The Single Hardest Thing About Homeschooling

As you can probably imagine, there are many things that are hard about homeschooling. But they haven’t been the things I expected them to be before I started.

At first, I thought the hardest part would be making the decision to do it. That is so often the hardest part about anything, isn’t it? But once the decision is made, the rest seems to fall into place, as if the very idea of change was what was providing resistance in the first place. But, it was not a terribly hard decision. Cheeks was deeply unhappy in public school and growing more so every day, so naturally we had to choose to change that.

Then, I thought the hard part would be figuring out what to teach him. I guess that was a little hard, because I had to choose from a lot of options. There are literally hundreds of homeschool curriculum packages, and too many good books and other tools to count. I certainly wasn’t left trying to figure it out for myself. Once I realized that anything he learned would be more than he was learning while in school, it became much easier. I could pretty much start anywhere and allow ourselves to follow his curiosity. And the benefit would be better than just learning, it would be giving him the chance to love learning.

 

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Cheeks getting “socialization” at the school bus stop he used for six years. You can probably see why I’m not too concerned about finding a homeschool substitute for this.

One of the hardest parts has definitely been the reactions I get from others. All of a sudden, everyone seems to be fixated on his socialization. It’s all I hear about from strangers and acquaintances when they first hear that we homeschool. I suspect these people who are so concerned have likely never bothered to reach out to a disabled person to be their friend, or gone into a self-contained classroom to see how much socialization disabled students in the public school setting are getting there (read more about that here). You would think that after all these years as an autism parent, I would have grown a thicker skin to the advice and judgments of strangers, but that’s only true to a degree. Long ago, I stopped being invested in their stares and comments, but you never get over it all the way. Nobody wants to be the odd one out. (Note to all: Please do not ask a homeschooling family about how their child is getting socialization. Just don’t. The question is inherently condescending. Thankfully, this question doesn’t come from my friends, but from casual onlookers.)

But the single hardest thing is the only one that surprised me. If you’ve read this far, maybe you see the common thread in the examples above: it all comes down to what the school system wouldn’t or couldn’t do to teach him. I am a lifelong fan of public schools and the teachers in them. My mother was a teacher, and I received an excellent education in public schools. But this homeschooling experience and Cheeks’ spelling to communicate has really broken my faith in the public school system for all but the most mainstream, typical learners.

As a taxpayer, I agree that the school system shouldn’t immediately embrace every new methodology that a parent has decided to try. They are already a system of infinite need and limited means, and there isn’t money or space for every unproven idea. But as a parent, I was shocked that the administration wouldn’t even observe a session. That tells me that they are more interested in adhering to their system, regardless of whether it might be failing him. And the only way to tell themselves that they weren’t failing him was to put the burden on him and assume the problem was because he couldn’t learn.  These people, who at one time I truly believed wanted the best for him, didn’t want to even see what he could do if it didn’t already fit their expectations. Cheeks’ classroom teacher was even told he was not allowed to hold on to a book I had loaned him, and was told to turn it over to a supervisor until I asked for it back. The school district banned a teacher from having a book about education. Let’s just sit with that one for a moment, shall we?

 

Screen Shot 2017-09-11 at 12.59.03 PMThe implications of this revelation have been enormous for me. I’m sad that Cheeks’ good teachers — of which there were several — have been denied seeing the daily “lightbulb” moments he has. Witnessing those moments are why many teachers enter the profession! I’m offended that anyone is able to dismiss Cheeks as unworthy of a true education; or who dangerously assumed him to have a cognitive disability (which is not part of any autism diagnosis) based on his inability to speak or maintain motor control. Because make no mistake, that is exactly what they were doing when they refused to make room for possibilities. And I’m now also questioning the advice I get for Cheeks’ older, neurotypical brother, because I’ve seen how the system can be so far off the mark. And to think, this entire system exists to teach our kids new things. The level of contradiction between their words and their actions is stunning.

It’s hard to change everything you once believed to be true. I’ve been faced with it more than once, so I empathize with the challenge I’m placing before the school system. Where I draw the line is their refusing to try. They wouldn’t even open their mind to the possibility that Cheeks could do what he was doing, and while my head can understand the challenge they faced, my heart can’t accept the result.

Mark my words: ten years from now, the people and systems that refused to presume competence in their students will be on the wrong side of history. When that happens, I will not be sympathetic toward the ones that had opportunities to do better but refused them.

 

 

 

 

A Word on Words

The words we choose create understanding, and in turn they build connections and lead to community. They are most people’s primary means of interacting with others in the world.

I’m a word nerd. I love language and the ways that different words can be used to convey precise meanings. I try to choose my words carefully and to remember that they represent me, my character, and my intellect.

For those reasons, I am changing some of the terminology I will use to describe Cheeks, his autism, and other autistics like him. It doesn’t come from a need to be politically correct, it’s about being both accurate and respectful in the way I use my words.

I will not say that Cheeks has “special needs.” Instead, I will say he is disabled. His needs are no different than anyone else’s needs. He has a need to be loved, educated, and understood. Nothing about that is special, it makes him exactly like everyone else. Describing him as having special needs is suggesting that his needs are outside the norm. He does however, have a communication, sensory and motor planning disability that requires support in order for him to fully access the world around him.

Perhaps just as importantly, having “special needs” does not provide him with any of the legal protections he may require in his lifetime. Being “disabled” does.

I will not say he, or any other autistic, is “nonverbal.” Instead, I will say he is unreliably speaking, while others may be nonspeaking or minimally speaking. The word “nonverbal” means to be without words. If Cheeks or anyone else is described as nonverbal, that means he has no capability of understanding language. Let’s say you had laryngitis and suddenly couldn’t speak. Does that mean you no longer understand when someone talks to you? Of course it doesn’t.

That’s because the part of the brain that controls speech production (Broca’s area) and the part of the brain that allows us to comprehend speech (Wernicke’s area) are separate, and represent two completely different neural functions. They aren’t even the same type of function, one is motor and the other is cognitive. Calling someone “nonverbal” because they can’t speak is both incorrect and derogatory. Remember when we called people who could neither hear nor speak “deaf and dumb?” That’s similar to saying nonverbal.

I will not say his autism is low- or high-functioning, or describe his autism with words such as severe, aggressive, or disruptive. Instead, I will discuss him only as the complex, multifaceted individual that he is, and I will use respectful language.

I’ve written more about high- and low-functioning here. It reduces a complex individual to a summation of how well they meet an arbitrary standard of normalcy. Even being placed at the perceived high end of that yardstick still means you are being publicly offered up for the world to assign a label to your capabilities.

There is also nothing about the adjectives above that someone would want used to describe their personality. Better to use the terms significant, complex, notable, compelling, meaningful, etc. The word used should be one that doesn’t insult him.

I will not call him “a person with autism”, I will say he is autistic. (For now.) This is another one I have discussed before, you can read that here. Some segments of the disability community do prefer person-first language, while others prefer identity-first. Mostly, the autism community leans toward identity-first, or “autistic person.” But any community is comprised of individuals with differing opinions, and so it’s not a universal preference. Ask, if you can, what someone prefers. One day, when Cheeks has more open communication, I will explain the difference to him and ask what he prefers.

And lastly, I will not condemn those who use the words that I won’t (mostly). It’s not my goal to tell anyone they are wrong with the words they choose. I’ve used all of these terms at one time or another, some recently. My goal is and has always been to educate, and to represent Cheeks in the world as accurately as possible. I say “mostly”, because Mama Bear sometimes shows up when Baby Bear is being inadvertently disparaged.

Language paints a picture, and it’s important to me that his picture is true and authentic. For now, I am both his advocate and his voice; so I have to get it right even more for his sake than for my own. And I believe that as the accepted language changes, so will the world’s perception of our autistic friends and family members.