My Special Needs

I have been thinking a lot recently about "Special Needs". and I have had some very different experiences of it recently.

Example 1:
The other week I was doing a school talk at work for a group of children with a wheelchair user in it. This wheelchair user's problems were so severe that she keep almost leaping out of her chair to grab the children around her by the hair, and yank as hard as she could.

It took 3 teachers at one point to prise her fingers out of one girls golden curls, whilst another one stood with the girl, speaking calmly and comfortingly to her.

But the girl who was being attacked, and clearly in pain, sat quietly with her eyes closed, did not scream. Did not shout. Did not struggle. She just let it happen. She was used it it.

In fact the whole class was clearly so used to being attacked that no-one screamed. Or struggled. They didn't even really look or stare when she grabbed out again. In fact they didn't really react to anything much.

Including questions. They just sat silently, not reacting. They were used to not reacting...

Originally this worried me: after my talk my first thoughts were that the children were difficult to interest, because of the distraction they were so used to. They just didn't react.

But on second thoughts, further reflection and discussion with colleagues: On the really positive side, they just didn't react.

These children will grow up being tolerant and used to people with disabilities, they will not stare at a wheelchair user in the street, they will probably be more friendly and accepting to anyone they meet in the future with different physical or mental conditions.

They were more tolerant, and kinder, because of this, although also less reactive and less engaged.

For the wheelchair user herself, she got to be around loads of kids. To be involved in a way 20 years ago would be entirely inconceivable. I can't really comment further than that because I don't know enough about her - it could be she was extremely cognisant but from a strangers perspective it was impossible to know. But I think this is a good thing (intergration- not hair pulling: if hair pulling is going on the children should be spaced out enough not to easily reach, which is what happened after a few grabs).

Example 2:
Shortly after I had the above group, I did a Tudor tour for a small group of special needs kids. Remembering the wheelchair user I was apprehensive about how difficult it was going to be, and not looking forward to it.

Within about 5 minutes I was feeling very ashamed of this misapprehension.

These kids were one of the nicest, most attentive and kindest groups I had taken for ages. Possibly ever. They were the kind of kids I felt genuinely sad I would never see again after my tour. I still regret that at the end I forgot to take the time to tell them how great they had been, and how proud their school should be of their behaviour, knowledge and enthusiasm.

They were children of approximately 10-14 of mixed needs, and we ended up doing the tour at the level I would have done to enthusiastic 8-10 year olds.

They were the most involved I have ever seen- when I gave them characters in the house they walked in a different way, spoke in a different way, and improvised comedy dialogue in character. They were tolerant and kind to each other, particularly noticeable because of the mixed needs in the group, to a level much higher than you normally see in children this age.

Basically- these kids made me happy.

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These examples have stuck in my head recently, and made me challenge the way I see these learning needs.

By blogging about them here I have helped think about them myself, and hopefully helped others to think about disabilities, tolerance and happiness and the way they can fit together.

Finally: I want to bring to to your attention that technically *I* have learning difficulties. As do my sisters.
If you know me personally- maybe it will surprise you to know that on acception to university I was invited to come and register at disability services, and to be reassessed by a clinical psychologist. I was sent maps of where all the lifts and automatic doors on campus are, and I was offered physical assistants to help in my studies.

Because I am dyslexic. And even disability services couldn't get it right. A map of the lifts?? Really? Physical aid for going to the library?

Everyone makes misjudgements regarding people's learning needs, and even the specialists get it wrong.

Catch up, Making Children Think, and Dads.

So. This year I seem to largely have forgotten to blog. This is mostly because facebook and twitter are absorbing most of my random outbursts and rants.

This means you may have missed out on some very exciting events. Here is a brief catch up since January.

“I just opened a door onto my own head. Either it was quite funny, or I hit my head quite hard.” 14^th Jan.

“I have made myself a snuggly warm giant fleece + duvet womb and im never ever coming out. Ever.” 10^th Feb. Needless to say this was not an accurate prediction of my future.

“RAAAAAAAA!!! (the noise of the massive graese/cholesterol chest burster currently gestating in my innards, will make.)” 15^th May

(Gap caused by the panic and general workload created by organising Leeds Swing Exchange.)

“If you were a saucy bar-mad/bar-man, what would your saucy bar-person name be? #MollyMelonsMcGrope” 23^rd August

“Is fretting about her dad who is in surgery right now having spinal things done. :( #lovesherdaddy” 24^th August. (He’s recovering well now btw)

“Found a pointy poppadom shard in my bed. #sexybachelorette” 2nd Sept.

So, now we’re up to date!

My New Daily Goal

My goal at the moment, is to make children (or adult visitors), think about something other than crisps.

This goal has always been there, but before, I always defined it as to inspire people to care about their own history, whether for the sake of loving their history or just to understand their cultural context, where we come from and who we are.

I have recently lowered my expectations of people quite considerably, so now the goal is to make them THINK. About anything. History- great, but if they think about the biology of whatever, or the way of building, or metalworking, or how to read the map of the archaeology, or basic maths, that is fantastic.

Even if it’s just getting them to work out what word sounds a bit like Penninger and we use in our money. And it’s a small value coin today. And it’s brown. Any guesses? No. Not penguin. 

But if you guessed penguin (child of 5-6) at least you thought about it, and gave it a stab, and voiced your idea, and gave everyone around you a bit of a chuckle. That is a *good* thing. But my favourite answer will always be “Flamingo.”

Parents who tell your child the answers when I ask them questions to work out or things to spot- you are not helping.

You are not helping them to use their brain, to problem solve, to think. You are teaching them to parrot rather than understand, and don’t credit them with enough intelligence to work it out themselves, which will not encourage their self-esteem or development. Alternatively you want to show you know the answer. Well that’s ok, but let you’re kiddie have a go first.

Basically, my aim is to SAVE HUMANITY, because kids who don't think will soon be adults who don't think.

 

My Delicate Female Emotions and Dads.

Dad had some spinal surgery a week and a bit ago. He had been incapacitated, unable to walk or move with intense pain and immobility for about 3 weeks prior to that, and since his spine has been fiddle with he is no longer in pain and able to move much more than he could. Unfortunately now his muscles have shrunk and weakened and his fitness level is incredibly low, but he is def on the mend.

I was very emotional and stressed about this at the time of the operation and a few days before. I knew that the odds of the operation were good, but general anaesthetics and fiddling with spines are dangerous! And I am super-extra-sentimental about my Daddy, and about anything to do with dads and daughters.

 Anything that discusses the relationship between a dad and daughter is pretty much guaranteed to make me cry within about 30 second of the subject being introduced.

Dad: the source of my "unique" and free sense of humour.

But then I am always a bit of a leaky tap and ready to cry at the

mildest familial affection or tragedy in any book, film, advert, tv program or even thought. The VW Polo Advert about the devoted dad looking after his daughter is a good example. I didn’t watch it when I found this link because I know it has me in floods of irrational tears the moment I think of it.

It’s *incredibly* embarrassing for a modern, adult, independent woman who suffers idiots extremely irritably. Get a grip! I am the sort of person who wrote one of these reviews. I am not a Victorian feeble minded female swooner. So I do sometimes feel like a bit of a traitor to my emancipated gender and brain.

I also love baking, crafts, children and kittens. If I'd been born pre-WWII I probably would have been very happy as a housewife and mother. (TRAITOR!! Cries my emancipated educated brain).

 

Today Dad told me that the araldite holding his spine together fell out today. Mmm yum. He means the tissue glue holding the would together. He said he was worried that his brain would fall out. I told him, not unless his brain is in his lumbar spine. It’s his spinal cord that might fall out. “Well. That’s ok then!”

So that’s probably enough rambling for today.

Will try blog again soon, more frequently than every 6 months.