I was nervous about the presentation. What if one of them asked about Down syndrome? I didn’t feel equipped to answer that line of questioning. We had not yet talked to Thorin about Down syndrome, which in retrospect seems completely ignorant on our part. If we thought it was great, why wouldn’t we share that with Thorin?
When we finished our presentation, Ms. Charles asked if there were any questions. A boy’s hand shot up. Thorin pointed to him saying, “Michael.” In my head, I was convinced Michael was going to ask about Down syndrome. I started to panic.
Michael started to ask, “Thorin, Thorin, um, Thorin? Yeah, Thorin, I just want to know why . . . yeah . . . why . . .”
While Michael tried to find the right words, I was thinking, Spit it out! I know you want to ask about Down syndrome.
“Yeah . . . um . . . Thorin . . . Thorin . . . why you like Captain America so much?”
With school ending soon, I started making arrangements for Thorin to attend summer school. We knew six other classmates of his were also attending. I went to meet with the principal.
“How do we go about getting Thorin enrolled in summer school?”
“He can’t go to summer school here,” she replied sharply.
“Why?” I was honestly shocked.
“We don’t do inclusive summer school programming here.”
“Wait . . . So what happens? Where is Thorin supposed to go?”
The principal mentioned another school. “He’ll be in a self-contained classroom.”
I could feel myself getting upset, “But it would be better if he was with classmates . . . here. This is his school.”
“No, not during the summer.”
For all the little steps toward inclusion, this was a huge move backward. Thorin was clearly not like the other students, who were always included.
Thorin and Jade
CHAPTER SIX
We’ve Crossed Over to the Twilight Zone
Shortly after meeting with the principal, Ward and I attended an end of year IEP meeting. We learned the principal couldn’t actually make the decision for Thorin’s summer school placement outside of an IEP, but she still insisted he should be in a special education classroom. When the issue of Thorin’s behavior came up, his physical therapist offered information she had not shared all year: “Thorin’s early attempts to make physical contact with people were heavy-handed due to low tone and lack of muscle grading and perceived as hitting; then all the attention that hitting gets leads to more. So the point is Thorin needs to be taught how to touch someone gently.”
“We’ve never heard that explanation before. Is that in your report?” I asked hoping it wasn’t too late for this information to be distributed to other staff members.
“I haven’t written it yet, but, yes, I will include increasing work on proprioceptive awareness.”
We also found that Thorin had been separated from his class during the school year more than we were led to believe. During those times, he was working with the special education case manager, Mrs. Mallory.
“Why didn’t we know that?” asked Ward.
The principal spoke up. “His IEP states 60 to 90 percent of the time in the regular classroom.”
“I didn’t remember such a wide margin,” I said.
Turning to Mrs. Mallory, I asked, “What was he working on with you?”
“Various things.”
The principal interrupted, “Why don’t you meet privately with Mrs. Mallory and get those questions answered. She can also go over summer school options.”
After the meeting, Ward and I talked in the car as we drove back to work.
“I can’t keep up. It’s too much information.”
“I know,” he said “But we’re fine. We’re figuring it out.”
I needed to believe that against all reason. Reason was telling me the school might have a vested interest in Thorin being special. It could’ve been unconscious like Abraham Maslow’s observation: “If you only have a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail.” But what if they thought he was a problem?
The next week, I met with Mrs. Mallory.
“It must have been hard to hear Thorin can’t attend regular summer school,” she said sympathetically.
“It was hard to hear.”
“Would it be nice to hear some options?”
“Yes.”
She showed me a chart with the summer school options for special education students. She kept it close to her, so I wasn’t able to read the words. In the first option, she told me the students didn’t have any regular interaction with people outside the classroom. It sounded like the dungeon room in Game of Thrones; you’re not sure how you got there, but clearly someone doesn’t like you.
“We don’t want him there do we?” she said as she patted my hand, smiling and shaking her head.
“No.”
She ran her finger over the descriptions of the next three rooms, making thoughtful murmurings. Surely she’d seen this chart before this moment but she was acting like it had just been flown in by a three-eyed crow. Finally, she looked up at me.
“No! No! No!” she said dismissing them. “Not for him!”
I was relieved but I had no idea why. As she read the last description silently, her mouth broke in a wide smile. She tapped her finger excitedly on the paper, “This one has a lot of support!”
I shook my head, “Why can’t he be in an inclusive classroom in the summer?”
“They won’t give him an aide,” she replied—“they” being the Tywin Lannister’s in the district office.
“Um, I’m comfortable advocating for an aide.”
“He won’t have as much fun in the regular classroom.”
Seriously? Other kids are in school to learn. The expectation for Thorin is not to mitigate the fun factor.
“Do they work on reading and writing there?” I asked. “Because he can’t do those things yet.”
“You know what you are? You’re a pioneer!”
“What?”
“You’re undertaking something that hasn’t been done before.”
“Inclusive summer school?” I guessed.
Mrs. Mallory’s illogical cognitive
