THE MORNING SUN RISING, 10/13/2001




Ben has been in junior high school for a little more than a month now. He is in a new school district at a new
school with hundreds of kids he didn’t know at first. He has seven new teachers and four people providing him
program supports in his seven classes. He receives additional support from a speech therapist, a teacher of
students with visual impairments, a teacher of students who are hard of hearing, an occupational therapist, a
physical therapist and an inclusion teacher who pulls this all together at a school that has never fully included
kids with severe disabilities in the regular classroom before.

This is a big investment of time and money, requiring plenty of planning and organizing. Teamwork must be in its
highest form. All for one kid who has little formal communication skills, uses a wheelchair, wears contact lenses,
glasses, leg braces, hearing aids and uses an Assistive Listening Device.

At first school was very confusing and scary to Ben. He cried a lot, quit eating and had to take a lot of breaks.
There are so many adults and kids, so many different places to go. I worried if he was unable to see or hear well
enough to assimilate what on earth was happening.

But no one gave up. Not a teacher, not a specialist, not the principal, and not one of the 895 kids that go to
Goleta Valley Junior High. Despite Ben’s confusion and fear, expectations for his learning and successful
participation at school never decreased. I noticed a stronger determination amongst his educational team and
his fellow students to learn about Ben and what he was trying to convey with his use of numerous informal
communications.

Then one day, precisely two weeks after school started, Ben suddenly understood. He didn’t cry anymore at
school, and he couldn’t sleep Sunday night because of the excitement he felt in anticipation of the school day to
come on Monday. He started making more choices in what he wanted to wear, eat and do, as well as attentively
listening to the teachers during the day and responding to “yes” and “no” questions on tests. Last week he
received his first real C+ on his Progress Report.

I couldn’t have been more proud.

The kids all started becoming more familiar to him, and he learned to recognize the voices and touch of teachers.

In technology class Ben is learning about electronics, computer technology, and machinery. In turn, he teaches
his class partners about the technologies he uses to access his environment and participate in class and in
society.

Ben hits the pavement in P.E. on his bike, alongside his 60 classmates as they run the mile. In art class, he uses
his electric scissors to cut out pictures. He sketched a tennis shoe with his vibrating pencil. In keyboarding class
he activates numerous computer programs using switches. As an aide in the cafeteria he is becoming more and
more the cook as he uses his electric peeler.

In theater arts Ben has become part of the curriculum. Most of the students raise their hands when the teacher
asks who would like to be in Ben’s group, and then she challenges them to think creatively how Ben can be
included in their class assignment.

Last week, through dance and movement, the students performed a vignette of the morning sun rising. Using the
toggle on his wheelchair, Ben slowly rose to standing, smiling as if he were the morning sun, as his classmates
danced around him celebrating his arrival.

I attended Back-to-School Night almost two weeks ago. The theatre arts teacher announced to the parents in her
room, “This is the most loving and caring group of students I have ever taught.”

I knew why.

The keyboarding teacher spoke of diversity and the gifts of all children. Ben’s art teacher was thrilled to report
that once she started wearing the microphone to Ben’s Assistive Listening Device, he started to laugh at her
jokes.

Recently, I emailed the principal to tell her how much I appreciated the way the school embraced Ben, and she
responded by saying how proud she was to have him there. When I told Ben what the principal of such a big
school said, he smiled from ear to ear.

Not a day goes by without Ben’s inclusion teacher reporting of all the kids Ben helped that day. Kids whose lives
are otherwise dysfunctional at home—who have never found self-esteem--seem to find it with Ben.

These are kids whose learning disabilities are not visible to the naked eye, with trouble concentrating, reading or
getting their computer started. Because Ben is there, so are those who support him, always willing to lend other
students a hand and the support they need.

This is what inclusion is all about.

On Thursday I picked up Ben a little early from school. As we were leaving, 7th period P.E. class came ripping
around the corner and in stampede form headed in our direction. We had no choice but to stand still and wait as
one by one the kids stopped only long enough to say, “Hey, Ben!”

There wasn’t one patronizing pat on the head. Just the respect for a fellow student who has brought something
to them that often gets lost in the pressure to excel academically. Something priceless that only successful lives
include.

Humanity.
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