Destiny

I remember that day in the fall of 1964 very well.  It was a bright and sunny day and like any first-grader, I was looking forward to recess. Spelling lists and arithmetic…not so much.  At the designated time, out we went, as a class, single file, no talking until we reached the playground.  The playground at Mildred Merkley Elementary School was vast as I recall with adjoining softball fields and your standard slides, swings and monkey bars.  All of the boys headed over to do “boy things” while the girls did whatever girls did at recess.  I wouldn’t know what the girls did – they had cooties.  There was one boy in our class, Joe (not his real name), who was “different.”  He was gangly, talked “funny” and was not very good at the three R’s.  At recess, Joe was left alone. He wasn’t invited to the games that were taking place.  Thankfully, I had a Mom and Dad who taught me to treat others like you wanted to be treated.  So, Joe and I played together and like boys that age, we were rough-housing.  My teacher (name withheld), watched out the window and apparently thought that I was beating Joe up and flew out the door, grabbed me by the ear, and pulled me back into the building chastising me all the way.  I pleaded my case that we were only playing and I was befriending him, but she would not have it.  A few seconds later, I was instructed to grab the bars in the cloak room with both hands as she administered several swats across my rear end with her paddle.  Great way to start my school year. Actually, minus the sore butt and ear, this was a day that I shaped my future. You see, on this day I decided that I wanted to help people who were “different.”  16 years later, I began my work as a teacher of students with disabilities.

I am thankful for the evolution of the treatment and education of students who have disabilities.  When I first started teaching in 1980 with a full head of hair and shaving once a week whether I needed it or not, I taught in a school that was exclusively for “those kids.”  Thanks to the efforts of people like my Dad, who was a champion for the handicapped, schools became much more inclusive in the 1980’s.  Today, that same school where I began is for the most part, vacant.  A few years back, a parent approached me at our school with this question – “Mr. Vassar, what good is it doing for ‘those kids’ to be here?”  My reply, after counting to ten, was simply this – “I am hopeful that having these kids here does them a great deal of good, but I am convinced that having these kids here does everyone, and me personally, a great deal of good.”  I love our kids and look forward to interacting with them everyday.  I enjoy watching them make gains academically.  I marvel at their social development.  I long for their daily hugs and yes, I cried like a baby when I watched one girl “walk” for the first time.  Thanks to our staff for making this a great place for our students with disabilities where they are taught well and accepted without reservation by a dedicated team of exceptional teachers and paraprofessionals.  I marvel at our student peer program and the waiting list to get in.  That does my heart good as I see the good in so many kids.  While we are quite aware of “Disabilities Month”, we are much more tuned in to the recognition of what our special students are ABLE to do daily.  To our special kids here – thank you for letting me be part of your life. I am honored to be with you.