Heads Up, Heels Down

I can’t believe I’d said after my first month in sped (special ed) at this huge high school that I was rather disappointing that the job wasn’t as challenging as everyone had said it would be. Ha! – – classic example of speaking too soon. 

Since then it’s been a wild ride, sometimes like babysitting (yes, boring), sometimes like being a psychologist or a crisis interventionist. Not to mention art teacher, proofreader, exercise coach, life coach, cook and cleaner, etc.

This week…

Yesterday I helped a girl in the hallway who couldn’t breathe—got her to the nurse – –  she could breathe a little bit but she was having an attack of some sort—must check on her today. 

[UPDATE: The student who couldn’t breathe is fine—it was a panic attack. Scary to witness—worse to feel!—but not physically dangerous.]

Earlier in the week, I’d met one-on-one with a student who’d said mean things in class about sped students, though she is special ed herself. (This is mixed class—all sped students, but not all autistic.)

I was amazed to find myself in this position. Isn’t this above my pay grade? It is, in fact, technically—but I said yes when asked because I figured it was a mostly a matter of asking the student to talk about herself. Which she did, for an hour. As I’d suspected, she has been bullied herself for being sped, plus is living with a lot of life challenges… To put it mildly.

It’s the funniest thing, but working at the thrift store in the city’s armpit for six years was the perfect training ground for working with teenagers. I got used to having to step up to situations I didn’t feel equipped to handle— simply because I was there. Even if you studied all this (hostage negotiator, addiction counseling, etc), even if you are trained and experienced, each situation is different—whoever knows what in the world‘s gonna happen? Or what you could possibly do to help.

Life experience may be the best trainer. (Not discounting education! but a lot of this happens on horseback, at a gallop.) 

Definitely the thrift store helped me immensely by forcing me at a PhD level to lower my expectations: “I am not the savior”. And to accept that, most often, all I can do is be there, to say, I know your name and I’m listening to you. Which is what I did with the student.

I wrote “all I can do“, but often “just being there” is the right thing, and even the full Olympic level of engagement . Before I met with the student—on the same day I was asked to—I’d asked the teacher what had already been said to the student. She told me the student’s caseworker had read the riot act to the student – – told her that what she’d said was “hate speech“ and could even be legally actionable.

She’d asked me to give it a try, though, because she didn’t feel that it’d gotten through to the student. “She just sat there and didn’t say anything.”

No shit, Sherlock. This is a child who clearly is herself troubled—how does threatening her with the law help? But I hand it to this teacher that she realized that didn’t work – – and asked me to help because “the student likes you”.

[Side note. Example of the students’ maturity level and sophistication: students in this same student’s class declared me “cool” when I brought in hand made Rice Krispie treats yesterday. A lot of them are just hatching 🐣 out of being little kids.]

The student seemed happy enough to talk, and I thought that was a good thing, but wasn’t sure it made any difference at all. However, bizarrely, I got almost instant feedback that it did. The day after we met, the student again said something mean unthinkingly, loudly in class. 

I said, “Hey, that’s an example of what we were just talking about. Could you say that sentence differently?”

And, bygod, she did! 

Sped students and gen-ed students, neurotypical and neurodivergent people are different from each other—each group, but each individual within each group too.  But the same riding skills apply to all. Like the title of a book I’d loved in childhood put it:

Heads Up, Heels Down

(In English riding, to maintain your posture and to stay in the stirrups.)

My mother always said shoulders back, too.

It was gratifying to see that I’d been helpful, and I’m grateful to have meaningful work, but I’m not in love with this job. Foolishly (?), perhaps, I hadn’t realized that it’s like being a psychologist—it’s emotional work, not intellectual. And I don’t love that. 

I miss being around books all day, and I’m looking forward to volunteering at the store a lot after school ends in a couple weeks. (Damn long school year.)

Here’s something I do love about this job though – – getting paid a living wage. Teachers and aides complain about the pay, and I see what they mean, but I’m always saying, it depends what you compare it to.

————

 PS. I’d texted a friend in education that I thought it was adorable but untrustworthy that the students said I was cool —it’s just because I bribed them with Rice Krispie treats, I said.

 But then she added…