#special ed

[neuroticboyfriend]

once again thinking about how fucked up it is that special ed used me and other disabled children as unpaid, coerced labor. i worked enough to be making $100 a week. i was "paid" in fake money redeemable only at the school cafeteria, which i worked at, and was forced to do things that distressed me. they gave us $1 a week, if they remembered to give it to us at all.

this was while i would sometimes go the entire day without eating because i didn't have the money to buy food and the free food was not sensory safe. we also worked outside the community - grocery stores, warehouses, shoe stores security tagging items. all under the guise of job skill development, we did $100 of labor a week without ever getting paid. and we were demeaned while we did it. and we were just teens.

so no, i don't want to hear about how special education is good. not with the way me and my peers were treated and taken advantage of. death to institutionalization, in all forms.

[clownrecess]

My AAC device is not a toy, it isnt here for you "try out".

It is my voice. Do not touch it without asking. Do not search through it's folders without asking.

It is not here for you to make it say weird things. It is not here for you to spam my message window with random words. It is not here for you to play with. It is not here for you to "try out".

It is my voice. It is not funny, or a toy.

Please stop treating it like one.

You have no right to grab it, to pull my hands away from it so you can make it say things I don't want it to say, or to slam your hands down onto buttons without warning.

Please stop.

[insanelyadd]

Shout out to everyone who had to go to the Quiet Room in school because you were being "disruptive"

[todayinhiphophistory]

Today in Hip Hop History:

Special Ed was born May 16, 1972

[timmurleyart]

The ruler’s back. 💵☝🏽🎤🎧

[autisticdreamdrop]

disabled things 20

if you need mobility aids, use them. let no one tell you differently.

[culturalappreciator]

[raynedayys2]

Instead of arguing about whether "gifted kids" or "special ed kids" struggled more, why don't we acknowledge the school system screwed us all over?

Schools screwed over neurotypical kids.

Schools screwed over neurodivergent kids.

Schools screwed over "gifted" kids.

Schools screwed over "special ed" kids.

Schools screwed over undiagnosed kids.

Schools screwed over "average" kids.

Schools screwed over "bad" kids.

Schools screwed us all over because the system wasn't made for ANY of us.

[paperboy-pb]

"A Very Special Day" [Life Story]

[TW for: ableism against kids, internalized ableism, and mentions of suicidal ideation.]

9 years ago today, in the state of New York on September 5th, was my second day of 6th grade. Being a Special Ed kid, I was upset; my school, a K-8 that I had been with since the start and stayed with until the end, had always treated us so differently. And the world around me had promised that things would change once middle school began. But they hadn't. In fact, barely anything was new at all.

Same old baby talk from adults who saw me every day, but willfully ignored how big I had grown.

Same old bullying from my peers, disabled children who spent their days as pots calling kettles black, because no one had any intentions of teaching us better.

Same Adapted Phys Ed, getting ready to interrupt my morning reading every Monday, Wednesday, Friday; even though they'd promised to let me play in Gym with the rest of my class years ago by now.

Same old kids from the neighborhood filling up the rest of my grade, coming in smiling and laughing and oh so free in their new groups of 30. 30-something of them. 12 of us.

They'd even gotten some new kids from the K-5s around town. All of which seemed really nice. Man. Lucky them. Meanwhile, everything was so same-y that I'd considered running away from the school bus when it pulled up.

September 5th, 2014. Still kinda hot in Brooklyn. Sunny out there.

The day had gone bad. My classmates were talking FNAF, and being mean about things I don't remember. They flicked food at me during lunch while I tried to read and mind my own business. We weren't allowed to change seats, even though the rest of our grade got that privilege. It was supposed to be for all of us middle schoolers, but when I'd asked the day before, our lunch aide had no idea what I was on about. She suddenly insisted it was never a thing! While the rest of our grade was splitting into cliques behind her back, paying us no mind, knowing they'd somehow earned it and we didn't.

10-year-old me couldn't wait to go home.

By the end of the day, I was drained like no other. Head down on the desk and all. I was thinking, 2:20-something. Just a few more minutes.

God, why are things like this? Is it gonna get better later this year? I hope so, it's only the second day. Maybe it just starts bad!

Man, I miss summer already. I wish I spent today home all day eating onion ring chips again and playing Animal Crossi--

"Alright guys, listen up!" Said Mrs. Z, who would pretty much be our only teacher this year. (Meanwhile, everyone else got to have different people for different subjects.)

I don't remember her exact words. But she held up a white booklet with a bunch of kids holding hands and awkwardly smiling at us from the mostly-white cover. She said something about it being very important. And she ended her little stanza with, and I quote, "DON'T read these, alright? It's for your parents."

I think that one line changed the trajectory of my life.

As our para handed them out, my bookworm ass couldn't help but furrow my little brows. I'd had teachers assume certain books were "too hard" for me when they weren't, and get upset at me whenever I summarized the plot of them correctly. I'd had teachers tell me not to read other books during class, which was fair enough, I guess. But a teacher telling me not to read something at ALL?

Now THAT'S a new one...

It felt plasticy, not like paper. It's a packet, not a book. Six kids in a row, but none look like me, as usual. The cover said, "Family Guide To Special Education Services for School-Age Children. A Shared Path to Success." ...I don't think a title should be that long. Why not parentheses that end bit?

After that, we were dismissed. Me & some peers headed into the hallway down to the first floor to wait for our bus, and we chatted about it a little bit?

One was like, "Is this a report card or something?"

Another was like, "I guess?"

The first boy skimmed it, though, and saw nothing about him. Which eased his nerves.

A third asked me what I thought it was since I was the only kid who'd hit a Z-reading level. They figured I could make sense of it. And my first thought was boring adult stuff, or some sort of... after-school? Program? Thing? But I didn't really answer. I was too preoccupied with what Mrs. Z said.

What kind of teacher tells me not to read something? Give it to my parents is one thing, but specifically, "don't" read this? Dude! What doesn't she want me to see?

Everyone else had tossed the damn thing into their bookbags and zipped 'em up by now. We headed downstairs, and I couldn't help but notice that our 6th grade class was on the third floor; with a lot of grades 2-4 around us.

Meanwhile, the rest of the big middle school classes came down from higher up. It turns out that they all had their classes high up on the top floor. A bunch of bright minds floated down from above like they were that summer's fireflies, and we were the tips of night grass. Or maybe even worms, burrowing into the dirt and calling it a day.

...

By the time the bus was moving, I still had the packet in my hands. I was wondering why they all got to be up there and we didn't. We lived pretty close to Coney Island, after all: it must be cool seeing the parachute jump from the hallway window on your way down every day.

I barely had time to stuff the packet in my hands once we pulled up to my apartment.

If you've ever wondered what Kid Jonah was like, imagine some sort of hybrid between a miserable little nerd & the most optimistic goody-goody you've ever met. Like, yeah, I'd been in a few fights by this point, broken some rules behind their backs, but I was also... 10. And known for being "THE good kid" in front of teachers. I didn't like to defy them, you know? Even if they did always make me feel weird, or on-edge, or like I was a part of something bad.

So when I made a beeline for my room, I was like, Oh my God, I'm actually gonna do this...? And I didn't tell my parents a thing. I've kept the packet all this time and they STILL haven't read it!

But I did. I think I hesitated, but I remember opening it on my bed.

"Welcome.

Dear families, we've come a long way since our special education reform initiative, A Shared Path to Success, was launched citywide in 2012... we've also been changing hearts and minds as our core belief- that special education is a service, and not a place- has taken hold in our schools...

Section 1... Children learn at different speeds and in different ways. Some children have physical and/or intellectual disabili..."

WHAT?!

...

It was a really dense packet for a kid. Long, boring, seemed endless. But I understood the words. Especially that D one. And at the time, 10-year-old me knew it was a bad one.

I'd crossed the point of no return by then. I kept reading. And I didn't dare skip a word. "Intervention," "Special," "Disability," "Meeting," "Evaluation," "Eligibility," "IEP,"-- Hey, I know that word! IEPs are the dense things stapled to my report cards!

I remember the anger flaring in my heart, out my nose, widening my eyes once I got to the Eligibility bit. I thought, and I quote, "THEY THINK WE'RE DISABLED?!" I don't think words can articulate how insulted little 10-year-old me was!

...I don't think I can articulate how sad that is now, either. How do you instill such heavy ableism into a little boy like that? How do you live with yourself?

But I couldn't throw the book at the wall or take one of my mom's lighters to it like I initially wanted. Because I realized pretty quickly... Oh my God. This is it. These are THE ANSWERS! THIS IS WHY IT'S ALL HAPPENING!

I couldn't believe my eyes as I took it all in. The 13 disabilities that landed me and my friends in this mess, some of which matched up with certain kids I knew right away. But what really caught my attention were the services. Terms that I KNEW about. Things I engaged with. Things I... hated.

"Occupational Therapy." That nice older lady who takes me out of class every few days so I can play memory games, or play with this hand-gripper, or yank pegs outta this bright green putty.

"Paraprofessional Services"; those weird second-teachers that annoy us and only us, but never anyone else in the other classes. They're so stuck-up sometimes! And they never really seem to know how to leave us alone. Especially certain kids.

The stories I could tell about them all now... good fucking lord.

Physical Therapy; That's the one where the lady is always making me feel bad about things and do sit-ups or run drills in the hallway and stairwell... and do embarrassing stretches like people aren't walking by.

And she got upset with me because I brought a lunchbox every day for years; she told me, "You'll never be a big kid if you keep bringing food from home, Jonah!"

And I told her, "But my mom doesn't even make the sandwiches anymore! I make them for myself!"

And she was like, "But still!"

She also measures her footstep, saying it was a foot of distance. Like, 12 inches. But nuh-uh, it was never a foot! Her sneakers aren't that big. Rulers are longer. Why didn't she just get a measuring tape? What's this lady's problem?

The one that sunk my heart, though, was Adapted Phys Ed. The packet said it was "A specially designed program of developmental activities, games, sports, and rhythms suited to the interests, capabilities, and limitations of individual children who may now safely or successfully participate in the activities of a regular physical education program."

And I thought: ...That's the watered-down gym class I do three times a week.

The one where we do "challenges" like stepping into each hole of an agility ladder mat and doing a squat before moving to the next.

The one where we never play sports like everybody else gets to do.

The one that makes the gym teacher sit me out on the bleachers by myself, and watch literally everybody else I know have fun. And when I ask why, nobody tells me anything.

The one where I ask how I can improve in order to go play with everybody else, but nobody tells me anything.

The one where Mrs. D keeps promising me that I'll get to play with the rest of my class soon... but it never comes true.

This is why everybody acts so weird around us.

This is why we can't even talk to the rest of our grade.

This is why nothing ever changes...!

It all made sense. 10-year-old me couldn't feel the floor or the bed anymore. The back of my mind buzzed like shaken soda, fizzling against the back of my skull. I didn't cry. I didn't have tears. But I did sink down, down into the depths of I-don't-even-know-where.

I went time-traveling back to May of last school year, where a Special Ed kid the grade above me was saying to his classmate, "We're all just the kids nobody wants." But I didn't have context. Was this the context? He sounded like he was about to cry.

I went back to 4th grade when I headed into the bathroom and saw two kids from my grade walk by with papers promoting the talent show to everybody. I saw the text written on them clear as day! And I got excited; Our school's having a talent show? COOL! We must be getting those later today, too!

The papers never came.

I went back to 3rd grade, where paras would hover over our class during lunch, but nobody else's. They always stood tall above and between us, like they were a scarecrow keeping the birds of our grade away.

And there was so much. More. Than that.

...

I still wonder why Z didn't want me seeing that. Maybe she knew I would spiral or label myself. But at the same time... that's a learned behavior. Ableism is a hatred, and hatred is learned. From ADULTS. One that she and the rest of the school could at least try to curb if she noticed.

Z wasn't a bad lady. I think she was trying to protect me? But... we already knew we were being treated unfairly. Why would keeping this secret protect me?

The anger only lasted a little while. Because something else dawned on me.

I can't stay here.

This place had been upsetting me for YEARS. And now I knew that it was happening for a reason. A shitty one, but still... a reason. It's not just bad luck. And that it wasn't going to change unless I removed that reason from their minds.

I had to leave. Sound familiar?

The next day we had school? I was completely shaken up. Kinda surprised no one noticed. I was finally seeing just how deep this all went. The teachers smiling in my face, baby-talking, getting reallll close while having this sense of disgust in their eyes.

The staggering difference in numbers between "normal" classes and ours.

Our class locations.

I even found this board on the first floor that had a picture of every teacher and what they taught. Sure enough, "Special Education" was specified in the label for every teacher I'd ever had. I was even able to find the next teachers I'd have for Grades 7 & 8. And my blood went cold because I knew those two particular ladies were pretty mean.

My school was DEFINITELY failing that, "Special Ed is a service, not a place!" shit the state allegedly wanted to accomplish. It was a place. And I... was trapped.

And I couldn't stay trapped. Because as far as I knew, education was everything. I was a very academic little boy back then. And I didn't know what staying in a place like this could mean for my education later down the line.

I didn't want to find out.

I also didn't want my social life restricted like this. Especially since there weren't many kids who treated me well. I wanted freedom. I wanted independence. I wanted a chance to actually find real friends!

And this is sad, but... I was already very depressed by that age. Due to the nature of Special Ed at school. Had been since 8. And so... I made a plan in my bedroom the same night I found the packet:

I can't carry this environment with me into high school. I have to do anything-- EVERYTHING I can to get outta here by the time 8th grade starts! And if I fail... I can't finish 8th grade like that.

The Verrazzano Bridge and the walkway by the water, the one with the short fence that I can get right over, are only a fifteen minute walk from home. If I don't get out of Special Ed by 8th grade, then... I have to go out there and throw myself off. I have to kill myself. I have to...! Because I know for a fact I just can't. Stay. Here.

And I was serious. Dead-serious. Because I thought about it every day for the next 2 years straight.

...

That packet started it all for PB. And as sad as it is that I technically had to go behind adults' backs just to learn something about myself and where I was, I'm extremely glad it happened. Because it's also what kickstarted my interest in disability topics. My journey in learning who we were, what we were, and what we do & don't deserve.

It led to the first drafts of PB just under a year later, which set my life on a completely new path. Paperboy would not EXIST if it weren't for that day. Hell; I don't even know if my OTHER projects (like Weirder Than Usual) would, either!

That wasn't right. None of that was right. But it did give me a story to tell. One that you guys are finally starting to see!

And one that I'm very, very proud of.

Disability conversations are extremely important to me now. I don't think I'm the beacon of anti-ableism or anything like that. I know I've fucked up as I grew up, especially in my younger years. But this entire situation showed me how hush-hush the world likes to be about it. And while it's better now than it was in 2014, it ain't great yet.

And I think I owe it to 10-year-old Jonah to change that shit. Because when he googled "Special Ed makes me feel bad," he barely found anything.

It was definitely an experience I will never forget. And as you saw above, I still keep that packet with me to this day, and I always will, because of just how heavily it changed my life.

I have no idea where or who I'd be if it wasn't for that.

Happy 9th birthday, SpEd packet. Can't wait for the 10th!

[defectivegembrain]

The thing is when you were the kind of kid who spent time struggling to cope with even a one on one schooling situation where you were in an isolated building that they reserved for kids nothing else had worked for, part of you will always be there, and when you're an adult doing adult things and making adult decisions, even if they're still slower and harder than for most people, part of you is convinced that you're not allowed, that you shouldn't be out by yourself interacting with people who are not special education staff

[rjalker]

It's so fucking annoying hearing people who were put in gifted kid programs now as adults still crying about the fact that they're not better than everyone else.

"the educational system gave me false expectations before ultimately abandoning me to the same heartless world as everyone else"

Yeah you're *literally* mad you're not better than everyone else.

And the fact that these posts literally always ignore the systemic racism, misogyny, ableism and classism that determines who gets into gifted kid programs

And never fucking listen to people who were put in special education!

Your superiority complex does not make you more of a victim than anyone else, especially not when you refuse to acknowledge any of the privileges that let you get assigned "gifted" in the first place.

[neuroticboyfriend]

sometimes i catch myself thinking if i were born in the early 1900s they would have institutionalized me and then im like nahh no, im not mentally ill/disabled enough... bitch... i am SCHIZOPHRENIC (etc. etc.). i have ALREADY been institutionalized in THIS timeline. i have been through hospital programs FOUR TIMES and got discharged to SpEd on the last one... what am i TALKING about "they wouldn't institutionalize me" !!! internalized ableism is a bitch!

[clownrecess]

This is a Mr. Jackson appreciation post.

A teacher I'll have next year (I THINK I'll have him for Spanish? right now he is just my board games club teacher though) asked me today if I have any preferences or tips for interaction using AAC in class. Which was very useful and I appreciated it.

He also asked me if I have a personal goal to be able to speak orally, to which I replied "no". He didn't ask why. He didn't encourage or force it. He just said "Okay cool.", and we moved on. I wish more people were like this. Mouth words aren't better or more valid than AAC words. If a nonspeaking/nonverbal person DOES have a personal goal of developing oral speech, cool! That's fantastic and I hope they can do it! However, not every nonspeaking and nonverbal person feels this way. I don't. I am perfectly fine using AAC, and I don't have any goal of changing the way I communicate.

No form of communication is superior.

[postspedstressdisorder]

former gifted kids: Being so universally liked by teachers and so good at making people see how smart I am was literally the worst experience any child could ever have because now I get sad when I'm not automatically good at things.

former special ed kids: Hey that's pretty insensitive considering we literally got tied to chairs and our hands taped to desks and ammonia thrown in our faces.

former gifted kids: omg stop being so divisive and denying my trauma and have you considered that maybe you had it easy because at least people knew there was something wrong with you? Also you're lying because all my teachers were nice to me so yours couldn't have been mean.

[todayinhiphophistory]

Today in Hip Hop History:

Special Ed released his debut album Youngest In Charge May 16, 1989

[soft-cookie-aka-aquadrop]

Good news and bad news

Today, I used the drawing board at my special ed program to draw a Palestinian flag and the message "FREE PALESTINE!".

The good news is, I finally found a staff member who cares! He told me the drawing was beautiful and that he knew about what was going on in Palestine, too.

The bad news is, another staff member erased it and said that the board would be shut down if any more political drawings were drawn on it.

The first staff member then came back and looked shocked to see that my drawing had been erased. He asked who erased my drawing, and I told him, along with my vanmate who also saw the drawing erased. He then went to find the other staff member who erased the drawing- at least, I think he did, since he went in the same direction she'd gone, but I don't know what he said to her, if anything.

I don't think I'll be drawing the flag again, but next week I'll definitely want to talk to that staff member who liked my drawing about my feelings. Having him there to validate my feelings about the genocide in Palestine was very cathartic. I even teared up a little.