So, I currently am not enjoying how my community essay is going along (the one about greenriver and seminary), so I am going to see what will happen if I change my subject entirely. I am toying with the idea of writing about the community in the developmentally disabled section of the special education division of my high school. I will edit this post as I come along with my writing, so just be aware that what you see now may not be what it'll look like in a day or two (until I tell you that I'm done writing it and have moved on to another draft). Also, I have initialized the names for privacy purposes, and I have changed details here and there (and will change more along the way) for the same reason as well.
~Cassanndre
"No hitting, no kicking.... No hitting, no kicking!!" I look over at M. as he leans forward in his chair, looking assertively into F.'s eyes.
"Good job?" F. asks, his voice low and garbled as if he were a human sublifer underwater.
"No, not a good job." M. states firmly. Not with malice, but with a stern and clear voice. M. points to the small room to his right, "go bounce", he says as he stands up and positions his body as a wall between F. and the rest of the room, so F. has nowhere to go from his chair at his desk but to the small room with the large blue ball on which to bounce.
A strange sight, I always think when M. works on correcting F.'s inappropriate behavior. F. is on the tall side of average, while M. is on the rather short side, being no more than two inches taller than my 5 foot 2 inch self. Very strange that someone as small as M. can so effectively head off aggressive behavior from F. I wonder what F. was trying to do this time. And how did M. spot it? Was it F.'s body language and hand moving forward ever so slightly, as if testing the water, that got M.'s attention? How does stay so constantly aware of every little motion of F.'s all day long? That must be exhausting... Is it rewarding to him? How does he know what to do?
Those thoughts are ones I wonder every day as I hear the well known phrase of, "no hitting, no kicking". I am used to this phrase, though it does not cease to set me wondering.
What is F. thinking when he tries to assualt someone? [note- by "assualt", I mean behave in a way that could cause himself or someone else physical harm.] Is he aware that his behavior will cause another person (or himself) pain? What is he thinking? F.'s behavior is so different from behaviors that I normally exhibit or see exhibited in my family and friends- so much so that I can barely even fathom what his thought processes are. The one thing I am reasonably sure of is that when F. behaves in whatever manner he behaves in, it makes sense to him. It may not make any sense to me or M. why F. is more prone to assualting when M. drinks something in front of him, but I am quite positive that hitting and kicking are perfectly reasonable reactions to whatever stimuli it is that F. is reacting to- at least, they are perfectly reasonable to F. To M. however, F.'s behavioral specialist, and to every other employee in the special education department, it just doesn't make sense.
burp!
"T.! Did you just burp?" I ask, my eyebrows raised in suprise, chin tucked in, and lips pursed in a playful but persistant smile.
"I-oh-oh," T. slurs, his voice dipping and rising as most peoples' do as he lifts his shoulders with his palms raised up.
"You do too know, T." I give my best imitation of my mother's reproving look.
"Oh-oooooooo!!" T. swings his arm in a disappointed surrender, as if saying "dang it! you caught me!".
"what do you do when you burp, T.?" I suppress a smile, trying to be serious and also patient as T. processes.
"I-oh-oh." T. smiles. I love his smile. It's one of those smiles that I'm sure at first sight makes mothers light up with joy and pride for their child.
"You do too know." Pause. T. looks at me. Nothing. "Excuse me," I say and model the sign with my hands. "Say it or sign it, please."
"Oh-oooooo!" Just as I expected- the one word he should use the most, he usually refuses to use.
"Oh-oooooo!" I mimic, eyes and mouth wide open as I play along. I then sign EXCUSE-ME very clearly for T. "Do that, please, and then I'll stop bugging you about it."
T. stays in his seat, hands folded on his lap. He shakes his head briefly.
I sigh. "You know I'm not gonna leave you alone about it until you say 'Excuse me', so you should just say it now and you can go back to your snack."
A blank stare. Then, a few minutes later, after some coaxing, I see some movement. I almost missed it, but there it is, half-hidden beneath his desk, T. is signing EXUSE-ME.
"Is that 'excuse me', T.?" I ask in surprise and extreme interest, leaning forward in my seat.
T. shrugs, and smiles.
"That was, wasn't it?" I nod my head in approval.
T. hesitates, and then nods briefly.
"Yay!! Thank you, T. for saying EXCUSE-ME!! Good job! Hi-five!" T. sticks his hand up like a tree, and I reach forward and give him a hi-five.
16 November 2006
Today I worked with D. on the concepts of empty and not-empty. I know that he understands the concepts, because when he walks up to a bin to recycle that turns out being empty, he turns around and walks away. However, the fact that many thoughts, or concepts, like that can be expressed with things called words, I don't think he realizes. Oh, he knows that if I point to me he says "Cassy" and point to him is "D." and point to the teacher is "R." and to that one student, "I." "T." "S." etc. Although he usually needs some prodding along with that, as well.
I point to the recycling bin full with papers before D. picks it up.
"What's in there?"
D. looks up at me. "Doo-ga-doo-ga-doo-ga!" He mumbles; his pitch wavering like a broken stereo. I remember what Mrs. B. told me- that reaction can mean that he is confused and doesn't know what to do.
"You know this. Look in. What's in there?" D. looks in. "Something, right?" I show him the sign.
"suh-ding" D. repeats.
"Something, good! Show me with your hands; say it with your hands." I repeat the sign. D. repeats me.
GOOD-JOB I sign. "goo jah" D. says in response.
"Yes, good job!" We repeat the exercize. "Go ahead and empty it now." D. grabs the bin and empties it into the four foot high, round recycling receptacle. He then sets the bin down.
"What's in there, D.?"
He looks at me. "suh-ding." He's repeating what I told him before, exhibiting that he doesn't understand the meaning of the word.
Patiently I explain. "No, nothing. Nothing." And I show him the sign. "What's in there? D., look. What's in there? Nothing."
"nuh-ting"
"Good! Sign it with me, please." I show him the sign. "What's in there, D.?"
"nuh-ting!"
"Good job. Sign it please." He signs NOTHING.
"Good job! Hi-five!" D. smiles faintly and gives me a high-five.
I look around and spot a piece of paper. I grab it and stick it in the bin. D. makes a move to remove it to his receptacle. I sign, NO. STOP. WAIT. He stops and stands in front of me, looking at me, then the bin, then back at me. I point to the bin. "Look at it. What's in there?"
"nuh-ting" He's repeating what I said before again.
"No." I grab the piece of paper, show him, shake it around and drop it back in. "Something" I stress as I show him the sign.
"suh-ting" he says, and SOMETHING, he signs.
"Good! Good Job!" The inside part of my fingertips of my right hand touch my mouth and then my hand moves down until the back side lands flat in my left hand. GOOD JOB.
I take the paper out. "What's in there, D.?"
"suh-ting" He's still repeating.
"No, nothing." He says it. I sign it. D. signs it. I put the paper back in. "What's in there, now?"
"nuh-ting"
We work on this for a few minutes, until a magical moment. The paper is in the bin. "What's in there, D.?"
"suh-ting" he says. I take the paper out quickly.
"What's in there now?"
"nuh-ting!" D. says.
"Yes!!!!! Good job! Nothing's in there! Good!" And I give him a double high five. Progress.
However, I find ten minutes later when we work on the concept again, I have to repeat teaching it to him just as before. Except for one small detail. He gets it more quickly this time.
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