Just recently, we have had a big decision to make - which High School to chose for our eldest daughter, who will be in Year 7 next year. Visiting several schools, looking at their resources and listening to their sales patter has reminded me about how people 'see' E.
If you walked passed us in the street, or saw E engaged in her education, or saw her playing at home with her younger sister, you would be forgiven for assuming that she was no different to any other 6 year old you have met. Listen to her speaking and your attention would be drawn to a difference. Play with her or try and work with her and you would begin to see her disability.
The different approaches to SEN in High Schools and the language they attach to children (or should they be students after Year 6?) with SENs, or the provisions they have for them intrigue me. Rooms set aside for inclusion mystify me; surely by removing a child from a class gives a wonderful oxymoron: an inclusion room for those excluded from others. A Motivation Unit where the SEN Team is based; I couldn't help but feel I could use a motivation unit in my life! Who doesn't?
Worst of all was the prospectus of a new academy being built in the town. My heart sank and my anger rose as I read the words "no provision for people with SEND". I can't believe that this is even allowed, and I certainly would not be sending any of my daughters (even if we didn't have the personal experience of E within our family) where any one group of people could so openly be excluded. E definitely has trouble with communicating and understanding, but she is still a valuable member of our family. We wouldn't be who we are without her. By excluding this group of people from their school, they are missing out on an opportunity. Open your eyes and heart and you will be enriched by the company of my girl. She has taught me more about compassion, patience and care than I EVER learnt at school or University.
I listened to my friend's 5 year old reading in the library this week. That afternoon, after much gentle coercion I listened to E read. Before you even get a book out, a process, a routine or a ritual must be followed to enable E to engage in a task. This doesn't happen so much in school time, but arguably the institution of education instils routine from a very young age. So we settle onto the sofa, and again another routine has to be followed. I start a sentence, E whispers some of the words until eventually her words dilute mine and I can become the listener, not the reader. Another part of her routine involves certain noises she makes, an unusual laugh or more often tears of frustrating fear. Of course, my friend's daughter followed a process that I have indeed been through with E's elder siblings - you know, the usual argument of asking to listen to you read, no you need to read first, read to me, no pudding after dinner without reading first.. the normal parent / child argument. These battles frustrate us all but oh, how I wish I could have a 'normal' parent / child argument with E.
While it isn't always healthy to draw comparison between children, it certainly isn't something that I can avoid. I listened to E read with a bit of an heavy heart that afternoon. To hear her stumble over the most simple words time and again is not only heartbreaking but also frustrating. These past few weeks haven't been quite as bad. Sometimes we see her lovely sense of humour, like sunshine peeking through the clouds, as she giggles at her mistakes. I wish that teaching E how to love was enough to get her through each day. As we have looked at schools, as we listen at parent's evening in her Year 2 SATs year, and as we chose a Junior School for her, we are made aware once again of the tick box requirements of OFSTED. We are told that she 'did not meet the standard required' in her phonics test and will need to resit it in the summer term. The comparison is already made for us by the powers that be who decide what level her learning should be assessed at by the end of this academic year. Of course, they don't look at the progress she has made, or the starting point, or the dedication shown by the SENCo at her school. Just which box she fits. With a complex, disordered learning disability like E's, she doesn't fit into any one box. That makes teaching her difficult, it makes parenting her challenging.
If the suit who devised these assessments would ever like to cast his shadow onto my doorstep, I can show him the one box E does fit into. It is the one place she can be every part of who she is; scared, frustrated, happy, struggling, progressing, learning... everything. That one place is home; the one place I can guarantee she will be enveloped in love and acceptance.
No comments:
Post a Comment