Every child is exceptional.
When I passed Bear Run Children’s Learning Center in my car, I always thought it was a cute building, kind of offset from the main road. It used to be a few miles closer to my house, right across from the post office, but a new facility was built a few years ago. The sign outside says, “Bear Run Children’s Learning Center for exceptional children.” It’s (like I said) a cute building- it just looks really friendly. When you walk in. . . no, when you buzz in- security is tight!- there’s the main office and the administrators’ offices, plus a small waiting room. Then there’s a long hallway containing four classrooms (two on each side of the main hallway), plus the gym, the literacy room (which consists of books, the T.V. and V.C.R., and a plastic pool filled with balls), and a couple bathrooms for the adults. There’s a kids’ bathroom that joins each set of two classrooms. Each of the rooms has a different sort of personality, but they all have the same basic equipment- books, tables and chairs, blocks, and cubbies for the kids’ stuff. Anyway, I found out about working at the school through a friend’s mother who worked there, and another friend who had volunteered there last summer. I was looking for some early childhood experience with kids who were “unlike me” . . . no, it wasn’t on my own accord- it was a requirement for my major. Anyway, when I went for my interview, I talked to the two directors of the school. The interview was pretty casual- I gave them my application and resume, and when they oohed and ahhed over my high school accomplishments, I proclaimed, “Um, yes, I guess I’m kind of a dork.” They laughed, and immediately I liked them- I think if they would have responded any other way, I would have felt awkward.
So I was hired. Well, hired for one of the three sessions the school would run that summer. During the first and third session, I would be a volunteer.
The Monday after my interview, I came to my first session. The directors suggested that I get there at noon, so I’d “be a little early.” I figured the kids wouldn’t be there, but after I parked my car and buzzed in to the building, I walked down the hall to the classroom where the day camp would be taking place. I could hear the kids shouting and my palms began to sweat. Where was my orientation? I barely had a handle on how the building was set up- how could I be expected to take care of these so-called “special” kids?!
I didn’t have time to get my feet wet- I just had to jump in and take the plunge.
The teacher in the class, Mrs. Killian, was open and friendly from the get-go. I got a welcome and a hello from her, plus an introduction to the three teaching assistants and the ten kids who were there at the time. “I’m sure you won’t remember everybody’s name, but that’s ok,” she smiled.
I knew that all the kids weren’t special needs, but I wasn’t about to ask which ones were diagnosed with autism or ADHD. That first day, I did my best to get the kids to eat their lunches and change into and out of their swim gear. We had four plastic pools in the side yard of the building, and all the teachers got a big kick out of insisting that we went to “the beach” every day.
Mrs. Killian is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known. She brings a certain sense of compassion to her work with the kids, but somehow she always manages to be easy-going and happy about it. If a hyperactive child stumbles out of the pool on his head, she’ll holler, “WHOA there, my friend, be careful!” That’s another thing she does that I love- she calls students and teachers and assistants alike “her friend.” I’ve gotten into the habit myself. It’s just a nice way to refer to students and teachers. Plus it’s a lot easier to say, “I don’t like when you hit my friend Kailey” than “I don’t like when you hit your fellow student Kailey.” Somehow calling each other “friend” really solidifies the teacher-student and student-student bonds. Or something like that.
Jody was one of the teaching assistants. She’d accomplished in twenty-six years what I didn’t think could be done in fifty. She had obtained an undergraduate degree in agriculture something-or-other, but then went back to school to get a master’s degree in child development. Plus she had worked at Bear Run for three years- not summers, mind you, years- and starting this fall she’d be doing more coursework, student teaching, and working at Bear Run. She kept insisting that she had no life, but even so, she had already done so much. And she was great with the kids.
The other teaching assistant I really got to know during the first session was named Nadine. This sounds so cruel, but at first glance, I thought she was a little trashy to be working at a preschool. I mean, she wore short shorts and had two tattoos (some sort of butterfly-heart thing on her mid calf and a really little heart on her left upper arm). Plus her hair was that peroxide blonde, and she had two kids and no husband. Turns out she leads an incredible life. She, like Jody, is going to school. But unlike Jody, she’s raising a girl who’s going to third grade and a boy who’s about to enter first. And you should see her with them- they adore each other. They’re not a sloppy family or a Brady bunch, but they’re just so sweet-looking. You can see Nadine in both of her kids’ eyes.
There was a definite matriarch vibe at the school. All of the teachers and assistants were women, plus as Mrs. Killian pointed out to me on the first day, there was only one girl in the class with a disorder.
The only time I felt really stupid and cringe-worthy was one day at the pools when the kids decided to splash me. At first I protested because (duh) I didn’t have my suit on, but after a while, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Turns out they soaked me. 100% doused. I had to sit out the rest of the day in a wet t-shirt (at least it wasn’t white), jean shorts (denim chafes), underwear, and (worst of all) socks. Though the kids certainly got a bang out of it, I could feel the disapproving gazes of the mature teacher assistants burning holes into my dripping hair. I think they laughed for the first few minutes, but (like me) their amusement ended once I ran out of dry spots.
Oddly enough, about two weeks later, the same thing happened to Nadine. She had changed into one of the school’s many extra outfits- a t-shirt bearing the school’s logo and an ancient-looking pair of bike shorts. Anyway, the kids let her have it, and we all laughed along with her…and them. I felt like the other assistants were looking on not with disapproval, but with pity- after all, who is comfortable in wet clothes? I felt so much better about my own mishap (which I’m sure they forgot) with the pools.
Anyway, Nadine was soaked, but she strolled over to us anyway. “Oops,” she said, grinning mischievously, “I probably should have kept my bra on with this white t-shirt.” But that’s how it was at day camp- relaxed, laid-back, and held up by these amazing women.
Once July rolled around, we were ready to open up the other classrooms and begin the session for preschool. I wasn’t going to be working in Mrs. Killian’s classroom; I’d be next door with a woman named Dana. Jody assured me that she was really nice and on top of things, so I was excited.
What I didn’t expect was that Dana would be so young- I don’t think she was more than twenty-five. She looked like one of those girls that everyone kind of envied in high school- blonde and tan and really pretty. I felt kind of inferior around her. However, the two assistants in her room made everything okay. First there was Diane, who actually lived up the street from me. At first I wasn’t sure it was her, but once I realized it, I felt comfortable. The other was a woman named Jean. Jean was someone who, upon first glance, seemed a bit odd. She was about fifty, with white-blonde hair and these bright bluish-purple glasses that were really wacky, but nonetheless appealing to the kids.
We had some real sweethearts during those five weeks, but I confess that my favorites were two little boys in the morning class. One was named Brandon. He was about three years old, and had Down’s syndrome. I don’t know if I’ve ever met a sweeter person. Jean adored him, but it was impossible not to. He had a very kind little smile, and everything about him was rather delicate. He aimed to please; one day when we were singing “The Wheels on the Bus,” he looked at me, his hands spinning, just to make sure he was doing it right. There were kids that would BOOM smack themselves into your lap, but he always gently lowered himself. He didn’t talk much, but he always said, “BA!” when he wanted to say good-bye.
My other favorite was an entirely different boy named Brian. I don’t know if he had been diagnosed with anything, but he was another good-natured kid. He had a great smile, but an even better yawn (since he was in the morning class, I got to see it a lot). Brian loved playing with the makeup kit, and I couldn’t help cracking up when he said, “C’mon, you need a makeover!”
The other kids in the class (both morning and afternoon) were fabulous- there was Robert, who was just 100% boy- he loved running and jumping and sometimes leaping in your face. And who could forget David, who had the all-time best giggle I’ve ever heard? Plus Mia and Hope, two sweet little girls that always teamed up with Brian to create a really cute trio.
The afternoon class was entirely different; they seemed a lot more alert. Most of them would be going on to kindergarten, and you could tell that they were ready. The funniest was probably Stacey, who had really wide eyes, and adored “Miss Dana.” She was actually a help to us adults because she could boss the kids around like none other. I had the most heart for John, though. He was pale and skinny and possibly malnourished. He had a really whiney voice and tough time at home- I think he may have been in foster care. He really came out of his shell, though, and I’ll never forget the day we got ready for swimming and I said, “John, are you set?” “I’m SET!” he roared in that little mouse voice. That and his little grin which followed made me want to cry. The preschool session flew by. I worked everyday, but not always in Dana’s room. For a few days, I subbed in a room that belonged to a woman named Elizabeth. It was actually the room where Jody was working, but that didn’t make me feel too much better; Elizabeth was kind of weird. Her classroom was totally different than the others. The kids in there weren’t as loud and active; they seemed kind of listless. I knew a few of them from day camp, but even they weren’t as open as they had been. During our lunch (half) hour, some of the staff would discuss the difference- mostly Jody, who couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was kind of sad because the other three classrooms seemed relatively harmonious. My favorite was still Mrs. Killian’s, but Dana’s wasn’t too far behind. Elizabeth, as one of the staff members put it, seemed to be doing this more for herself than for the kids. If they were making paper frogs, she would insist that they all be brown or green- “like real frogs and toads”- instead of any color the kids wanted. Jody pointed out that rainforest frogs were all kinds of colors, but that point seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Though I was only there for a few days and I really don’t know much about education yet, I still see major differences between Elizabeth and the other teachers. It makes me kind of sad, because I get the feeling the kids in her room aren’t benefiting as much as they could be.
Anyway, the preschool session went by really quickly. It seemed a lot more like school than daycare, so it gave me a pretty cool glimpse into a normal school day at a school for special kids.
At the end of July, the day camp session started again. I was happy to see the kids that had first been there, but I was disappointed that two of the kids I really liked (Ryan, who was as cute as a bug, and Paul, who was just friendly) had not returned. However, another favorite of mine, a little boy with Down’s syndrome who was named James, would be returning the second week. I only hoped that he would remember us; during the first session, he kept bolting from the room and pulling the fire alarm. I’d like to think this was because we were still kind of strangers to him. I loved when his mom came to pick him up- not because it meant I could go home, but because no matter what, he always made this gleeful exclamation and ran into her open arms. Despite all the crap he pulled, we all loved him. I really dug how he said “please” (“weees!”), “pretzel” (“uuul”), and “thank you” (“Oooo”). He was also big on high-fives and thumbs up- if you held a thumb up to him, he would touch it with his own thumb, and say in his very best beatnik voice, “Yeaaaah.” Plus he put his finger to his chin if he was thinking, and when counting for hide-and-seek, always kept one eye open and exposed.
Now while my summer job at Bear Run sounds like all fun and games, believe me when I tell you it wasn’t. Half the kids (despite all of them being older than three) were still in diapers. We also had a lot of whining, and after three hours of it, your nerves become positively grated. Another problem that was almost funny was that some of the autistic kids would repeat each other. They also loved to scream for no reason.
There was a little boy named Blair for whom I felt really bad. He like some of the other really needy kids had a special worker come to school with him. However, his helper wasn’t so helpful. Blair was a straight-up repeater of everything, and he often talked about himself in the third person. It sounded kind of amusing sometimes, but I mostly felt bad for him. He also had this thing where he would run up to another kid and just grab his or her arm or head. We always had to yell at him about that one, but sometimes he would say, “Yea, we have to stop or we’ll have to move!” This was something his worker would always say to him. It all boils down to being kind of sad, but at least Blair laughed a lot. I’d like to think that when he laughed, he was happy.
I came to see my volunteer work at Bear Run as something I had to do. It didn’t feel like volunteering or even work; it felt like my responsibility to the kids. I love each and every one of those kids, though more than once I’ve come home dog tired because they really wore me out. But I’ll never forget the way I felt when Ashley drew me a picture which still hangs in my room. Or how I smiled when Megan picked me the wildflowers that grew near the fence by the pools. The kids and adults at this school changed me somehow. The teachers and assistants have helped me learn how it’s impossible to judge based on looks. Though Nadine and Jean seemed odd on the outside, they were beautiful inside. I know that sounds cheesy, but I mean it. The same thing goes for what I think about kids: each and every one of them is a gift. Sometimes the wrapping is harder to open because of a duct tape known as Down’s syndrome or autism. But inside, every kid has something good to give.
So long, sweet summer…I gave you the best that I have. –Dashboard Confessional
go back