12 April 2006
IEPs, Braille, weak eyes/strong brain
Five goes to a wonderful school for the blind, as a day student. He's there so that he can learn "blind skills" as quickly and thoroughly and deeply as possible. That's what I told everyone when, after he spent two months at the public school with a full-time aide, we had his IEP meeting to switch him to the school for the blind.
I told the "team" (teachers and specialists) that I wanted him to be independent at school, and to be as fluent reading Braille as I am reading print when he gets older. I didn't think there was much of a chance of that happening with a few hours of pull-out a week. They were concerned about his social development--the class sizes at the school for the blind at Five's level are small and most of the kids have multiple disabilities. My position was that with 6 kids at home, plus playdates, trips to the playground, organized sports, we have that covered.
Well, as it turns out, Five having partial vision almost messed up his education.
He can see--just not very well. He can read big print if it's about half an inch from his nose. He's learned, my clever boy, how to navigate (for Five, "navigate" means hit the ground running and never look back) his environment using cues and clues that would be sadly insufficient for the rest of us.
So naturally his teachers are very pleased that he has this much vision. And, naturally too, Five would prefer not to be "blind," "visually impaired," or "low vision."
China, or at least Five's China (his term for his life at the SWI is "My China"--"Mom, when I was in My China, I ....."), is a harsh environment for people with visible disabilities. He learned, and learned extremely well, how to "pass" as sighted. Granted, he fell down a lot, crashed into things a lot, and developed some annoying interpersonal skills (for example, coming up on you and grabbing whatever he can reach, hard, to perform his meet and greet rituals; surreptitiously touching everything in sight whilst keeping up a cover patter so you don't notice that he's doing that), but he managed well--and then some.
He's doing even better now. He hardly ever crashes into things anymore, and he falls down a lot less--his school is responsible for his no long walking around looking like his face has been tie-dyed. They taught him how to enter a room, how to track things lightly with his fingers in a new environment, how to monitor his balance and body position.
Exactly what I wanted for him. I couldn't be more pleased with that part of his education there.
So I assumed that we were good to go.
Well.....yes, and no. As it turns out, Five has been "passing" there too: they kept telling me how very "visual" he is, how fast he's learning print (no mention of the ink smudges on his nose), how good he is at using pictures to figure out words. Finally, I bought a clue: "Um. You are teaching him to read in Braille, aren't you? It's in his IEP."
"Well, he's so very visual, you know, so I am teaching him as a dual learner."
Dual learner? Turns out that means he's been offered both modalities. Guess which one he "prefers"?
Yup.
Why does this displease me?
Why did I push push push, and hard, yesterday to keep anything visual out of his IEP (no "dual," no supplemental, no secondary modality)? Why did I insist on cane travel training despite his ability to run around with the best of the hyperactive boys on the playground? Do I want him to be totally blind? Am I not grateful that he's "so visual"?
Ok, those are legitimate questions. Here are more:
When's the last time you saw an electrical engineering textbook with print this big? (And by the way--that isn't big enough for Five to read, it's just the biggest Blogger lets me have).
When's the last time you saw an edition of Hegel with pictures to help you figure out the words?
When's the last time you were able to read for five hours with a book leaning on your nose?
And when's the last time you were treated politely in, say, Macdonald's, when you asked the harried checkout tot to read you the menu, top to bottom?
That's why it displeased me. I am grateful, so grateful, that he can see as well as he can. But he needs to have my preaching confirmed by his school: only his eyes are weak; his brain is strong. If he wants to grow up and buy eight airplanes and eight cars (and he'll let me use them, he assures me), then he's got to go to college and maybe even graduate school and to do that he has to do the hard work to be fluent in reading Braille, doing higher level math in Braille, and in getting around on his own.
And you know what? I don't give a rat's patoot what his seven year old self "prefers." The fatigue that overcomes him after half an hour of Green Eggs and Ham on the tip of his nose is too much to pay for passing as fully sighted.
As Mammy (I think) was wont to say in L'il Abner: "I has spoken."
I told the "team" (teachers and specialists) that I wanted him to be independent at school, and to be as fluent reading Braille as I am reading print when he gets older. I didn't think there was much of a chance of that happening with a few hours of pull-out a week. They were concerned about his social development--the class sizes at the school for the blind at Five's level are small and most of the kids have multiple disabilities. My position was that with 6 kids at home, plus playdates, trips to the playground, organized sports, we have that covered.
Well, as it turns out, Five having partial vision almost messed up his education.
He can see--just not very well. He can read big print if it's about half an inch from his nose. He's learned, my clever boy, how to navigate (for Five, "navigate" means hit the ground running and never look back) his environment using cues and clues that would be sadly insufficient for the rest of us.
So naturally his teachers are very pleased that he has this much vision. And, naturally too, Five would prefer not to be "blind," "visually impaired," or "low vision."
China, or at least Five's China (his term for his life at the SWI is "My China"--"Mom, when I was in My China, I ....."), is a harsh environment for people with visible disabilities. He learned, and learned extremely well, how to "pass" as sighted. Granted, he fell down a lot, crashed into things a lot, and developed some annoying interpersonal skills (for example, coming up on you and grabbing whatever he can reach, hard, to perform his meet and greet rituals; surreptitiously touching everything in sight whilst keeping up a cover patter so you don't notice that he's doing that), but he managed well--and then some.
He's doing even better now. He hardly ever crashes into things anymore, and he falls down a lot less--his school is responsible for his no long walking around looking like his face has been tie-dyed. They taught him how to enter a room, how to track things lightly with his fingers in a new environment, how to monitor his balance and body position.
Exactly what I wanted for him. I couldn't be more pleased with that part of his education there.
So I assumed that we were good to go.
Well.....yes, and no. As it turns out, Five has been "passing" there too: they kept telling me how very "visual" he is, how fast he's learning print (no mention of the ink smudges on his nose), how good he is at using pictures to figure out words. Finally, I bought a clue: "Um. You are teaching him to read in Braille, aren't you? It's in his IEP."
"Well, he's so very visual, you know, so I am teaching him as a dual learner."
Dual learner? Turns out that means he's been offered both modalities. Guess which one he "prefers"?
Yup.
Why does this displease me?
Why did I push push push, and hard, yesterday to keep anything visual out of his IEP (no "dual," no supplemental, no secondary modality)? Why did I insist on cane travel training despite his ability to run around with the best of the hyperactive boys on the playground? Do I want him to be totally blind? Am I not grateful that he's "so visual"?
Ok, those are legitimate questions. Here are more:
When's the last time you saw an electrical engineering textbook with print this big? (And by the way--that isn't big enough for Five to read, it's just the biggest Blogger lets me have).
When's the last time you saw an edition of Hegel with pictures to help you figure out the words?
When's the last time you were able to read for five hours with a book leaning on your nose?
And when's the last time you were treated politely in, say, Macdonald's, when you asked the harried checkout tot to read you the menu, top to bottom?
That's why it displeased me. I am grateful, so grateful, that he can see as well as he can. But he needs to have my preaching confirmed by his school: only his eyes are weak; his brain is strong. If he wants to grow up and buy eight airplanes and eight cars (and he'll let me use them, he assures me), then he's got to go to college and maybe even graduate school and to do that he has to do the hard work to be fluent in reading Braille, doing higher level math in Braille, and in getting around on his own.
And you know what? I don't give a rat's patoot what his seven year old self "prefers." The fatigue that overcomes him after half an hour of Green Eggs and Ham on the tip of his nose is too much to pay for passing as fully sighted.
As Mammy (I think) was wont to say in L'il Abner: "I has spoken."
