I wanted to write about a wonderful first; taking Primo to his exercise class, arriving early, and having him initiate a conversation with me instead of reaching grumpily and somewhat desperately for my phone. Having that experience repeat the following week, having him ask real questions, like what is his Dad's job (ie not just what he is called by what does he actually do!). In some ways it's a familiar experience; there have been many things I couldn't imagine him ever doing that I have yearned for and grieved over. And then they happen.
I think of the delicate dance we do to get to such points -- clearly, my own understanding of this dance is quite partial, as I cannot predict or control the outcomes. But I do know the basic steps and the direction in which we should be heading, so I try patiently to find a rhythm that works and keep us moving together. There are many rewards, and many concerns; overall, though, his parents are optimistic as we do see change. There are some truly intractable areas that we make little progress with, such as his relationship with food. But we know we've done the right things, offered the best kinds of support and well-planned opportunities for growth and change. We never stop trying.
That's what happens when I'm in control. My son, my responsibility, my job. I get on with, I find resources, I check and measure my ideas and assumptions by consulting and working with professionals whose approach I respect, as well as by continuing to educate myself through attending workshops, and by reading. But then, there is this fact in his, and his family's life, known as The School.
The School has made it clear that teaching ASD students is the same as teaching any other student. You be aware of their quirks, their anxieties, but by default you change nothing. Then they get a parent like me who calls upon their obligation to meet with me and go over their plans regarding his education -- that's what the Department's guidelines recommends. Then I sit in a room with them like a harried madwoman brandishing photocopies of diagrams, a proselytising crackpot desperately waving my finger across the page trying to draw everyone's attention to the things they are not seeing. And seeing in the backs of their eyes the frustration and resentment -- why are we here? When will she stop trying to tell us how to do our jobs? --for the most part they are polite, but I'm so clearly to them an over-anxious mother who doesn't know when to leave off, whom they resent for wasting so much of their time (and disrupting their schedules) and questioning their expertise, as they see it. I didn't dare pull the government-funded DVD out of my bag, the one that showed teachers from another state assuring the viewer that the kind of support I am talking about did not involve changing the curriculum, just some extra observation and thinking. And I left with the full knowledge that these people have no respect for me, just a set of obligations to give me a chunk of time in a room with them which they must endure as best they can with their best veneer of cooperation and concern pasted over the top (or she might complain ...).
I find my mind constantly drifting to the old cliche of women being told to "take a Bex and lie down" -- I guess because I think they'd like to respond me like that, if they were allowed. My sons' school is run by women. Women marginalising women. Working women marginalising "unqualified" mothers. Not just the women, there are plenty of engaged fathers too. But the children are young, the mothers tend to be the frontline still. I guess it's at least removes a distraction, taking gender difference out of the picture and seeing that women in power are certainly capable of patronising and disempowering other women.
If I had a dollar for the number of times I've been told my son's teachers have been chosen because they are the most "experienced". In many other contexts, they would have to justify what that means, but in this one, that's where the conversation begins and ends, with a word that's overburdened and abused to shut down discussion and deprive me of options, basically to stop me from making my contributions felt in their teaching; that, after all, is my entire goal, and their wholehearted mission is to prevent it. It really is all about power. There is never any reference in these meetings to my son's actual wellbeing -- they would say, I suppose, that that is implicit in everything they say (because they are so experienced, they don't need to reassess whether they could be meeting a child's need better), but all I see are missed, wasted opportunities, that would not be hard for a teacher to take up, and it makes me frantic.
To be fair to them, they are clearly perplexed; why does she keep knocking at the door? We are so experienced, we are so capable, we know what good teaching is! Her son is fine, he knows how to ask for help, he contributes to discussions, he has good relationships with other kids. But given all that, they don't ever ask themselves, so what is she talking about? It would be quite entertaining, I imagine, to look at a transcript of the meeting and analyse the rhetorical strategies. I've spent too long with people who like listening to new ideas. I've been trying to come up to speed with that fact for 3 years, now that I have to deal with people who are not like that but who have all the power. I'm failing badly. I can't help feeling angry, but part of me knows I just have to give up now. Which leaves guilt, guilt, guilt, because if I can't get the best circumstances for Primo to develop, well, need I say more?
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