Choosing Words Ingrid Siss-Feliciano

I believe we all want to be better.

To do better.

Teachers, in general, are not content with mediocrity.

Or at least those that are, simply accept a certain "lack of greatness” as a strategy for survival.

Teachers are asked to accomplish an impossible task.

We are expected to make magic happen.

We teach kids to read, multiply fractions, engage in hands-on science experiments, and have meaningful moments every day, with every individual.

On top of academics, we feed breakfast, teach conflict resolution, support students in discovering different aspects of their identities.

We are counselors, coaches, mandated reporters, mathematicians, nurses, scientists, and writers.

We wear ALL THE HATS.

I believe...

Most teachers are Learners.

Most teachers care.

They care to the point of overwhelm.

And this is where it gets sticky.

I also believe that the culture of a school, the ways of Being, can create an unfortunate climate

where ways of talking about certain students are accepted as acceptable.

Teachers forget that they are talking about someone’s baby, someone’s most precious person.

Teachers sometimes forget they are talking about a child.

And yes, we all get frustrated. We all have moments where we lose our patience.

But that is when the mask is pulled back and we get the rawness, the worst of us.

Unfortunately, it is in those moments that sometimes prejudice- racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, ableism- rears its ugly head.

Implicit bias is revealed.

I have heard White teachers call Black children “ghetto”.

I've heard teachers talk about students with disabilities as if the children did not belong.

I’ve heard teachers make brazen judgments about parents, and how parents choose to spend their money.

It feels dark and heavy.

Hurtful.

And unnecessary.

And I'm sure every teacher I know can think back to a moment where something escaped their lips. A minute in time they wish they could go back and rewrite.

And I'm sure that for every moment a teacher can think of, there are many more where they weren't even aware of how harmful their thoughts or words could be.

Simply unaware

But I’m not here to attack teachers. I’m not here to take on all the awful things we have said, or don’t say.

I am here though, to start a conversation around one group of students in particular that get talked about a lot.

I would like you to walk away from this conversation with a touch of awareness, so that next time you are talking about your students with disabilities, you take a pause and choose your words carefully.

I have a question for you.

What do teachers mean when they say, "I have a lot of IEPs in my classroom this year."?

Is it meant to convey that you have many students that will "need more"? Does it relate to the many extra meetings you will be attending this year?

If so, this is valid. We already have an unmanageable workload.

34 nine year-olds with only one teacher is way too many kids.

And when a large number of those children need accommodations and adaptations to the curriculum, it can feel overwhelming.

How does it feel when we reduce an entire child to being called "an IEP"?

What if "that IEP" was your child?

When my child entered TK, we had just recently received a diagnosis from his pediatrician. We were nervous to start him in school. I noticed that whenever I shared that my son is Autistic and has ADHD, I followed the diagnosis with a BUT.

But he is highly intelligent and has an amazing memory.
But he speaks 2 languages fluently.
But he is incredibly sweet.

And.

And he is very sensitive to sounds and perceived emotions.
And needs extra patience because he doesn't always pick up on social cues.
And he needs help making friends and learning to wait in line.

Not unlike many other 5 year olds.

There is no question in our mind that our child belongs in a public school setting. He is absolutely 100% capable of thriving in a general education classroom. Eventually, he qualified for Speech and Occupational Therapy services through the school, but he didn't end up qualifying for Academic "resource" support because he wasn't deemed to be academically "behind".

Yet I remember that email. My shaking hands typing a heated response. Determined to not let my advocacy lead to acrimony, I took a deep breath before hitting send. We had just shared our son's diagnosis with his teacher, and her response left me livid.

Unfair Assumptions. Ignorance. Blatantly Biased.

My baby.

Didn't she know I was a teacher mom?

She had only known him for a few weeks.

When we told her we were working on getting him services through the IEP process she wrote,

"...the problem is because our school is a language program, we have no special ed class. I wish we did, but we don't".

"Special Ed Class?"

She was referring to a Special Day class reserved for students that need to spend more than 50% of their instructional day separated from their peers because of their moderate to severe support needs.

Did she really just tell me that she wished she could put our son in a class for severely disabled children?

And even if he did need intensive services, she seemed to infer that the school wasn't a good match for him.

Did she think I wouldn't notice that she implied our son DID NOT BELONG in her class?

Her words had an impact.

And yours may have more power than you realize.

So we need to choose carefully.

Our son had a challenging year in TK. We received many emails that year about his inappropriate behaviors. Our son started to believe that he was "a bad kid".

"He was being rough with books today."

"He has been very hands on lately."

"He poked another kid in the eye, on purpose."

And my personal favorite,

"He has been making not so nice comments during whole group teaching. He states things like 'That coloring does not look good.', 'You did not do a good job' etc referring to my teaching or modeling."

EXACT QUOTE

It was clear that our child didn't connect with this particular teacher. He was acting out in attention seeking ways that were inappropriate and left us grasping for control. We tried behavioral therapy, we experimented with token boards, we created incentives, we cried.

We wondered...

...how this teacher's words and how her way of viewing my son impacted his behavior. Since she felt confident telling me, his mother, that he didn't belong in her class... how did this belief play out in how she treated my son during the day?

I wonder how the way we, as teachers, talk about kids ultimately impacts the way we treat students.

How do these words (and the actions that undoubtedly accompany them) show kids who belongs..... and who doesn't?

Thankfully, this past year, our son's kindergarten year, was different.

Our child felt seen.

He came home from school telling us, "I'm a good kid."

He had a teacher that genuinely saw the gifts our son brought to the classroom. She made sure our son knew he belonged.

As teachers it is easy to focus on where we have no control.

We have no control over who is in our class, or what each child brings to the classroom community.

It is easy for us to get overwhelmed by the lack of support, resources, and time.

We do have control over how we see our students and the words we choose to talk about them. Our power lies in the use of our voice and potency of our perspective.

We can CHOOSE to see our caseload of IEPS as abundant with assets, strengths, and unique experiences.

We can CHOOSE to see the different ways of walking through this world as gifts to our classroom communities.

Or we can get stuck in the quagmire of deficit thinking. OTHERING. Perpetuating the status quo. Continuing to harm our most vulnerable learners.

We have all been there.

So the next time you feel your overwhelmed by all that is asked of you....

take a deep breath

And.

Reflect

Reflect on the ways you have seen students in the past. Reflect on the words you used to talk about them.

Forgive yourself for any mistakes you have made.

And tomorrow, choose to do better.

Appreciate