by Sam Crane
As the debate about preserving the full day Side by Side class unfolds, one point that emerges is: why can't we just have two half day classrooms? If a student has needs that require a full day curriculum, he or she could simply do two half days. Two halves equal a whole, right?
Wrong.
It is clear from the experience of various families over the years that the needs of some children really require the continuity and context of a full day class. In my family, Aidan's experience in Side by Side would have been degraded had he been subjected to the disruption of shifting out of one class, with a particular set of peers, and being inserted into a second class, with a different set of peers. To understand that disconnection we have to talk about inclusion, the ultimate goal of Side by Side.
Inclusion is the idea that children with disabilities should be an organic part of a class, seamlessly and naturally integrated into the group as a whole. It is distinct from "mainstreaming," where a disabled child will share some portion of the day with his peers, only to be excluded in a separate special education classroom for the balance of his school time. Inclusion is aimed at breaking down barriers between the disabled and the non-disabled, forging meaningful relationships among children that ultimately transcend the very distinction of disability and ability. When it works, it creates an enhanced learning environment. Disabled children in inclusive settings have better learning outcomes than those in segregated classrooms: "Significantly, research also shows that children with disabilities who attend pre-k in inclusive environments demonstrate gains in social skills, self-regulation, language development, and cognition."
The question, then, is how much inclusion is necessary to produce these kinds of benefits? That, of course, depends upon the individual child. In a sense, it involves a second question: how long does it take for meaningful relationships to develop, relationships that facilitate the educational benefits of inclusion? For a child who has complex medical and/or behavioral issues, time with peers might be regularly interrupted for therapies or personalized attention from a one-on-one aid. That takes time away from the interactions he or she can have with peers. Think of how that might play out across two half days.
The morning session begins at 8:40 and runs until 11:30 in a very structured format. If special therapies or other kinds of needs arise, a special education student might be separated from the group, still in the same classroom but off to one side, not in interaction with other students. Three hours of real inclusion might shrink to two or less. Group activities might be missed. And then that half day is over and that group of students leaves. The special education student is then alone for lunch and a nap in a tightly scheduled 45 minutes window. Perhaps feeding issues or a need for a longer rest push that to an hour of more, impinging on the start of the afternoon session, which runs from 12:15-3:05, limiting time to connect with another set of children. In a similar manner, some disabled children might need another special therapy in the afternoon, again essentially isolating him or her in the room. The child is there but not fully a part. Over the course of the two sessions, less time is available to connect with a larger number of peers than would be the case in a single, full day classroom. Less time and less interaction means that meaningful relationships might be harder to forge, weakening the possible benefits of inclusion. The purpose could be defeated.
These may seem like small things, but small things add up. The chances for inclusion are already fleeting in the life of a disabled child, who for much of his or her life will face much more exclusion and alienation compared to non-disabled friends and relations. Side by Side can be a extraordinary opportunity for sociality for disabled children. For Aidan, there was no period in his life when he was more integrated into the wider community, and that was a precious thing.
Whether a half day or a full day provides the best opportunities for any particular child can only be determined by parents and professionals. But it is clear that for some, only a full day offers sufficient time with a consistent group of peers to garner the best possibilities of inclusion. Here is a statement from one WES mother who posted a public comment on the "Support Side by Side" petition on Change.org:
For my son, XXX, this program was a huge benefit to him. He started with the half day program, but because of the amount of times he was pulled out of class for therapies it was recommended that he move to the full day program for his second year. He made such great gains in Fern's class because he was able to receive all his therapies while at the same time was able to form strong bonds with his classmates which would not be possible in the half day program. I believe that the social aspect of schooling at 3-4 is as equally important as the educational elements. The bonds that were formed in the side by side program have remained and made my son the happiest boy and I will be forever grateful for the teachers and paras that are involved with this program. To lose the full day program would be a huge loss to our community.
Exactly. And here is a comment from that same petition by Sharon Claffey, who wants to publicly share the story of her beautiful daughter Eve:
My daughter, Eve, entered Fern’s class in 2009. She suffered from Mitochondrial disease, was wheelchair bound and non-verbal. She was welcomed with open arms by the children in that classroom (and the school). My favorite story is of the time that Fern asked the class if they knew anyone who used a wheelchair. While sitting in the room with Eve they all said, “No.” This is an example of students becoming exposed to those with special needs in a way that makes the atypical normal. She was Eve to them and not the girl in the wheelchair. This acceptance and love for my child flourished throughout her six years at WES. I remember a specialist in Boston telling us that such acceptance would end as the children got older. At WES it never ended. It grew. We lost Eve to her disease this September, but I am convinced that her impact was profound. I can’t wait to see which of her peers will enter careers in medicine, therapy, or social work. I want to know how many students were impacted positively by knowing her. So, what was the role of the full day Side by Side program in this? When we moved here for my job, we looked at homes in North Adams and Williamstown. It was not only WES, but the option of a full day integrated program for a child with her needs that made us decide to join the Williamstown community. Without full day Side by Side, we would be living in North Adams and these children never would have met my daughter and she would not have benefited from their love.
The full day Side by Side was there for Eve. It obviously made a difference in her life. Trying to manage complex mobility and medical issues in a disjointed two half-day setting would have made it much harder to transform the atypical into the normal, the best outcome of inclusion.
So why take away that capacity to create the most appropriate inclusion experience for children who need it? Remember what the Superintendent said that the April 28 School Committee meeting: ""My biggest regret was, early on, I did present it as a budgetary matter..... It really wasn't a budgetary matter." So, it's not about the money. Then, why? Why take it away?
We still don't have a good answer to that question.
But here is another problem, a serious problem with how all of this has played out.
The Superintendent apparently began to contemplate cutting full day Side by Side in October. At that time, there was no public outreach to gain a sense of how the community might react to such a decision. It appears that a decision to close the full day classroom was taken in February. By the PTO meeting in March, in the face of staunch community opposition, the Superintendent was confident enough in his decision that he resisted any sort of compromise to keep the class.
All of that transpired before the time when parents of children with disabilities and the school administration typically sit down to discuss the best educational options for the next school year. The decision to remove the full day option had already been taken. It would have been impossible then for parents of disabled children to even consider whether a full day classroom might be the best setting for their circumstances. Imagine if a child had been in a half day setting but parents and therapists and advocates had come to the conclusion that a full day class would be better for the next year, like the parent mentioned above. It would not have been possible to discuss that possibility because the full day had already been removed. It was off the table. It could not be contemplated. Only a modified two half-day curriculum was available, regardless of what the real need of the child might have been.
This, unfortunately, is all too common in the lives of disabled children in public school. In meetings to determine their real needs, their disabilities are often reduced to hours of special education "services". Indeed, the rhetoric sometimes lapses into the mechanical: "the speech therapist will service him for an hour." That was my personal experience. I heard such language used to describe how my son would be educated. He was "serviced."
It is a challenge to resist such dehumanizing language. Conscientious teachers and therapists and administrators are vigilant about keeping a focus on the whole child, on the real person, on the most supportive responses. But there is something depressingly utilitarian about the entire situation. At the April 28th School Committee meeting, committee member Catherine Keating mentioned that she was uncomfortable with the way special education students were discussed when the budget was debated. She said those children were reduced to something like "commodities." Her comment struck home with me. That is exactly what happens, children are commodified, and it happens in a much more systematic and debilitating manner for disabled people, many of whom are regularly reduced to a cost-benefit calculus by public schools and insurance companies and public policy makers. We need always to fight against the reduction of disabled lives to material measures of efficiency.
Having both a full day and half day option for inclusive special education pre-school helps resist the rhetorical depreciation of disabled children. Instead of defining them in terms of what school administrators predetermine as appropriate (i.e. no possibility of a full day classroom), why not maintain a range of possible options that allow parents and teachers and therapists to think more genuinely about who a particular child is and what sort of setting will allow for his or her best development? Why not keep the conversation open and creative and positive, instead of cramping it to fit foreordained categories?
To be clear, I in no manner mean to imply here that it was the intention or motive of the School Committee and the Superintendent to create a malign outcome. I am happy to assume they were acting from what they believed were good intentions. But the effect of their decisions, and the process by which those decisions were taken, has produced a result that lessens not only the educational possibilities for disabled children but also the imaginative tools for recognizing and accommodating disability.
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