Having a son with autism who is now a teenager means that, for me, IEP meetings are taken in stride. I drove up to the junior high school, parked, entered the building, and immediately saw Kyle waiting in the hallway by the office. A wide grin spread across his face when he saw me, and he began to stoop over and clap to himself.
“Hello, Kyle!” I said, hugging him exuberantly. Then we went into the principal’s office, where Kyle’s special education teacher, principal, speech and language pathologist, and art teacher were waiting. (I have started to notice, interestingly enough, that they seem more nervous at my appearance than I do at theirs. They are the ones who have to speak and present to me, after all.)
Setting Goals
Kyle’s teacher began to offer her proposed goals for Kyle for the next year. She talked about his making better eye contact, using life skills mathematics (like counting money, budgeting, managing a checkbook), and improving reading comprehension. Yes, yes, yes. I agreed with these goals.
The speech and language pathologist talked about Kyle’s need to develop his pragmatic language. Yes, I agreed.
While we discussed these things, Kyle looked around the room, frequently quoting Disney’s The Lion King. “Mufasa had to fight with Scar,” he’d say.
The Art Teacher Apologizes
Kyle’s art teacher spoke up, and this is where things got somewhat dicey. This particular art teacher had telephoned me a few weeks earlier about Kyle’s use of profanity, then withdrew his complaint when he explained that he’d gotten Kyle confused with another student. “I’m really sorry about that phone call,” he said. “I’m embarrassed.”
I pointed out that what concerned me most was that it appeared he had been totally unaware he had an autistic student in his class. During that call I had asked him, “Are you aware that Kyle is autistic?” And he had told me no. He hadn’t known. “How can a teacher have a disabled child in his class and not know about it?” I asked the question aloud.
Awkward Moments
Kyle’s special education teacher got restless in her seat, while the principal leaned forward with a furrowed brow. “I am sure I sent out the directive about his disability,” she said, glancing several times at the brooding principal. She then shrank a bit and shrugged. “I will write up new directives and send them out immediately.”
It sort of opened the flood gates. The art teacher then admitted that Kyle had indeed used profanity, but did so at the direction of several other students who told him what to say. This troubled me. I expressed my disappointment that this seemed to be an ongoing trend in Kyle’s mainstream classes. His previous art teacher had not only allowed him to doodle in her class without encouraging him to do the assignments, but had allowed a situation where regular students bullied him into drawing naked pictures.
Speaking Up For My Son
“My son,” I said, “Has the right to attend regular classes without being bullied.” The room was awkwardly silent.
“Perhaps Kyle needs a specifically-assigned peer tutor,” I said. “For his own protection.” The art teacher nodded. The principal grunted. The special education teacher sighed. The speech and language pathologist excused himself to attend another meeting.
“Yes,” the art teacher said, “And I know the perfect person. A girl in my class who loves Kyle. She’s an A student. She often helps him. I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
The IEP meeting ended, and I signed my name next to all the proposed goals. They were good goals; they were right for Kyle. I knew now that Kyle was going to have some protection in his regular classes. And his mainstream teachers would know about his disability. I reminded myself that despite all those therapists and educators, I was still Kyle’s greatest advocate.
Kyle and I then went to a special lunch at Wendys, where he ordered two cheeseburgers and a Sprite. We talked happily about Mufasa, Scar, Timone, Pumba, and all those mangy hyenas.