Lessons and a Letter

She had called to tell me about the mistakes the young man had made. We were both advocates for this student but it seemed that each time he successfully completed three steps forward, he'd take five steps back. On the surface, it almost looked deliberate. As if it was a test of our character to still believe in him or to let him go. We agreed that this incident might better become a life lesson for him and that as much as we wanted to will him into not acting this way, we didn't have complete control over his responses. He'd learn through that response and these were the years when we wanted him to learn all this and not later in life or never. She promised to be there for him to help him process the decision he was making even if it was the wrong one. 

Naysayers will proclaim he never deserved the chance we were giving him.

I've been thinking a lot about the topic of equity lately...as it relates to so many things: school funding, resources, gender, race, religion, special needs, socioeconomic status to name a few. As educators, we are facing a multitude of equity themed issues.

Wikipedia: "Equity in education means that personal or social circumstances such as gender, ethnic origin or family background, are not obstacles to achieving educational potential (definition of fairness) and that all individuals reach at least a basic minimum level of skills (definition of inclusion)."

When I first began my career as an educator it was to become an advocate for children with special needs. Equity in special education has long been a pursuit of many. Since 1992, I've been one of those many that have been advocating least restrictive environment since then. I've pushed for integration with students and have, in my later years, built the courage to call out segregation when I see it. Yet, integration and lre (least restrictive environment) aren't terms from the 1990s. They became part of law in 1975. Any ideas I've had around special education were never really new, they were what we said we believed in way back when. We just hadn't made our words match our actions in all of those cases. I sometimes get frustrated by that. So, we continue on. Each and every day advocating for our students.

And while I'll always consider myself an advocate for students with special needs, my attention has broadened beyond that group. I worry a lot about what we do for students from disadvantaged backgrounds and champions of trauma. I think about how equity applies to these students. I am inspired by the work of Jim Sporleder and Manuel Scott. I turn to their work (often) when I need a reboot or a reminder that I'm on the right track even if it feels I may not be. I am also inspired by the stories I collect from all of my educator colleagues who overcame obstacles and proved their own naysayers wrong. I draw strength from my own memories.

If equity is about ensuring all students reach a basic minimum of skills, as Wikipedia suggests, we need to seriously ensure there are basic routes of access for all. The routes won't look the same for everyone and that will have to be ok. In fact, maybe it should even be celebrated. The alternate routes shouldn't be scorned. We can't expect all students to act the same when they are not. They never will be.

Yes, we can expect the work will be tough. And on some days, it will feel hopeless. But when we signed up for these careers and were asked to write our personal philosophy of education all those years back, I submit NONE of us wrote about wanting to work with the easy kids or ones that didn't need our relentless approach. We said we wanted to make a difference with our students. We meant all of them.

I had the opportunity to sit in on a wonderful meeting last week. A high school student had made an appointment with our Superintendent to thank her for a recent decision she made that impacted him. He presented her with an incredibly well written letter and initiated the kindest conversation I've been able to witness in a long time. He wrote about how the last year of his life had been so difficult. His September had started with the passing of his parent. Multiple school and foster care placements led him to our district in late winter. He explained to the Superintendent that this school was different because he finally found people that cared about him. He had connected with some teachers, a member of our support staff, and had established a solid relationship with a counselor in the on-site mental health clinic our high school provides space for.

He seemed in awe of being in the Superintendent's Office and finding out she was just a regular person. She listened with full heart when he shared thoughts about his plans for a future. He shared openly and promised to do his best to make this year successful. He was reminded to reach out to any of the adults in the room for help should it be needed. He smiled and nodded in acknowledgement that he knew we meant what was being said.

If anyone of us hadn't taken the time to get to know this student, and only went by what we saw on paper or witnessed through his mistakes, the meeting would never have happened. He also wouldn't be on track to be a Senior this year. But luckily, we don't just rely on what we've seen hasn't worked.  We don't throw mistakes back into their faces. We push for what might work and sometimes, it does.

And when it doesn't, we go back to the drawing board to create a new plan...as many times as it takes.

At least that's what we said we would do way back when.

When You Come Back Down, Nickel Creek

"And I'll be on the other end, to hear you when you call

Angel, you were born to fly, and if you get too high

I'll catch you when you fall..."