back to SNT

It's been so long since I've done any special needs work for any length of time I've almost forgotten what it means. But a couple of hours covering a special needs class this morning showed me just how much I miss it. I absolutely loved every second. And let me tell you why:

1. Working in an atmosphere devoid of any subcurrent. So often I am on edge when I teach - always worried about saying or doing anything that can be misconstrued. Sometimes I feel as if I have to view everything I say from every possible angle before actually saying it. Today everything I said was taken at face value - there was no cynicism, no posturing. It was such a refreshing change from the lesson I'd had before it where a pupil had confronted me. He knew he was wrong pretty quickly into the conversation but he couldn't lose face by backing down. I think I did an alright job of diffusing the situation - but it would have been wonderful not to have to.

2. In general the pupils love what they are doing. Our targets/assessment obsessed education system often makes me feel like I am training pupils to pass tests rather than actually educating them. And you can't inspire someone through paper 1 section B. People are inspired by feats of ingenuity - wonderful literature - art - the way the world works... not by 'you should spend no more than 45 minutes on this question. It is worth 18 marks.' In this class I was teaching the pupils what we needed to know - and they could see why they needed to know it. True they had forgotten most of it by the time I'd said the second syllable of lunchtime... but...

3. I miss the downright cheerfulness of a special needs classroom. Here there are no allusions to prison cells. The windows are huge and bar free (and sport a couple of rather beautiful stained glass designs I note - impressive), The motivational posters are colourful and... well, motivational. Even the over sized pencils and triangular big nib pens make me feel somehow better about the world.

4. The small class sizes must be a huge consideration. You simply cannot compare trying to control and teach 30 people, all with different priorities, in a cramped, airless classroom to this. My life is normally so filled with racing to cover all the objectives for all the pupils in thirty minutes that it is a joy to be able to spend time with individual pupils - helping them with their individual needs. What a relief it is to be able to take more time over a particular issue because some pupils seem to be struggling with it, safe in the knowledge that there aren't half a dozen pupils getting fidgety at the other side of the room because they're finished the task and are getting bored waiting to move on

I know this is all just temporary. I know that tomorrow I will be back to porridge - but let me take one more deep breath and enjoy it while I can.

growing pains

I have a house plant – a coleus – I know it’s called a coleus because I looked it up. It was given to me by a class I used to teach; not because I was special in any way or because I was their favourite teacher, they gave one to most of their teachers. I expect they were using them to look at germination or something in science; then at the start of the summer holidays they gave them away.

I got to know the kids in this particular class pretty well over the course of the year. Not only did I have them for drama but I was also giving many of them extra support in reading or counting on a daily basis. Their literacy and numeracy ability levels were on the distinctly low side and it made school an extremely challenging and confusing place to be.

When they handed me the plant it was a little green thing with two leaves in a small yoghurt pot. And that is how it stayed for the next few weeks in my kitchen window. I have to say I was rather under-whelmed.

Then I was worried.

Surely, after three weeks of loving care it should have grown at least a little. I didn’t necessarily expect exotic colours and bounteous fruit – but was a third leaf too much to ask? I told my mother about it and she laughed.

A week after my mother removed the tiny plant from its yoghurt pot and replanted it into something bigger it doubled in size. Another week later it had over twenty leaves of varying shades of red and green, and had doubled in size again. When it started to block the light coming through the kitchen window I began to worry, but I had to admit that it was a thing of beauty.

It got me thinking about those kids who gave me the plant in the first place. The ones whose lives are being constrained by an inability to read or count. The metaphor is an obvious one. I wonder what would happen if, somehow, they were set free. Would they go on to become things of beauty? I have no doubt they will; somehow they will find a way around their problems and then who knows what they will be capable of - but I’ll be more than a little concerned if they start blocking the light coming through my kitchen window.

I've travelled each and every corridor; and more, much more than this...

So, this is it. I feel like breaking into a rendition of "My Way" but Frank Sinatra I ain't. Today I made my speech (lasted all of 25 seconds) picked up my wine and sauntered out the door.

Then I came in again to pack up my stuff. Many thanks to all of you... sorry, both of you, who came up with suggestions for a new name. Between you I had quite a selection to choose from. Some too rude to print, some downright nasty, some a tad unsympathetic ("The Thoughts of an Unemployed Special Needs Teacher" - thanks for that one Mr Mulligan) and some just plain odd. I was discussing the issue with a colleague a few days ago.

Oh, the Special Needs bit refers to your role in the school? I just assumed it was a comment on you personally. I thought you were just trying to be funny by describing yourself as special needs. If I were you I'd leave it - It describes you perfectly.

And so I'm leaving it. Not because of her, frankly soul destroying, advice; nor because most of the suggestions you offered were, frankly, pitiful; but because I am too darn lazy to even think about doing a redesign at the moment. Keep thinking up suggestions - maybe someday you'll offer one that makes me go - hmmm.

something special

Yesterday as I was driving home I had an idea. It was -5 degrees C and so many salt spreaders had been out that there was a thick layer of salt on the road and all the cars were covered in it. The car washes get closed down if the temperature drops too low so no one was cleaning it off. I got home and filled a bucket with warm water and set about making my car cleaner than it had ever been before. It positively sparkled and I immediately jumped in and went for a drive. where did I go on this momentous occasion? Tesco's of course. I went to buy groceries (and to attempt to impress one of the checkout staff) but for one glorious hour my car was by far the shiniest vehicle on the roads. I had a special car.

Why did I do it? Let's face it, looking down at it in the car park now it is just as covered in salt as the rest of the cars. But just for a short moment it was something different from the rest; and I've come to realise that the term special is just as relative as terms like better or faster or larger. As a special needs teacher that's a big realisation. You can't be special all of the time - sometimes being special is easier than other times - sometimes being special isn't what I really want or need at a particular time. What is important is that I am the best I can be in my own little world - and that I clean my car from time to time.

finally

Finally - a news story on which I am perfectly qualified to comment. Ruth Kelly has chosen to send one of her children to a private school to cater for his special educational needs.
As someone who feels very uncomfortable with the very concept of private education I have strong opinions about choosing to pay for an educational advantage. As someone working in the special education field I have strong opinions about funding for mainstream state special needs funding. Yes, I believe I am perfectly qualified to judge a Labour government on education, education, education.

But I'm not sure I actually can comment on this story. I'm missing one vital qualification - I'm not a parent.

I don't know how I would feel in her position. I can only assume that I would want the best for my child and if that involved paying money, and if I was in a position to afford the expense... well, I just don't know. The one thing I do know is that family surely comes before career.

So a moment comes where I can express a qualified position and I feel unable to do so - sorry.

two short planks

Two Short Planks

They sat me in the classroom

And said I had to wait.

They gave me sheets of paper

And said, ‘Now write the date.’

And when I said I couldn’t,

‘I’ve got a special need.’

They sat me in the corner

And gave me books to read.

And when I said I couldn’t,

They laughed and took the mick,

The teacher sighed and shook his head.

A kid said I was thick.

So then they said, ‘Fill in this form,

We have to know your name.’

I said, ‘Well, I can TELL you that.’

They said it wasn’t quite the same.

They sharpened me a pencil

To write out my address

And then I said I couldn’t

When the page became a mess.

I don’t know what my problem is,

I’m lost and all at sea.

A book’s a bolted, padlocked door

I just can’t find the key.

The words don’t click, the letters fuse,

The flash cards never speak.

‘Break it up and sound it out!’

They tell me twice a week.

And when I say I cannot,

‘It doesn’t seem to work,

’The head of Special Needs gets cross,

And screams and goes berserk.

I can’t think what the answer is,

Believe you me, I’ve tried

To learn that blasted alphabet

Most nights I’ve sat and cried.

But still they give me spelling lists,

Stuff paper in my hand.

And still I’ll feel the utter shame

Till the day they’ll understand.

Unknown