My second year of teaching special education passed quickly. Darryl did a repeat performance of the first year when attempting to learn how to make a D. Although he eventually reached this goal, I noticed a cynicism settling in that I was not happy with. Yes, he could now write D-a, but did he understand the purpose of these letters at all? No, I didn’t believe he did. I began to really struggle with the whole concept of “teaching” students with severe handicaps. Was it a good use of our educational resources? Would anything I teach really make a difference in Darryl’s life? I wasn’t sure, but I was attached to my students and I would do my best. Joan and I continued to get along well and were always trying new things with our class. Some of them were very successful, some of them not.
I was enjoying the “social” aspect of friendships with other staff members. Delores, the aide in the classroom next to us, and I began to spend time together outside the classroom. She visited our church once and I was thrilled to have her there. She was a much older black woman (probably close to the age I am now). When she came to church for a special program, I sat with her near the front of the church.
“Oh no,” she said holding the bulletin out in front of her, “I forgot my reading glasses.”
I leaned closer to her and began to read the bulletin in whispers.
“Don’t do that!” she snapped, “people will think I can’t read!”
I was stunned, but realized at that moment that she came from a different world than I did. Of course, she would worry about people thinking that she was less than them. She was in her 20’s--30’s during the civil rights movement and had seen far more change in the world than I had.
I share this as part of my teaching experience because it was a huge learning moment for me. I think everyone as they go through life experience those “Aha” moments and this was one of those moments for me. I suddenly realized that while I was a young middle schooler experiencing the “integration of schools” through busing, Delores was a young mother trying to find her way in a society that was making huge changes. And even though the Civil Rights Movement was a huge success for her race, it was a time when she had to “redefine” who she was in the world. Taking in her reaction to my attempt to read the bulletin to her sent me on my own “redefinition” journey. I suddenly realized everyone was not on the same journey as me. I also realized Delores had not necessarily had “equal opportunities” just because the law said she should have. I thought back to the staff at our school. None of our teachers were black, none of our aides were white.
Because I lived on the “wrong side of town” in 1971, I was bused along with the blacks in our neighborhood to integrate the white schools on the north side of the north Indiana city where I grew up. I had been exposed to discrimination (against whites) at the elementary school I attended where I was in the minority. Many days when I arrived at my new middle school, there were talks of “rumbles” and “riots” to take place throughout the day. I always felt confused at the extreme anger I saw on the face of my black peers. I could never understand what they had against me or the other white kids at the school. I realize now that a lot of what was happening each day was set up in the homes by parents throughout that city. Prejudice invaded my being as a teenager because I was constantly afraid. I would get on the bus in the mornings to go to school and kids would stick pins in me as I walked down the aisle of the bus because I was white. I was called “honky” instead of by my name and my own prejudice grew. I tried to be invisible as much as possible, walking with my head down and wearing clothes that would not call attention to myself. Even though prejudice was not pervasive in the home which I grew up, my own prejudice grew at this time when I was struggling to find my identity.
I am so thankful for my husband, Michael, who grew up on the north side of the city and survived that time with his innocence intact. When we started dating in high school, he taught me through his example the uselessness of fear and the power of acceptance. It was because of Michael’s example that I was sitting in this special worship service next to my good friend, Delores, who happened to be black.
Special education teachers receive a lot of recognition and accolades for their “patience” and how giving they are to kids with special needs, but what about the Joans and the Deloreses who are imperative to the programs? As I sat there embracing my “Aha” moment, I realized how blessed I was not only to have Joan and Delores as helpers to implement important programs, but especially blessed to have them as friends to this girl from the south side of the city.
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