Day 1, 1983, Bulletin Boards & lunch

After Rowena asked me to fill the position for six weeks while the other teacher was on maternity leave, I jumped through the hoops and loops of obtaining an emergency teaching certificate, looking at the IEPs (Individualized Lesson Plans), and preparing the classroom. 

My class was to consist of 11 students that were labeled Severely Mentally Handicapped, all between the ages of 14-26.  Although I had never actually been around a "retarded" person before, I saw this as a "cinch" when I looked at the yearly goals of the different IEPs.  "Daryl will draw a complete circle"  "Joe will refrain from jumping up and down for a period of 5 minutes,"  "Patrick will refrain from self-stimulating behavior."  etc.  How hard can it be to draw a complete circle?  And I will just tell Joe to quit jumping...you can imagine my train of thought, can't you?  I would have these kids whipped into shape in no time!!  Heck, I might work myself out of a job within a week or two! 

But first, I had to prepare the room.  Trying to set up activities based on the goals, I placed pegboards with buckets of pegs around the room.  I organized the chairs and tables neatly and then I spent hours doing what I was sure going to affect the emotional "tenor" of the room--putting up a beautiful, colorful bulletin board.  I chose to do a mountain scene out of loosely torn construction paper.  After spending several hours on the bulletin board project, I pronounced the room ready for learning!

The next morning, I arrived bright and early--ready to show these kids the "right way" to be.  As I walked into the room, I was greeted by a pretty black girl named Joan.  She was short and was about 26 years old.  She had a beautiful smile and an openness that gathered me in immediately.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked, after introductions were made.
"Sure," I said, confident this would be no harder than making a paper maiche donkey for Palm Sunday.
"Delores is going to get our kids off the bus today." she explained, "but starting tomorrow, we will have to meet the kids as they get off the bus."
"oke doke."  I had no sooner offered my response when a young man breezed by me jumping up and down while chanting, "Joe."  Jump.  "Joe."  Jump  "Joe"  Jump.

"JOE, STOP THAT RIGHT NOW" Joan yelled.  "YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THAT!  NOW SIT DOWN AND BEHAVE YOURSELF."

Joe sat in a chair and stretched out his legs, kicking the floor.  "Goddammit Joe, don't you cuss!" he repeated the words as if they were his mantra. 

Do something! I told myself.  You ARE the teacher, remember?  I walked over to Joe and held out my hand, "I Joe, I'm Lori.  I'm glad to have you in my class.  "Joe."   he responded, ignoring my hand completely.

"BB King, Stevie Wonder.  I BB King, Stevie Wonder."  I turned at the sound of a new voice.  "Miss Lori," said Joan, "this is Eric.  He likes BB King and Stevie Wonder, don't you Eric."  Eric, a short, black boy stood close, his hair slicked back and his eyes shut repeating the names over and over.  "Hi Eric," I said tapping him on the shoulder.  He kept his eyes shut, trying to impose the blindness of Stevie Wonder on himself. 

Suddenly, a sullen redhead appears at the door perseverating on his fingers.  "Hey, Rich, c'mon in!" welcomes Joan.  I admire her relaxed posture and comfort level with the kids.  Rich looks up and begins to bite his hand as he moans loudly.  Suddenly he runs to my prized bulletin board, tears off a piece of the paper, puts it in his mouth, chews it up, and swallows it. 

"What is he doing?" I asked Joan.
"He's eating your bulletin board."  she answers matter-of factly.
I looked at her like she had three heads.  "Why?"
"Because that is what he does."

Joe continued to sit in the chair, rocking back and forth occasionally mumbling, "Goddammit Joe, don't you cuss!"  Eric wandered around the room with his eyes shut, pretending he was blind, Rich randomly darted over to the bulletin board for a snack.

Within the hour, I had also met Kathy, a large nonverbal young lady who basically sat in a chair smiling at all the chaos.  Then there was Deena, a young thin girl who cried incessantly and slapped herself in the face; Cate, a young girl constantly stressing over the possibility of a fire drill; Michael, a lanky black boy asking if it was time for lunch every 30 seconds from the moment he came in the room; Daryl who was obsessed with me at first sight, calling me "Lona" and instructing me to "look" as he wanted to show me EVERYTHING in the classroom, such that every 30 seconds or so he would say "Lona, look!"; David was the youngest member of the group.  Because he could not walk, he scooted around on the floor growling at anyone in his way.  Patrick, at the other end of the spectrum, was the oldest member of the group and sat quietly in a chair, sucking the thumb of one hand while the other hand rested comfortably inside his pants.  Then came Shyna, a very large black girl.  She walked in, tears streaming down her cheeks, ran to Joan, hugged her, and then flopped on the floor. 

"SHYNA, YOU GET UP OFF THAT FLOOR!" Joan yelled.  Shyna laughed and rolled around the floor, refusing to get up. 

I stood back and surveyed my class.  Patrick was rocking and sucking his thumb with his hand in his trousers, David scooting and growling, Daryl demanding me to look at yet another one of his discoveries, Michael asking if it was time for lunch yet, Joe randomly jumping and swearing, Rich eating my bulletin board, Deena slapping herself and crying, Cate demanding "no firedrill, please," Eric feeling his way around the room chanting the names of his favorite singers, Shyna rolling around on the floor, and Kathy sitting and laughing at the chaos.

"Hmmm"  I muttered softly, "I guess this just might be a little more challenging than making a paper mache' donkey for Palm Sunday.