My son’s eighteenth, and final, IEP was Thursday. Not thinking beyond one year I went prepared to defend his right to arrive at school on time (his bus is chronically 20 – 40 minutes late), discuss educationally relevant skills to be worked on, and the importance of increasing his ability to express himself as he prepares to enter his adult life. Introductions were made and everyone was smiling as Corey’s sweet, young teacher, who we all adore, began with, “Do you plan to have Corey participate in the graduation ceremony next spring?” What? Graduation? Again? Next spring? When did this happen? How did this happen? I had been preparing for this moment for the past four years and the words still left me feeling like I’d been hit by a speeding car while crossing the street for a casual conversation with the neighbor.
In the past I have considered myself a person who embraced change and met obstacles with innovative fervor, but on this occasion as I began to fully comprehend the magnitude of the discussion, I am for a moment, left feeling inept and overwhelmed. Is the ground work we have laid enough for Corey? For us? The anxiety I have felt with each transition throughout his childhood comes creeping back and I find myself feeling foolish over the false sense of security I had been recently harboring.
I imagine most public schools are fairly comparable in their philosophies involving their special needs students, providing the minimum required and never exploring the possibility of there being choices beyond the typical. Corey’s school, his “Corey College”, consists of a self contained classroom with the primary focus being that of working on vocational skills and independence. His teacher is pleasant and caring, the older sister of a young man with special needs; this is her first teaching assignment and the affection she feels toward her students is obvious. Her youth brings with it an enthusiasm, sometimes missing for those whose profession has become routine.
This meeting, Corey’s transition IEP, was to discuss as well as document not only his educational needs for the following school year but also his needs as an adult. The paperwork, filled out before we arrived, stated my son with an IQ of 56 and minimal ability to express him self had no limitations indicating need for outside support as an adult. I wish I could say the disappointment and frustration I felt on this day was born simply from Corey’s teacher’s inexperience but unfortunately the seniors involved knew no more than she and in the end offered little advice.
Documents will be changed and with experience comes enlightenment but the “what if”’ still nags at my conscience. What if it had not been me but another parent who did not understand the consequence of what had been left out of their child’s portfolio? As it is the advice I was given at Corey’s “preadmission screening” four years ago was incorrect and he will be on a waiting list for at least five years before he may receive services and even then funding is limited. What if we had not planned for his adult life to be hinged on family support? I already know the answer. He would have been at home alone, just as several of his friends currently are, waiting…
In the past I have considered myself a person who embraced change and met obstacles with innovative fervor, but on this occasion as I began to fully comprehend the magnitude of the discussion, I am for a moment, left feeling inept and overwhelmed. Is the ground work we have laid enough for Corey? For us? The anxiety I have felt with each transition throughout his childhood comes creeping back and I find myself feeling foolish over the false sense of security I had been recently harboring.
I imagine most public schools are fairly comparable in their philosophies involving their special needs students, providing the minimum required and never exploring the possibility of there being choices beyond the typical. Corey’s school, his “Corey College”, consists of a self contained classroom with the primary focus being that of working on vocational skills and independence. His teacher is pleasant and caring, the older sister of a young man with special needs; this is her first teaching assignment and the affection she feels toward her students is obvious. Her youth brings with it an enthusiasm, sometimes missing for those whose profession has become routine.
This meeting, Corey’s transition IEP, was to discuss as well as document not only his educational needs for the following school year but also his needs as an adult. The paperwork, filled out before we arrived, stated my son with an IQ of 56 and minimal ability to express him self had no limitations indicating need for outside support as an adult. I wish I could say the disappointment and frustration I felt on this day was born simply from Corey’s teacher’s inexperience but unfortunately the seniors involved knew no more than she and in the end offered little advice.
Documents will be changed and with experience comes enlightenment but the “what if”’ still nags at my conscience. What if it had not been me but another parent who did not understand the consequence of what had been left out of their child’s portfolio? As it is the advice I was given at Corey’s “preadmission screening” four years ago was incorrect and he will be on a waiting list for at least five years before he may receive services and even then funding is limited. What if we had not planned for his adult life to be hinged on family support? I already know the answer. He would have been at home alone, just as several of his friends currently are, waiting…
3 comments:
Wow, what a transition. I have to say that i see Alex's sweet face in Coreys, and that picture of him in that gown makes me so proud of Corey!
Thinking of you while you go through this transition that will one day be mine.
Thanks for leading the way, Carla. You are a wonderful example to those of us with younger kids. I'm sure Corey will love his second graduation as much as his first...maybe he'll start to expect one every spring! ;)
Jeez. What sort if image of Corey's days after graduation did the team have in mind with "no limitations"? You kind of count on their knowledge of his abilities and needs. It's such a hard place to be in - that skinny crevass between wanting to herald your child's great accomplishments and abilities, but then needing documentation to reflect true immediate and substantial need...in order to get support...SOMEDAY! My heart is with you, Carla. And so is my faith - you have always ensured Corey (and all your kids) had the best at their disposal. It's not easy, but you will do it again this time.
I can't tell you how valuable your agile expression of your perspective is to me and ultimately to Addie. Take care.
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