Special Ed vs Specialer Ed

Last Friday my friend/teacher partner Erika and I were strapped for lesson plans so decided we were gunna give our ragamuffins what they really want: an intermural-special-ed-dodgeball-throwdown. Erika and I both teach Separate Day Classes with special ed students, but in very different capacities. While Erika's students are struggling to remember the letter A, mine are screaming,"I'll fuck you in the ass!"

The most important distinction here is that Erika's students are in Special Ed primarily because they have a Specific Learning Disability or have been labeled "Mentally Retarded." My little hellraisers' disabilities, on the other hand, are due to "emotional disturbance." Students in my class very rarely have any cognitive deficits. They are just filled with rage.

So obviously pitting these two groups against one another in dodgeball was the most logical thing to do.

We penned the band of outsiders in a fenced in area, split the court in a half with purple chalk and let them at it. In a matter of minutes Erika's students had all been hit roughly ten times and at least three of my students were on a time-out from throwing above the neck and attempting to insight a riot. Ms. A's kids huddled at the back of the fence dancing and singing around generally ignoring the balls whipping past their faces, while my precious babes loomed over the purple line with blood dripping from their mouths screaming countless taunts, teases, and degradations of the soul. It was quite a sight to behold.

I, being a charitable and slightly vengeful person myself, joined Erika's motley crew and cross-haired all my favorite students- Jesse Owens, Hip-Hop, Spider-Monkey, Bo-jangles, Ziona Get-It-Straight, Cornbread and Ms. Fierce, beaning them all with a Ms. Baer ball to the knee caps. Suckas! Of course they showed me absolutely no mercy and I ended up running off the court with my tail between my legs and my arms cradling my head, screaming "STOPPPPP!!!"

In any case. If you are ever bored and have two special ed classes at your disposal, I encourage you to go to your neighborhood dollar store, purchase 8 rubber balls and head out to the nearest blacktop. It will be the best 8 dollars you ever spend.

Hands-On Learning

This week I went to the SFMOMA with one of my favorite students. She's a third grader and the definition of precocious. It was her first time going to any museum EVER even though she had seen them on TV and stuff. For the sake of confidentiality- let's call her Ziona- her self-proclaimed alter ego.
I am going to break down our adventure into top 5 incidents:

Incident #1: On the way to the moma is a park called Yerba Buena gardens. It's really beautiful and has all sorts of water features. Ziona is in pure heaven. She's a total water baby, and is pulling out all her change to make wishes for Martin Luther King and I am going to assume, her father, who passed away 4 years ago. In defiance of all logic and celebration of all possibility- every wish she makes is about the resurrection of her father. I watch her tenderly and make a similar wish of my own.

Incident #2: We are still at Yerba Buena and Ziona is obsessed with the water. Sitting there serenely she sweeps the water with the tips of her fingers:
Z: This feels like Barack Obama's Handshake.
M: What do you mean?
Z: Cold.
M: How do you know Barack Obama's handshake is cold?
Z: No answer.

Incident #3: We get into the museum and it's like shooting a gun to commence a race. Ziona is OFF! and I am forced to walk way more briskly than my usual museum stroll. I catch up to her just in time to see that the first thing she does at the sight of art is go right up to that sucker and put her whole hand on it. Smack.
M: Oh uh, don't do that.
Z: Why not?
M: Um, cuz you're not supposed to, and.....(she's off again)
By the time I catch up with her she's getting yelled at by a docent because there's a pool table sculpture with very meticulously placed balls atop it and Ziona is reaching over to grab one. My need to explain the rules has passed and Ziona sulks for a mere two seconds, "I don't like that lady," and is Peuwh...off yet again.

Incident #4: There is a video featuring a man dressed in drag slowly moving about a white room and fondling a pearl between two white gloved fingers. After running in and out of the room roughly 13 times Ziona keeps returning to the video, making little comments like, "What is she DOING?" "That's a man." "OHHH a pearl!"
Me: You seem to really like this video.
Z: I just wanna keep watching it because it doesn't make sense.
M: Do you think it has meaning?
Z: No
M: What if it did have meaning? What would it be?
Z: Slow-motion
M: Like being patient?
Z: Yes.

Incident #5: Ziona wants a subway sandwich so we decide to leave. On our way to the car we encounter another water feature, different from the one in Yerba Buena. Within seconds she's got her hands in it.
M: Does this one feel like Barack Obama's handshake?
Z: No.
M: Why not?
Z: Too cold.
M: Oh.

Needless to say we had an excellent time. I don't think I saw any art that day, except of course, the art of being, which Ziona has flawlessly mastered. In the car ride back she asked me if diamonds really do come from Africa and we had a wonderful conversation about questioning leadership. "I love this," I thought and turned up some Justin Timberlake real loud for drive back home.