Two Years in Special Education

I'm not sure what the exact date is of my anniversary at the daycare, but it's very, very soon. I filled out my job application while on my honeymoon (sometime between June 14 and 21st, 2008). And I started working within three weeks. In honor of the 2-year mark, I've decided to post some of my "first impressions," as a newby in Special Ed. This is something I wrote for a non-fiction class a little over a year ago:

As I listed my credentials to the Director of Children's Services, I tried to ignore the animal-like screeching from a classroom down the hall.
“My mother ran a daycare out of our home,” I told her above the noise. “And I babysat constantly when I was younger.”
“But have you ever worked with special needs children?” She asked. I was embarrassed by the answer. No. I'll admit it. I heard the job paid well and applied without experience.
Out loud, I said, “I'm looking forward to learning along with the kids I would be teaching.” To my surprise, she hired me minutes later. I expected it so little, I hadn't thought about what was coming next:
“Let's meet the children,” my new boss said. My nerves flared. I hate facing the unknown.

There were eight kids in the room, ranging in age from three to six, and my eyes found the shrieker right away—a little girl standing by herself in the corner, flapping her arms in rhythm with each piercing squeal. Apparently, she wasn't bothering anyone but me. A few feet away from her, a little boy who obviously had Down Syndrome was licking the wall. A teacher walked up to him and used two fingers and a thumb to signed the word “no.” I confessed to my new boss I didn't know much sign language, partly hoping she would send me home in consequence. She just smiled and said I'd learn. What is it with this lady? Doesn't she know I'm underqualified?

I have never felt more out of place than in that moment, and I scolded myself for being so intolerant. We're supposed to treat disabled kids just like all the others in the world, right? Yet, my discomfort came directly from the fact that the children in front of me had problems. I couldn't stop staring at the boy in the wheelchair, with his head cocked to one side and the puddle of drool collecting on his shoulder. Would I be this freaked out being the only white person in a room full of minorities? I wasn't sure anymore. Would I be able to interact with people from another religion? I used to think so...

Haha, it's true. I really did question the very foundation of my beliefs for a little while. And soon, the little guys tested my energy, patience, and SANITY as well, since there were 30 of them that summer. What an initiation--or more like a hazing. (The other teachers kept saying, "It's not usually this crazy. Well, it's crazy. But not THIS crazy.")

Anyway, I tell this story because I'm tired of hearing people say, "You must have the patience of a saint" or "I never could do the job you do." It's just not true.

I didn't have a shred of experience or a clue about what I was getting into. I hadn't read any books, taken any classes, or developed any confidence as a caregiver at all. In addition, I had been known to say--point blank--"I don't like other people's kids." Who would guess I'd still be doing this two years later? And how did those first impressions ease into comfortability and a sense of "rightness?"

What's the real difference between the me-then and the me-now? I think that things changed when my perspective change--and I turned the classroom into a mission field. When I went hoarse repeating myself and thought my ears would never stop ringing from all the noise, I took it as a sign I was needed. When I dreaded getting up at 5:00 every morning, sometimes being asked to stay until 5:30 in the evening, I began to thank God for the challenge that kept a restless person like me busy. And, shock of all shocks, once I started spending 8-10 hours a day with those "scary" kids, I fell in love with them--as if they were my own. But I had to make the choice to see things that way every, single day.

I'm not a saint. I don't like changing the diapers of 9-year-olds any more than the next person. So please don't undermine what I'm doing by suggesting it comes naturally for me (and not for you.) It's not that most people "can't do" what an angel like me does; most people never would choose to.