runs off around the back of the group, and everyone stands up and starts spinning again, Noah included. And Noah is STILL in front.
Wait a minute. There’s a pattern to this.
The air around me is completely still.
Noah finishes spinning, then hits another classmate on the head and they both fall to the ground. Then they both pop up, the classmate runs around the back, and Noah stays out in front.
Daniel and I exchange glances again, but now our expressions have turned from those of horror and anger to surprise and disbelief.
This is real. This is on purpose. Noah is literally dancing, and following a choreographed routine. In front of people. LOTS of people.
He repeats this cycle over and over, and it gets cuter and more miraculous each time.
I’m absolutely stunned, and my eyes fill up with tears.
His teachers believed in him. They included him. And not only did they include him, they gave him the LEAD ROLE in this song.
In one year, he went from not being able to stand and “sing” in front of a small, crowded room without becoming overwhelmed and crying – to this – proudly and boldly performing in front of a large gymnasium filled with people, AND having successfully memorized a series of repetitive moves.
Yep, you’re damn right I’m going to have a meeting with the Elementary principal – but now I plan on complimenting her on how absolutely AMAZING and wonderfully inclusive her teachers are.
So now I’m floating, my vision blurred through my tears, and Noah gets down to the very last little girl still sitting in a chair. The only one in the row who has escaped his cute wrath of being clocked over the head and falling out of his/her chair.
And all of a sudden, he turns around and runs as fast as he can towards the end of the row of chairs.
Daniel and I both belt out laughing (because the way he runs is so freaking cute…) and we both assume he’s forgotten to “clock” the last little girl. (If you watch the video, you’ll actually hear Daniel laugh and say, “He forgot one!”)
But Noah didn’t forget anything. He did exactly what he was supposed to do.
The last little girl wasn’t supposed to fall out of her chair – she was meant to stay in her chair and lie down and fall asleep.
Needless to say, I felt deeply ashamed for having doubted Noah’s teachers – and I have never been so happy in my life to have been proven wrong.
Noah was glowing when we saw him afterwards, and we couldn’t hug and kiss and praise him enough.
He was so puffed up and proud of himself – it was awesome.
And even though he couldn’t really tell us how he was feeling, we could see it in his eyes.
So this is dedicated to Rania, Sarah, Diana, and to ALL the teachers out there who love their students as if they were their own, and believe in them enough to give them chances to shine.
And to Amanda, the mother of Caleb (the sweet little boy shown in that video in West Virginia) I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but if you do, please know that this is certainly not meant to gloat about my child’s experience when you’ve both just gone through such a horrible and traumatic ordeal.
It is sincerely intended to send out hope to ALL parents of children with special needs.
There are so many teachers out here in the world who will treat your little boy with the love and respect he deserves, and I pray with every fiber of my being that he encounters those teachers soon. I pray that they make him the star of the next show, and believe he is capable of great things, because he is.
Wishing everyone near and far a very Happy Thanksgiving, and if you’d like to see something that might make you smile, here’s Noah’s video: