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Segregated Learning Hurts Social Education

Educator, Parents Seeks More Than Mainstreaming

Fayetteville, AR

What wants most of all is to get

married and have babies.

The trouble is that , although she graduated from Fayetteville

High School, was never really part of the class of 2000. While she was

learning basic academics, she missed out on the social opportunities that

teach youngsters how to make friends and build relationships.

That's where the “self-contained classroom” concept of special

education failed her, her mother believes. Even though attended some

regular classes, like physical education, and ate lunch with her “typical”

peers, she spent most of her time in a classroom with other special

education students and never enjoyed the full extracurricular experience

that is high school.

“It's not about sitting in an algebra class to learn algebra,” said

Kerry , who was for many years a special education teacher at Elmdale

Elementary School in Springdale. “In a perfect world, I would love for her

to have had instruction in the areas she needed — home economics, vocational

education, computers, skills she could apply later in life — but with kids

who were typical. That way, she could feel like she belonged to a group.

“Kids were nice to her when she was little,” recalled. “But

junior high got harder, and she didn't have a lot of friends in high school.

“She knew she was missing out on the things other kids did,”

said. “I think she knows she'll always be on the outside looking in.”

's experience of attending even some regular classes was a

benefit won after years of court challenges that began in the 1970s and

continued through the '90s. At first, officials considered it good enough

just to get the special education students into the same school building.

Then came the battles over mainstreaming and the idea that school is

for more than academics; it is where children learn social skills and how to

be part of a community.

“Segregated learning experiences lead to segregated life experiences,”

said Doug Fisher, a professor at San Diego State University. “Inclusive

learning experiences provide the skills to be out there and work and play

and have fun and make friends and have families.

“If you want a kid at 18 or 22 to have a rich life, connected to the

community, with lots of social relationships, that kid has to be around

other kids. Our ability to make friends is formed when we're young.”

School districts today operate under the doctrine that each child must

be educated in the least restrictive environment possible, meaning a regular

classroom whenever possible.

The Next Step Fisher advocates something that goes beyond “inclusion”

or “mainstreaming” for “kids with IEPs,” as he calls special education

students with individualized education programs. He refers to the

cutting-edge philosophy as “universal design.”

“We're working on the concept of universal design in curriculum so

that as curriculum is planned, it's planned to include all the learners in

the classroom — kids with IEPs, English-as-a-second-language learners,

gifted and talented learners,” Fisher said. “Then it doesn't require as much

reactionary modification.”

Studies, Fisher said, clearly demonstrate that students with special

needs blossom when exposed to their peers.

“The only way kids with disabilities are going to learn the kinds of

behaviors we expect (in society) is to be in those environments,” he said.

“Kids with disabilities are pretty good at modeling what their peers do —

and if their peers are the other five kids in a one-to-six classroom, those

are the behaviors they're going to model.”

There isn't much hard data on how inclusion changes a regular

classroom for the other students in it. But Fisher said the studies that

have been done show that, thanks to the support of paraprofessionals,

teachers don't spend an inordinate amount of time focused on students with

special needs.

“Some days, that kid needs more help, more attention, but other days,

other kids need more help,” he said. “It evens out.”

The Teen Years 's primary diagnosis is autism, resulting in

global developmental delay. In simpler terms, she functions at about a

second-grade level: She still enjoys her Barbies and Cabbage Patch dolls,

and among her favorite movies are “The Little Mermaid,” “Beauty and the

Beast” and “Lilo and Stitch.”

On the other hand, is able to alphabetize and file, do some

keyboarding and mail out paychecks as part of her job at Arkansas Support

Network, a nonprofit agency that assists people with developmental

disabilities.

“They used to look for things for her to do,” said. “Now, when

a new job comes up, they say, 'I bet could do that.' She does about

15 different tasks now.”

was a student in the master's program at Syracuse University

when she took as a foster child. It seemed only logical for to

bring her daughter back to Fayetteville, where she grew up, in 1987.

expected support from the Fayetteville schools. She had studied

special education at the University of Arkansas and had taught the first

class specifically for autistic children at the Center, the

region's first school for children with special needs. Instead, said

she was encouraged to take to Springdale with her.

“I didn't want to confuse my roles as teacher and mother,” she said.

“I wanted her to go to school in Fayetteville — and I was willing to be

flexible.”

moved through various grade schools in Fayetteville until

finally she landed at her home school, Asbell Elementary, for fifth and

sixth grades. There, she was in a special education “resource room” part

time and attended regular classes — called mainstreaming — part time, and

that's the curriculum wanted in junior high.

“I've never pushed for full inclusion (in regular classes), but they

wanted to move her to a classroom with one teacher for six students

generally reserved for the most severely disabled students, recalled.

“My biggest concern was that she would imitate everything — and the next

thing you know, she'd be walking with a limp! There were other options.”

Disputes Arise wound up in a battle with the school district

under the rules for due process. At the end of the two-year marathon of

hearings and investigations, was moved to the one-to-six classroom.

Deborah , now director of special services for the Fayetteville

School District, cannot discuss any student's specific circumstances.

“My job is to implement the law, and the law says to look at each

child individually and look at (the child's) needs, and that's what we try

to do,” she said in answer to the question about . “Each child is

different.”

does agree that due process can be difficult for everyone

involved, and once a decision is made by the hearing officer, it's final —

unless an appeal takes the case into the court system. Starting this fall,

school districts and parents have another option, mediation.

Mediation, explained Mathews, a licensed psychological examiner

and longtime mediator, isn't arbitration.

“In arbitration, you have somebody making a decision,” she explains.

“In mediation, the parties make the decision and sign off on it. It's an

informal process that produces a formal result.”

A conflict between school and parents can go to mediation at either's

request, and Mathews said a discussion can usually be scheduled within 10

days.

's Inclusion During the difficult period when she was

struggling with 's placement in Fayetteville schools and the due

process procedure, Kerry often turned for support to Lynn ,

Northwest Arkansas' original advocate for inclusion.

, who is now a program manager for family support programs at

Arkansas Support Network, started the battle for inclusion for her son,

, in 1988. was injured at birth and, in his mother's words,

“was so physically disabled he couldn't sit up on his own.” He was also

severely delayed cognitively.

“But he was a really happy kiddo,” recalled. “He laughed a lot,

loved music, loved to be bounced around — and he loved to be around other

kids.”

It was 's enjoyment of his peers, coupled with 's

interest in “state-of-the-art” educational practices, that led her to

believe needed to be in the regular classroom. At that time, she

explained, children with severe disabilities just stayed at the

Center throughout their school careers. “But there was a big movement at

that time for public schools to accept responsibility for the education of

those kids,” said.

“On the local level, I think a lot of the impetus had to do with the

expense of having those kids separated out,” she said, explaining that the

school districts paid for programming at the Center. “But there

was also a new idea: That these are our kids and we can educate them — and

we should.”

was 7 when and her husband, Carver, a physician in

Springdale, began to push for their son to go to music classes at the

elementary school he would ordinarily attend. The school district paid for

to be bused to Springdale from the Center twice a week

for 30 minutes of music. Then the Carvers asked for another 15 minutes a day

so could go to the regular classroom and then go on to music class

with his peers.

“We didn't anticipate any problem,” recalled. “The law said he

could go to school. But the school he was at didn't have any special

education classes, and they were panicked. I don't know what happened behind

the scenes, but Kerry and Don , the principal at Elmdale, came

to talk to us. They said he could come to Elmdale — and we were so gratified

by that offer.”

“At first we were all kind of skeptical,” recalled. “It was a

learning experience for us all. It helped me learn what people can do.”

Attitude Barriers celebrated his ninth birthday in June 1990

and died in October of that year. said no one ever encouraged her to

put in an institution, but it took his short stay in public school

to convince her he could have a life without her constant involvement.

That moment of epiphany happened when she and were waiting to

see the pediatrician. He was making a sound that meant he was cranky. A

little girl from his school came across the waiting room to and told

his mother, “He's just tired and wants out of his wheelchair,” she recalled.

“From that moment, I never looked back,” said. “There is no

good excuse for any child being deprived of that kind of experience — that

simple kind of friendship. And the other kids were learning something from

him, too! “Nobody tells parents of kids with severe disabilities that they

can't come to public school anymore,” said. “The biggest barrier kids

still face is attitude.”