Well Worth the Effort

Many mornings when I get up before the sun rises to see my daughter off to high school it reminds me of how I used to drag myself out of bed in the early morning on school days when I was her age.  I got up then, though, not because my school started really early like hers does, but because I had to get in a run before school when I was in the midst of a training season for track or cross-country. 

Early morning running with my dad

I’ve never been a morning person.  On most days, I get up because I have to, not because I want to at that particular time, and, truth be told, I hated getting up for those early morning runs.  It was always dark, and the temperature always seemed to be cooler than I preferred, even in the late spring or early fall months.  I was always a little stiff and often so tired at that time of day that I could hardly keep my eyes open as I ran down the street, guided by the streetlights, counting freshly thrown rolled-up newspapers in the driveways to pass the time as I went along.  Many afternoons or evenings when I ran, often for the second time in the same day, I did it because I loved it, but, on those mornings, I did it because my dad expected me to put in the extra effort.  It was part of the plan he had written out for me each week, the training program that he said would pay off at the next race, which, for me, was always just around the corner.  I loved the racing part, too, but not those morning runs – those I just struggled through.

I remember on so many occasions looking up as I crossed the finish line at the end of a race so that I could see the look on my dad’s face.  I judged my performance in each event by the look I saw in my dad’s eyes at the end of the race; in an instant, I could tell what he was thinking – and many times it was this: it was well worth the effort. 

I knew it then, and I know it even more now: there is such privilege that comes with knowing someone well enough to know what he or she is thinking, a secret code of which it is an honor to have an understanding.  I often think back to the few episodes of perhaps oddly placed confidence that I had when I was helping my dad during the weeks of his illness. One instance in particular occurred on the day my dad went from the hospital to a rehab facility across town. The hospital staff wanted to have him transported by ambulance, but I felt it was essential to his mental state not to have to ride in another ambulance at that juncture in his recovery. Somehow, from out of necessity I guess, I found the confidence to tell the nurses that I was certain I could safely help him get from a wheelchair to the car at the hospital and then from the car to the wheelchair and inside the rehab facility.  "I have no doubt I can keep him safe," I remember saying to a couple of nurses in the hallway outside his hospital room.  I felt like they were looking at me doubtfully, but they said ok and that was that.  I am trained in assisting with patient transfers like that, but I work with children, not adults.  I felt sure though; I knew I would do anything to help my dad, and I was confident that together our effort would pay off.

Doing whatever it takes, with both of us wearing the same expression of determination

There were a few more things that happened like that while he was sick, with my certainty coming from almost out of the blue, each time tied to the fact that I was completely determined to do whatever it took to help take care of my dad.  The most striking bout of unexplainable conviction that I experienced during his illness, though, was when he asked me how we would know what he wanted if he lost the ability to talk.

“I’ll just know,” I told him, somehow without missing a beat after he threw that question out into the room.  I cannot explain the sense of sureness I felt in the moment; looking back, I realize that it would have been much more reasonable for me to feel a sense of terror and uncertainty in the moment.  We were in the den of my parents’ house, the day after we’d brought him home from the hospital for the last time.  It was New Year’s Day, and my dad had not rebounded the way I’d thought he would once he was on his home turf.  He was still trying to eat to get his strength back, and he had been asking for small servings of food since he’d woken up that morning: “maybe a piece of bacon,” “some fruity dessert,” (which is what he called the cut-up pieces of fruit in a plastic bowl purchased from the produce section at the grocery store), and, the request always accompanied by a gesture of the quiet snapping of his fingers, “just a little piece of chocolate.” He’d asked for and had eaten a little of each, along with a sip of his favorite beer, Foster’s, which he drank through a straw while he sat up against the cranked-up mattress of the hospital bed in the middle of the den.  His voice was hoarse and breathy, and it seemed to be getting weaker as time went on despite the efforts of my dad to eat and take medicine that was supposed to make him feel better.

His concern about losing his ability to talk was legitimate, and I honestly don’t know the source of the confidence I heard in my own voice when I answered his question that day in the second-to-last verbal exchange I ever had with him.  I guess I would have to say it was an accolade of sorts for the extra time the rest of my family and I had been lucky enough to have with him over the weeks of his illness as we battled along with him.  I knew that if necessary, I would look at my dad and just know what he was thinking, just like those times many years ago when I crossed the finish line of a race. And again, it was well worth the effort.

My Take On "Standardized Dress" in Schools

I have a friend whose daughter has hot pink hair.  The daughter, a recent high school graduate, is a very talented artist and and will be attending an elite college of art on scholarship this fall.  This is just one of countless examples of the fact that success, in any form, does not correlate with conformity.

I think that everyone needs at least one way to express themselves; without an outlet, it's easy to have anger, sadness, and craziness build up inside us. 

The point of both of these things is this: I am completely opposed to what is now being termed as "standardized dress" in schools.  Uniforms.  Strict dress codes.  Not only do I think that mandating what students wear to school is a waste of time, but I also think there are aspects of a uniform dress policy that can be detrimental to the futures of our children.

I work in the field of special education, and I witness on a daily basis how individuals with special needs and/or differences have to cope with everyday skills and tasks.  Many individuals struggle with motor skills and other things that affect their ability to perform activities of daily living such as dressing; often they or their parents resort to using compensatory strategies such as having the children wear elastic-waist pants, velcro shoes, and shirts with no buttons.  It goes without saying that these children already have to contend with countless barriers and to work extra-hard to be included in many activities about which most of us don't give a second thought.  Advocates of standardized dress policies often say that they will include a loop-hole in their rules that allow students with special needs to be exempt from their directive, but to me it seems that this will only serve to set apart these individuals and to highlight their disabilities even more.  In fact, I'm not sure that such a dispensation doesn't violate the law and the civil rights of students with disabilities who attend a school with such a policy.

In the "con" column in the dress-code discussion, I can say that I have seen a good bit of instructional time lost due to the need for teaching staff to monitor and discipline students with regards to dress code violations.  It goes without saying that teachers need to be, well, teaching, instead of policing - and defending that police work to students, administrators, and parents - over an issue like clothing.

Another "con" that I can clearly see is the lack of opportunity for students to make choices about their apparel; in the majority of situations in which high school students enter after graduation, they will have options for dress and need practice with parental guidance of how to make those selections in a reasonable manner.

One common argument of the pro-dress code group is that the establishment of such levels the playing field between social cliques, but I am left to wonder how that works if students are still left to choose the brand of the clothing they wear (Ralph Lauren vs. Wal-Mart brand of khakis and polo shirts) and the shoes and accessories worn.  Do the pro-dress code people think kids won't notice who drives what car or lives in what house or goes on what vacations?  Do they really think "popular" can be rubbed out?  If so, I wonder if we should take things a step further and abolish extracurricular activities including sports and Student Council - and the giving of grades and class rankings.  In fact, maybe all children should have their hair cut and dyed to look just alike - and plastic surgery on their faces and bodies so that they are all just cookie-cutter versions of the same person.

Another commonly used argument in the "pro" column is that having students wear a uniform serves to keep them safe, as it allows school staff to easily identify an outsider or an intruder on the school grounds.  To that I simply say: as if our enemies are always from the outside - and as if an outsider can't obtain a uniform so that he or she blends right in amongst the student body, while those students are under the supervision of an incautious staff of school employees who have been lulled into a false sense of security.  

I have heard it said that a uniform policy helps students to focus by "cutting down on sexual tension" that may be present in settings without dress code practice.  But we all know girls who have modified a uniform in some way so as to express their individuality - and their sexuality, and honestly I have seen school girls in their school-approved plaid skirts with more skin showing than I would ever allow for a child walking out of my house.

Here's another bit of the battle cry of pro-uniform warriors: A standardized dress policy increases student test scores.  I have yet to see a valid study that shows any truth to this statement.  I would hypothesize that students who have their creativity (and their spirit, in my opinion) trampled impeded would tend to enjoy coming to school and learning less - and would therefore learn less and score lower on tests.  (I'm intentionally leaving out the whole discussion about whether or not the results on standardized tests show actual learning/knowledge/capacity for success here.)  I will go so far as to say that my take on the function of an educational system is to teach students the value of learning, to encourage in them the desire to become lifelong learners, and to give them the tools that will allow them to do so - and none of those things are tied to how they dress.

The weakest point of defense used by dress code advocates, in my opinion, is that having students wear a prescribed wardrobe every day saves time, energy, and/or money.  Again, I haven't seen any true evidence that speaks to this point.  I would think that the initial outlay of money in purchasing the required ensemble would be fairly significant, even if it is purchased at Wal-Mart or Target and even if a family only buys a couple of outfits and launders those frequently.  I have spoken to many parents of children whose schools have uniform mandates, and all of them say their kids have separate wardrobes for after-school/weekend wear; I am not great at math, but I don't see how having two wardrobes (one which may require dry cleaning or ironing, as an added consideration) saves time, energy, or money.

Added to the point above is my concern about the growing trend of what I call "deferred parenting;" by this I mean the increasing expectation of many parents that someone other than themselves will fulfill what was once a basic part of parenting, things like sex ed, driver's ed, religion, safety rules, city-wide curfews - and, yes, dress codes.  I think all of these issues are things that are to be handled within family units.  I am not under the expectation that school officials or anyone else set rules for how my children dress (nor am I willing to let someone else make that ruling) - nor how they believe, act, eat, or anything else, particularly in the case of issues like clothing that have nothing at all to do with the safety of my children or anyone else.

When I say that I oppose schools' having a dress code, I don't mean that I think kids should be allowed to wear (or, in some cases, not to wear) whatever they choose.  I don't think the wearing of vulgar, overly skin-baring, unsafe, or obviously distracting apparel works to anyone's benefit in an educational setting.  What I am against is a requirement that all students (oh, except those with disabilities ... ) dress alike, especially when such an edict is delivered without sufficient evidence that doing so is of benefit to the students and is necessary for productivity to occur.  The world of education is very focused on research and evidence in the principles and strategies we are using, and yet a mandate that is presented to our children on a daily basis is allowed to be put into place without basis.  From my perspective, at the very least there needs to be a two-sided discussion about the true pros and cons of such an adjudication, before the guidelines are made and handed down in a "take this medicine; it's for your own good" type of ruling.

How It Feels

I didn't go into politics - or even business, for that matter - for a reason; one that, if you know me, you probably already know: I do not have a poker face.  I am not at all good at, as they say on Saturday Night Live, strategery.  I don't like office gossip or sneakiness or favorite-playing.  The way I prefer things to be in my work place is when, as my dad used to say, it is what it is - because what else would it be??

Unfortunately for me and for a whole lot of other people who live and/or work in the same school district I do, though, we have been involuntarily drawn into a situation over the past couple of years that has come to involve a lot of the undesirable aforementioned things.

As a result of the citizens of the city voting to give up their school district and the resulting imposed adoption of that system by the county school system, people in my area are talking about budgets and politics and outsourcing and other things that have regrettably become a very large part of the equation in public education.  One thing I haven't heard much talk about in meetings or in the media, though, is how it feels to have been swept into this maelstrom.

This has been the most difficult, most stressful year of my nineteen-year long career with the county school district.  I am proud of the efforts of many of my coworkers as we've entered into what can only accurately be described as a battle.  At times, I've felt sure that I want to do everything in my power to stay with the district, to continue the work I've started, and to try to control what I can in hopes of protecting my coworkers and friends - and ultimately, the students.  But, at other times, increasingly as the actual date of the change approaches, I feel as if I am in danger of going down with the ship.  Like a lot of my coworkers, my health and my personal life - and my overall happiness - have suffered a lot during this past school year because of the impending "merger" - a term, by the way, that really gets to a lot of us on the receiving end of the punches.  To merge means to join forces, to unite, or to team up, and to me that implies that an action is taking place between two roughly equal bodies, a situation which, in my opinion, this is not.  Always a fan of running metaphors, I liken what's going on here to a runner that has dropped out of a race who later asks an accomplished runner if he can train with the better runner.  One of them needs improvement; one doesn't.  One needs help; the other was fine on his own - and, in fact, is likely to be slowed down if the less skilled runner joins him on training runs, even though the faster runner may still be willing to take on the job of coaching the slower one.  It isn't a merger; it's more of an adoption.

In the district of people who did not get a vote in this decision, our leaders and our administrators are scared for their own jobs, for their livelihood actually, and it feels like there's an "every-man-for-himself" mentality that I have never before felt in this job.  Watching the process unfold in slow motion over the course of this school year has felt a bit like Chinese water torture, and in many ways I am glad to see the year come to a close, although I feel a distinct sadness at the same time that my job and this school system - both things that I have loved and have put my heart into since I was 25 years old - will certainly never be the same after end of this school year.  

Everybody knows that educators in this country generally don't make a lot of money.  They don't win Oscars or Pulitzer Prizes or get big raises or promotions or even get much recognition by their bosses or their "customers," unless, of course, a scandal of some sort is featured in the media.  The rewards we get come quietly and often only if we are looking hard for them, but most of us are lucky (and diligent) enough to see them, and we are glad to have this as our chosen career.  We realize that there is no other profession that would allow us to have such a part in shaping the minds of children in this way and to impact their future on such a personal level.  Teaching is about so much more than teaching - and I don't mean politics and jerrymandering and elbow-rubbing; it's about the power of relationships.  It's about the connection that can be made between one person and another person or between a person and a lesson, a link that can only be developed when the learner knows that the teacher cares about him or her.  When a mutual respect has formed between the teacher and the student, that's when the best kind of learning occurs.

But in an environment when educators are scared for their jobs, when school staff members know that they and/or their coworkers and friends may end up on the chopping block at any moment, when program cuts aren't a "maybe" but a "when," it's hard to be positive every day.  It's hard to focus on the lessons that need to be taught - and on the children who are the most important part of the equation.  From either side of the argument about what's fair or who deserves what from the limited funding available in the district now, one thing is for sure: teaching and learning have been hindered, and that doesn't feel good to any of us.

This is mostly a blog about grief and perspective, but I guess it's also about enduring and overcoming life's challenges, and I guess that's what has to be done in this situation as well.

World Autism Awareness Day

There are many people who played a role in my career choice many years ago, and I regularly think about the fact that I am so lucky to have found a profession that is fulfilling, challenging, and rewarding on a daily basis.

Once I decided on and then entered the Occupational Therapy program at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri, though, there were still several different career paths within the field of O.T. that I could choose, based on various demographics of the patients with whom I would be working in the future - from very young to very old, by diagnostic grouping like "hand therapy" or "neuro rehab," and/or in different treatment settings such as an inpatient hospital or a school system.  In fact, the diversity of the options within my chosen field was one of the main things that drew me into Occupational Therapy initially.

During my final year as an O.T. student, I landed a part-time job working for my favorite professor, the woman who taught the pediatric-focused courses in our program.  Some of the work I did was data input, mainly typing the treatment notes that she had recorded on a mini-tape recorder and entering appointments into her schedule on a brand-new Mac Classic computer that seemed so high-tech and cool to me at the time.  I liked that work; it allowed me to learn a lot about computers and my teacher's clinical practice from the sidelines.  A second part of my job was to go to the medical library and research topics about which my instructor needed more information; through this, I learned to love research and to how to be organized in my approach to finding out what scientific studies and data said about a particular subject.

There was one more part of my job, though, and it was the part that I thought was the best: going with my instructor to clinical visits.  I primarily served as a hauler/transporter/equipment cleaner at the treatment sites, but, rather than feeling like a grunt who was limited to schlepping and scrubbing, I felt like I was a sponge, soaking up knowledge and inspiration from all around me.  Two of the children in particular who were being treated by my teacher that year ended up influencing my decision to set a goal of practicing in the field of pediatrics as an O.T.; after getting to know each of them, I was certain that my future was in working with the younger population.  

One of these kids was a boy named Johnny who had cerebral palsy that affected all four of his limbs, his trunk, and his speech.  A couple of month after I'd met him, my instructor had me sit with him while she left the room to take a phone call.  I had to focus and listen closely to make out what he was saying as he chatted away about his love of the Cardinals, St. Louis's major league baseball team.  After a couple of minutes of that, he abruptly changed the subject by asking, "What does it mean to be handicapped?"  His question took me off-guard; I spent several seconds trying to think of the best way to respond.  He beat me to the punch, though, blurting out the answer to his own question before I could say anything: "Oh, I know: it means you have to work harder to do things,"  and then he went back to talking about baseball.  I thought his answer was perfect, and I knew at the time that I would never forget this exceptional child or his profound words.

The second child was a girl named Casey who was at a different facility than Johnny.  Casey was a six year-old girl who had been diagnosed with autism.  She was verbal but had many social and other challenges that affected her ability to interact with the world in what is considered to be a "typical" manner.  Casey wasn't as touchy-feely as Johnny was; in fact, she didn't like to be touched at all, but I still found her to be very lovable and sweet.  She had some "quirks" - some habits and patterns of behavior that I found to be both interesting and endearing during the year that I knew her; one of these idiosyncrasies was that she coped with stress by pretending that she was interacting with a cat that she kept in her pocket.  Cleverly, I thought, she used this as a way to divert attention to something other than herself whenever she felt like she was being put on the spot; instead of answering a question or completing a task that she didn't feel like doing, she often emulated taking the cat out of her pocket and petting and talking to it.  

I was fascinated by this tactic; I thought the fact that she had devised such a creative strategy for gerrymandering was brilliant in many ways.  Some of the people who worked with Casey scolded her for talking about or to her pretend cat; I, in my squeaky-clean lab coat and with my very limited knowledge base and experience in the clinical world, tried to find out more about her and her world by playing with her and by asking her about the imaginary creature.  In turn, she often made better eye contact with me, and she talked and talked about things that were on her mind, all while pantomiming holding and/or petting the make-believe cat.  

Not long after my job working with Casey ended, I decided to get a kitten, and, as I looked through the want ads in the newspaper, I knew already that I wanted to name this cat Casey, after the child that first drew me into the world of autism, a condition about which I was sure I wanted to learn much, much more.  I ended up getting a male cat instead of the female I had envisioned, but I still went with the name Casey for the first pet I had as an adult, the cat that was with me as I graduated from college, found my first job, moved into my first apartment, met and later married my now-husband, and had both of my children.  

Like Johnny and his words of wisdom, I will never forget the girl named Casey, the child who drew me into one of the main fields of interest in my profession.  Today, on World Autism Awareness Day, and on many other days, I will think of her and the cat in her pocket and hope that she is somewhere doing something she enjoys.

Sick Days

During the time that my dad was on chemo and therefore immunocompromised, I became acutely aware (read: completely paranoid) about being exposed to germs.  I’ve always been a little bit of a germaphobe, and, armed with the knowledge that it was entirely possible that something to which I was exposed could result in (1) my not being able to be around him once I realized I was getting sick, or – worse – (2) my accidentally contaminating him if I went to see him and didn’t realize I was getting sick, I was on perpetual high guard about germs and illness at that time.

All of that got me started thinking about sick day policies at work and at school.  Every school that I know of has an award for Perfect Attendance.  Many offer rewards for not missing school ranging from getting to choose one’s teachers for the next school year, getting to go to a party, getting vouchers for free stuff like ice cream and pizza (that seems at least a little counter-intuitive, doesn’t it?), and – the one I don’t understand at all because it’s something that would never have motivated me as a kid – getting to wear a hat to school.  At my kids’ school, students can earn the privilege of getting exempt from the final exam in any class if they end up with an yearly average of at least a 90 and have come to school sick amassed less than three absences ALL YEAR. 

Isn’t it a proven fact that a quicker recovery is much more probable if a person who is sick gets extra rest and takes in extra fluids, both of which are impossible if that person is on-the-job as a student or an employee?  If that sick person does come to work or school, it is a sure thing that he or she is not performing up to his or her full potential.  Oh, and, if that sick person has something that is contagious like a cold, isn’t it a certainty that he or she is spreading those germs all around, which could potentially result in a greater loss of productivity when others in the office or school catch the illness??

One of my kids did a science fair project once to determine which public place was the most germ-infested.  Samples from ten different locations around our town were put into petri dishes.  The one that grew the most grossness was the sample from the front door of City Hall.  I’ll leave that discussion for another time.  Second place went to the front door of the school building.  Yep, people are getting sick at school as often as they coming to school sick.

I don’t think that colleges care if kids have Perfect Attendance Awards listed on their high school resumes, and I doubt prospective employers do, either.  If I were in charge of hiring someone for a job, I would NOT hire someone who had a record of never missing work.  From my perspective, Perfect Attendance implies a person has almost undoubtably come to school or work sick and carelessly spread their germs around at some point.  I’m not advocating playing hooky or skipping school or being a slacker when there’s no legitimate reason; I just think it’s better to take a sick day when one is, well, sick!

Some of the funding for schools is based on the average number of students who are present at school each day, a figure that they call the Average Daily Attendance.  So school administrators are highly motivated to do their best to highly motivate their students to show up every day.  I think schools are, in general, also focused on the fact that kids who miss a lot of school aren’t likely to be learning as much as they could be.  That said, though, I think it’s a bad idea to have a Perfect Attendance Award that is so enticing that the consequences of coming to school sick outweigh the benefits of staying home to recover.  School employees typically get one sick-day off per month; why do kids, in cases like my children’s school, only get a few day off per year, or – worse – none if they want whatever Perfect Attendance carrot that is being dangled in front of them??

And don’t get me started on the value of mental health days.  What about an employee who takes a day off to go on a field trip with their child or to attend an awards program at their child’s school?  I think that’s commendable, much more so than it would be if that person missed the chance to be present for such an event. (Wouldn’t it be ironic if the employee missed work to go to see their child get a Perfect Attendance Award at school?)

Something I’ve learned since my dad got sick is that time is a finite resource and making time to be present in the lives of your loved ones should trump everything else – money, recognition, and awards for Perfect Attendance.  When I think about missing out on taking care of a loved one in their time of need (including oneself) just to avoid not missing work, Perfect Attendance seems anything BUT perfect.  I missed work whenever I felt I needed to be there with my dad while he was sick, and sometimes even when I wasn’t really needed but I just wanted to be with him.  From my perspective, there is so much more of a risk from not missing work or school in cases like that, and, I’m sure, Regret from something like that is a tough pill to swallow.

After my dad went on ahead on the Wednesday after the Christmas Break, my kids missed the next two days of school.  If ever there was a good reason for them to take a sick day, that was it.  We were all heartsick and heartbroken, but we were together, and that was the only thing that helped any of us at all.   After the memorial service, we packed up and headed back home on that Sunday, feeling obligated to get back to school and work on that Monday.  I wasn’t sure any of us would be able to wake up that next morning and go about our lives like things were normal.  And, thankfully, we didn’t have to.  I like to think that Dad had some pull Upstairs because we ended up getting the next two days out of school for snow, and so we had two extra days to grieve as a family unit, still not nearly enough but, as Dad would say, “Better than nothing!”

In China, health officials use a thermometer that looks like a gun to take people’s temperatures to limit the spread of germs for things like the Swine Flu.  I’m only half-kidding when I say maybe we need something like that to check people for fevers when they are coming into the school building or employees in a large company as they get to work.

I’m honestly not sure what the solution is for keeping kids or employees from not missing school or work when they aren’t sick or keeping the ones who are sick from coming, but I do know what is currently being done is not a good idea.  The fact that we obviously can’t rely solely on human decency and honesty and internal motivation makes me sick.