My son is 'integrated' into his school classroom. Hmmm, sounds rather like a piece of equipment; bolted onto a machine. It's old news that he is 'integrated' into his school; but every once in a while it just hits me again how bloody low the bar is set for him. His little log book from the classroom aide reports that his task at school today was to give the spelling words to the other kids for a spelling test. THis means that someone else recorded the words into a computer, he hits his head on the button (I think, or maybe they held his hand and hit the button with his hand) and the word is blurted out for the OTHER STUDENTS to do their chores. Holy smokes, is that what my boy is worth in the classroom? He helps the other kids practice spelling, yet noone is asking him to try to speak, or use his hands? Only conductors have touched that path with him. Sigh. I could just pull my hair out, but then my hair wouldn't be 'integrated' with my scalp anymore. And my goodness, what would the ears and forehead think? Scandalous. Just plane skandullis.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xol2MM_PCTU Sometimes, modern music hits it on the head; I guess they do so for everyone now and then. These guys from Boston, the "Bosstones" the Mighty Mighty Bosstones wrote this number, "The Impression that I Get" and it hits me right there. Great song. Just the impression that I get.
So there we were yesterday at church. Blue and I were returning to Roxy and our wooden bench. Out in the hallway area, I was scooting along in front of him on my custom-made 'scooter stool.' He was stepping nicely. I was helping him shift his weight. Lo and behold, here comes a group of children from their mini-service on their way back to their parents. Well, as is usual, all the children stared, silent, at Blue and I making our way. I have come to learn to ignore these stares. Not much I can do about it, and I have to concentrate on Blue anyway. But this time, one of the church ladies had the smarts to say, "He's practicing walking. Good job. You're doing great."
This so confused me that I didn't look or say anything, but for the first time in years it seemed that someone broke the silence with music. It was a prime opportunity to say at least thanks, or something; but the callous in my brain is too thick.
I'm going to have to find that lady and say something. I didn't even think to look at Blue's face to see if he was proud or happy about the remark. I was just watching his legs and torso as always: step, straighten, shift. Step, straighten, sheesh!
There are certain groups of folks whose status never changes in my life: old friends, family of course, and my fellow CE parents. It doesn't matter how long it's been; we can always understand each other. I recently had the great pleasure of inviting one of my CE friends to come play hockey with my Saturday night hockey crowd. He was available, and he came to score a whole bunch of goals as we looked on enviously.
Of course, afterward is the best time; and we discovered that neither of us has given up an inch (or a centimetre as it were, in Canada) in the battle to keep conductivity alive for our boys. There's a tonne of respect in that exchange in that stinky room with hockey equipment piled in the bags and a cold barley sandwich shared among friends.
Sure, the olympics are starting next week; but we're always thinking conductive education. Oh, Canada. . . we'll just see.