I'm waiting outside a room on the second floor of a high school. I have three IPRCs scheduled the first is supposed to begin in 3 minutes. But it appears they are running late and I will be delayed.
One parent, for the first student I'll present isn't able to come. The community liaison teacher had phoned them earlier, a few weeks ago, to explain the process. I'd asked her via email if they had any questions. "They don't know what to ask yet so there's nothing yet" she has written.
Yesterday the student asked that mom wanted to know if he'd be able to change schools is this one is not convenient. "Yes, you can", I had reassured him. " Okay, I'll let her know he'd said.
We'd filled forms together for two students. The third had said she'd get her father to fill it in. I'd invited the other high school special ed head to assist with that for all my eight students. That had helped them and released me enough to continue my grade 7 literacy programme in a withdrawal setting.
Two students are coming with their parents, I'd called home again this morning to confirm times, directions as well as overview of the meeting. One father speaks English sparingly and another fluently. I've asked the mother of the student to come as well and she's agreed.
As I wait here, I meet a parent who was before me. He smiles I responded. Do you have a child here he asked. I said that I was a teacher. "My son goes to school here. He loves this school. Even if he's sick he wants to come." I smile and nod. That's what makes me want to come to work too, I think to myself: the fact that my students love school and we are together learning
"I think he's going to grade 11, or is it 12? He seems confused for a bit. A perfect moment for the parenting discourse to kick in I observe: what kind of parent doesn't know which grade his child is in?". I walk past this pothole but observe that this is a distinct possibility that judges and labels invisibly.
"We don't know what to do after 21"he says. "We have no plan" he says and smiles. I knew then that this was an IPRC but now it's evident that this child has needs that don't automatically allow for integration into the mainstream world; that's taken for granted in many minds. "My son is in a special class, you know" he says. He won't go out like everyone else. He smiles some more and soon it's time for him to go inside. The meeting ends soon, a teacher and parent talk about inflating wheels. A wheelchair perhaps I think.
And I wait for my parents to arrive with their children. Ours are luxurious worries: academic or applied, college or university, career cruising and IPP. French or learning strats.
I think of the letters I created. This child is exceptional, I'd checked off.
I sit in the empty hallway. I give thanks for what I've got in 206 and at home. And in Montreal. I think of exceptional children and remember that each one is precious.
I breathe and focus on the meetings ahead. The hallway is still empty but my heart is overflowing.
(c) 2014
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