He learned to write his name and so many other words. He learned to sit in a circle with other children, wait his turn and share. He learned to talk.
And now, the warm blanket that John’s preschool has become is being lifted slowly away, and we find ourselves proud of his accomplishments, but shivering as we approach the next step in his development.
John graduated today. Guided by Kristy, one of his therapists for the past three years, he hummed and cried as he entered a room full of parents and grandparents, all pointing cameras at him and the other children in the class. Some of the kids hammed it up for the cameras. John whimpered, “Time to go home. Time to go home.” But he stayed in the front and when it was time to get his diploma, he took his turn like the rest of the children. By the time the juice and cookies arrived, he was relaxed and happy.
It would have been impossible a year ago.
The brief ceremony included a slide show from the year’s activities. Many of the photos of John showed him playing and drawing and learning by himself, enjoying his autistic solitude. But the photos that made me smile with pride showed him with other kids: rolling around, holding hands, even hugging. These are high hurdles for an autistic child. He doesn’t leap over them every day, but with the help of a comforting environment, he does occasionally leap.
These are the blessings of inclusive education, particularly at Jowonio, where six out of the 16 kids in his classroom have special needs of some sort. In this culture of inclusion, John’s idiosyncrasies, and those of the other kids, are just part of life. Although his relationships with other Jowonio kids are different from my daughter’s, who is typical, with the guiding hand of his teachers he is still able to be part of a group of friends.
As he grows older, however, I fear his differences will be viewed in a harsher light by the other children in his new school. He hums, sometimes loudly. He refuses toilet training. He is bothered by songs and dances that other children enjoy.
How will a new group of children react to him? How will he react to his new environment? Will the teachers and aides be as patient and kind as their counterparts at Jowonio?
Like Marlin in Finding Nemo, I want to keep him safe and comforted in an environment I trust. But I know there is also a time to let go, to put faith in a system that accommodates children like John, and to trust that he has the capacity to develop in a new place with new people.
Soon the warm blanket will be entirely pulled away, and the new school year will begin.
David Tyler is the publisher of Syracuse Parent. He lives with his wife, Carrie, and two children, John and Abby, in Eastwood. He can be reached at [email protected].
