Something you’ll never forget

Susie joined my class late.  Far too late.  Whilst you could never credibly argue that mainstream never works for children with special needs, there are countless examples when mainstream placements have caused considerable damage.

In Susie’s case, she had languished in a large mainstream secondary school for almost four years, unable to manage with the bustle and chaos of large classes of thirty-plus children, bells ringing, mass movements of the entire population between lessons, and the noise and confusion of the playground.  Add to this the pace, complexity of language and social interaction inherent to mainstream lessons and it is also apparent that she wasn’t able to meaningfully access any classes or learn anything.

Consequently, she had spent most of her four years not speaking, sat in a room on her own in a learning resource unit, doing one-to-one work with a teaching assistant and steadily becoming more withdrawn and anxious.

She joined me at the age of fifteen, near the end of year 10, integrating into my class of eight autistic pupils who had all been together for four years, and who had been with me for four years as their teacher. When she arrived she barely spoke at all, avoided all interaction and was essentially terrified of everything. She didn’t have any friends and had no confidence in any skills, subjects or abilities.

Honestly, with just over a year before she would leave school, I kind of thought it was too late for Susie. But we never just give up-  so my work began.

I’m not going to take all the credit, as there were many adults involved across the school, but she was so anxious she basically clung to me, and I was her teacher, her ‘trusted adult’, and it fell to me to start her programme. So I was the one driving, I suppose. Equally, beyond the work I and others put in, the situational effects of just being in a calmer, quieter, smaller environment with fewer people, less-complex language and fewer confusing social interactions and expectations flying around without anyone to help unpick them cannot be underestimated. The very fact of placing her in a specialist autistic class was likely half the battle.

But it took a while to build up her confidence, to teach her to speak up, to get her to relax and enjoy school, to feel confident in her abilities (she was actually very bright) and to trust other pupils to be her friends.

Within a couple of months, however,  she was talking, laughing and having friends round after school. She added them on Facebook and MSN and talked about it in the day with them. She soared academically, developed a sense of humour, she had arguments and reconciliations, she went out (in so much as they said they were going out – I don’t think they ever actually *went* anywhere) with a boy.

She had a normal teenage school girl experience, if a little immature relative to her chronological age, but it was a real experience.

I only had a year, but I did it.  And then?  When my class finished year 11, and were all leaving school, when we had their leavers’ ceremony with readings and speeches and music and a hall full of two hundred-odd people in the audience...?

She stood up and sang a solo.

And it was pretty good.

I literally sobbed.

It was so moving and amazing and I was so proud. Of her, but also of myself.

I did that.

Yes, she did it too – of course I was proud of that.  But that makes me remember why I do this job.

That’s what I’ll never forget.