Ability

Adults often marvel as they watch children frolic on the playground centers. Children’s interactions appear effortless. There seem to be no barriers, no ego or self-doubt. If you want to play with someone, you simply ask him or her. It looks so uncomplicated. If a child is willing and able to partake in the fun, then there are bad guys to vanquish, princesses to be rescued and treasures to be found. A child’s imagination is the only thing placing limits on the exploration. 

Whitman yearned to shout from the roof. His barbaric yawp. Me too. For right now I am sitting on the grass, my back resting against a fence, wanting to yawp from atop the Gateway Arch. Everyone, Listen. I know you’re all excited about the Cardinals-Cubs series starting at Busch in a few hours, but run over to Tilles Park and see Bryan because he’s up at bat. Right now. 

In order to teach tolerance, a teacher must proactively bring in those who are typically left out of the mainstream. With the 2010 release of the HBO movie about her life, Temple Grandin may be going mainstream. But autism remains an enigma to most people. So I was thrilled when my student teacher, Eva Oliver, prepared a lesson about Temple Grandin and her work as a livestock equipment designer at the beginning of National Autism Awareness Month. 

One of my favorite places in the world is the classroom across the hall from me. This room full of wonderful children and teachers is affectionately known throughout our building simply as “Mr. David's class.”

But each morning, as I pass by their door on my way to pick up my second-grade reading group, I hear music and I am drawn in.

On the rare occasion that I spend time with people who are not educators, it’s inevitable that someone will drop the word “retarded.” The “R-word” has been used colloquially for decades to describe and degrade anyone or anything out of the ordinary, inferior, or somehow slow. I can still hear the snickers from my own classmates back in 10th-grade health class when we read the words “fire retardant” in our textbook.

It’s not that hard to stick out in middle school. The unspoken code of social conduct is unyielding and inflexible. Anything outside of those narrow parameters is weird, and weird makes kids uncomfortable.

I do not bark. I do not swing open my mouth and chomp my teeth six times while telling a story. The n-word does not dart suddenly from my mouth. And derogatory comments about gays and lesbians? They do not spew from me.

My mere presence in a movie theater or a restaurant or a subway does not arouse anger or disgust from others.

But then, I am not Marc Elliot.

A new third-grader arrives at your school. He is blind. He is autistic. He is developmentally delayed.

How does your school deal with the special needs of this child?