A  D A Y  F U L L - F I L L E D 

 The Tragicomic Musings of a DD Teacher 

(Originally written in 2018)

(DD is an acronym for Developmentally Delayed, an umbrella term encompassing a variety of disabilities, such as Autism, Down Syndrome and Learning Disabled. Most of my students are non-verbal, or limited in their ability to communicate verbally. Most DD classes are 6 - 8 students, with additional support.) 

    Our day formally begins around 8:30, which is, however, long after the questions have begun… What kind of a day are we in for? What unexpected adventures await? What sorts of on-bus calamities have occurred even before the students have arrived? 

    The answers come soon enough as two of The Three Stooges, Jayden and Tristan, arrive on scene from their bus. Jayden, a slight child whose stature defies his power, is a fireball of a boy who changed my teaching life dramatically a little more than a year ago. He arrived as a transfer from another class, having inflicted a concussion upon his teacher at the time. Nothing has been the same since Jayden arrived. Tristan, on the other hand, is a relatively mature boy with a good heart. He greets familiar staff with an over-enthusiastic hug, and asks me, more frequently than necessary, how I’m doing. Given time, he could be a good leader, but for now, he’s a follower. 

    And so, with the best of intentions, we welcome each other with a formal handshake, and appropriate greetings. If I’m late in my arrival outside the classroom, these two seek me out in order to begin our day. Routines. 

    Slapstick comedy quickly ensues as the opening act warms up. It begins with a relatively harmless stepping on a toe, but soon ramps up to a whirlwind of loudly dramatized “Owwww!” vocalizations, accompanied by a theatrical hopping on one foot. Attempts to quell the ensuing nonsense fall on deaf ears. 

    The next step, removing outerwear and unpacking, generally proceeds without incident. Generally. But if Jayden isn’t in a good frame of mind, then the first issue of the day arises. He may simply lie on the floor with coat, scarf and backpack in place. Or, he may attempt to climb the storage shelves, eventually reaching unsafe heights, and defiantly opposing any sort of calming or removal measures. 

    This would be the first of the day’s “Choose your Battles” moments. And this was a lesson I learned the hard way some time ago, challenging Jayden, and ending up requiring a tetanus shot from an aggressive bite to my forearm. Yes, he bit me. Kicking, hitting, scratching and spitting can also be part of his defensive arsenal. He’s also rather clever, as he has, over the course of more than a year, developed and executed a Master Plan. Details to come. 

    With these two settled, sort of, I anticipate the next entrance. At this point, my assistants are awaiting the remaining bus arrivals. In the meantime Jayden begins the daily and often-repeated question: “Where Fadhil? On the bus?”. Again, and again. 

    Next on the scene is the aforementioned Fadhil, the undisputed star of the show, and the third Stooge. He’s a child with Down syndrome whose heart is larger than his girth, which is quite substantial. This is when Jayden comes to full life, with big warm hugs for his best friend, accompanied by cries of “Okay? Okay?”. “Yes, Jayden”, I reassure him, more than once, “Fadhil is okay”. 

    Though Fadhil is technically non-verbal, he’s an effective communicator, and it isn’t long before one readily understands his vocalizations, although there are times when he launches into a lengthy monologue, and I long for subtitles. Jayden then proceeds to become Fadhil’s personal valet, removing his outerwear and unpacking his bag, all the while accompanying his task with hugs, kisses and ”Okay? Okay?” This includes, like half of my students, the release from a heavy canvas harness, which is zipped up the back. It’s a constricting device, hooked (mostly) securely into a bus seat, and meant to deter any unnecessary or unsafe movement while in transit.     

   

    Following this established arrival routine is yet another daily ritual, which I refer to as Show and Smell. This is when, with great aplomb, Fadhil opens his lunch bag, and then his thermos, to reveal The Lunch of the Day. Despite the fact that his lunch consists of either chicken nuggets or chicken and rice, every single day, Fadhil takes an inordinate amount of pleasure in sharing the contents of his thermos with all present, which of course requires leaning in and smelling the celebrated meal. And it’s then that he awaits a suitably enthusiastic response. 

    Next on the scene is Mahado, a girl with nonverbal autistism who indeed, like each of the students, has her own unique personality. Her mission, upon arrival, is to seek out her favourite toys, which are usually big and plastic. The day we first met, a little more than a year ago, she arrived with a plastic toy chainsaw. 

    It is usually an effort to get her to remove her coat, and unpack her bag, diverting her intentions of seeking her toy of the day. And we’ve discovered, over time, that the removal of said toy will usually and suddenly result in loud guttural sounds, sometimes biting her hand, or hitting herself in the chest or head with considerable force. And this show of strength and aggression is on occasion directed toward myself, or my assistants. Choose your battles. 

    Soon after Mahado has found her place, though not necessarily a fixed point, Batool arrives, a deceptively diminutive girl who walks with an uncertain swagger. A random gesture stands for a greeting as she is aided in getting ready for the day by Camille, one of my assistants, who fortunately has a fine gift for managing Batool and her impulses, among other things. 

    Our next item on the agenda is washroom visits for Fadhil and Batool, these days a relatively uneventful affair, though not without a degree of coaxing to counteract some stubbornness. There was a time, however, when this seemingly simple step in the day was fraught with a great many obstacles, part olfactory and part physical, and repeated throughout the day. Oh my, how far we’ve come. 

    The next act is Circle Time, where, grouped on the carpet in a variety of chairs, we look at the calendar, the weather, and a series of engaging learning music videos, finally finishing off with the Story of the Week. Circle Time is often akin to a game of Wac-a-Mole, where after one child pops up and is (sometimes forcefully) seated, another pops up in their place. Up, down, up, down. 

    It’s about this time that the last player arrives. Ruweyda is, oddly, bilingually non-verbal. She has echolalia, characterized by repeating phrases, sentences and sound effects she has heard, and memorized. Ruweyda’s source material is popular media, particularly Dora the Explorer, (hence the bilingual reference), and The Cat in the Hat, among a variety of other things. She’s very good at it, and with a little imagination, one could be watching TV. Ruweyda is classified as a “runner”, as at any available opportunity, she will run, and she’s fast. Despite a mostly blocked doorway, she has escaped on a number of occasions, causing myself or one of my assistants to break into an immediate and full sprint in pursuit of this athletic child. Thus in transitions, she’s held fast with a firm grip on her forearm. Gym time, however, creates unforeseen challenges, with too many exits available. The occasion that she actually left the building will remain undescribed. 

    And so Circle Time resumes. Over time, most of the group has come to take a lead role in each of the various songs or activities. Fadhil is in full command of Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes, whereby one cannot rise to participate until he has given the necessary vocalizations and gestures. And Jayden is our weatherman, enthusiastically responding Yesss! Or Noooo! to the weather questions in the song with leaps and shouts. Ruweyda is our Rock and Roller, dancing with considerable style to a high energy counting song, all the while watching herself in the reflection of a window. And Tristan is our enthusiastic dancing potato, using his lanky limbs to move to the One Potato, Two Potato song, shaking his hips wildly between upward leaps. Meanwhile, one of our minor players, Batool, is content to remove and throw her shoes, and then her socks at anyone or anything nearby. And Mahado, who moves to the beat of a different drummer, will spontaneously rise from her chair and whirl about, sometimes seemingly speaking in tongues, or, she’ll stare longingly into the eyes of Tristan, who is mostly oblivious to her attention. 

    Snack time is the next act, a relatively calm experience with the group seated around a large table. Calm, at least, until Mahado or Ruweyda, or both, decide that the snack in front of another is better than their own. This is when the lunge occurs, a lightning fast movement to reach across the table to pilfer a cookie, or juice box, or goldfish cracker, or… And when that’s just not enough, Mahado has been known to reach into the garbage can to retrieve someone’s leftovers. 

    When snack time is done, the students move to their independent work areas to complete three literacy activities, from lettering to puzzles to small motor tasks. I use the term independent loosely, as most of the group requires constant supervision and guidance. The ones who stray from the script are Jayden (no surprise there) who pops, as though spring-loaded, from his seat to share his efforts every few minutes with Fadhil. The real purpose of Jayden’s frequent trips to Fadhil’s desk is mainly to poke him, or step on his toe. This is the latest phase of Jayden’s Master Plan, one that began about a year ago. With frustrating frequency, Jayden would step on the toes of Fadhil and Tristan in order to get a reaction. This, over the ensuing months, underwent a very subtle shift to where Jayden now simply extends his foot ever so slightly, causing the other two boys to take the bait and step on his toe, thereby making Jayden no longer the bad guy. The Master Plan revealed. 

    Fortunately, Sydney, my other assistant, is The Heavy, an imposing figure whose primary task, though one of many, is to manage Jayden, a task that he performs most effectively. 

    The other rogue performer is Batool, who takes great pleasure in launching puzzle pieces, activity sheets, or anything else at hand, from her desktop when she’s grown tired of the current activity. Luckily she’s willing to take part in the gathering of these objects. Meanwhile, Ruweyda will continue to fill the “quiet” with her animated chatter from whatever show or iPad source she has recently watched. When their tasks are complete, or as close as they can get, the students find a free choice activity such as Lego, play dough or a jigsaw puzzle, an area where my students are increasingly adept, particularly Fadhil, who through patience and persistence, has become a puzzle master. This is despite the fact that Ruweyda has bitten off many of the tabs from the pieces. She enjoys putting various things into her mouth and bites, chews, and occasionally swallows them. Like the marble that went down her throat a few months ago, thankfully a relatively innocuous object, considering it’s a small glass sphere. That is, once it’s gone down. This was not a pleasant experience for her, or us. And we were never informed by her mother of its exit, if in fact it did so. 

    Soon, it’s lunchtime and the table antics continue. Ruweyda and Mahado in search of better options, Jayden eating anything and everything all at once, all the while cajoling Fadhil, and Mahado eating her lunch, in whatever form, with her fingers, occasionally squeezing her juice box into her noodles or rice to make a sort of sweet soup. Meanwhile, Fadhil is carefully and methodically eating one of his two lunch options, and Tristan is (usually) carefully guarding his lunch from the predators, who will sometimes circle the table like birds of prey. As this is all going on, Batool is being fed her lunch through a G-Tube, or gastric tube, by a public health nurse who comes to our room each mid-day, as she experiences difficulty swallowing solids. Unlike Ruweyda, who has no difficulty, whatsoever. 

    The remaining time for the lunch break is occupied in various ways. The boys love, and live for their iPad time, lounging in all manner of body positions, at times across and intermixed with each other throughout the room, usually peacefully. Any guilt over electronic pacifiers ebbs quickly away in consideration of the alternative. Let sleeping dogs lie. 

    When not attempting an escape, Ruweyda entertains herself with jigsaw puzzles or creative iPad camera performances, often utilizing split screen options. The number of selfies on her iPad, many quite innovative, almost had me consider opening an Instagram account for her. 

    Meanwhile, Mahado is engaged with various sensory bins, usually coloured rice or pasta, which she manipulates with great interest, usually leaving remnants scattered about the floor. Her alternate choice is a video of The Wiggles, a cheesy but popular children’s band, which she is able to watch repeatedly, and repeatedly. Finally, Batool, when her feeding is done, continues in her path of destruction, stalking the room seeking things to scatter about the floor. 

    Though lunch break is often peaceful, allowing us time to breathe and occasionally get some work done, it also requires some degree of helicopter teaching, hovering and awaiting potential difficulties, occasionally resolving disagreements, and in particular attempting to avert Ruweyda’s escape attempts, and the launching of Batool’s various projectiles. 

    When this period of relative calm draws to a close, the students are taken to Gym, Music or Library by different teachers, and I go off to my other job, that is Art teacher to grade seven and eight students. Now that’s a contrast. 

    The remainder of the afternoon unfolds much like the morning. Snack time; a virtual sequel to the morning’s snack and all it entails, followed by work time; focussing on number-related tasks, and all it entails. The difference, however, is the frequent approach of The Witching Hour, that time, as any parent knows, when things go south. Jayden takes the lead role in this performance, beginning with frustration with his tasks and increasing misbehaviour, which on a good day involves only pestering the other boys excessively, and occasionally yelling or swearing. On not so good days, however, physical restraint for Jayden may be called for, and ultimately removal from the classroom. Enter Sydney, our saviour. Applying physical restraint to Jayden is a considerable challenge, despite significant differences in size and weight. Even at rest, his body positions match that of a contortionist. So for me at least, it is with appreciable strength and speed, along with elevated heart rate and temper that he comes under some sort of physical control. 

    But, oh, we’ve come so far in a year and a half. 

    The final act of the day involves getting six active children dressed and ready to get on their buses, and go home. This is generally a series of steps that are coordinated by Sydney, and supported by a Tristan and Fadhil, our helpers. Difficulties arise when Jayden clearly doesn’t want to cooperate, or Ruweyda wants to wear someone else’s backpack, or Mahado is upset, for whatever reason, or Batool is sending things flying. However the most challenging task is to defy the laws of physics when attempting to do up Fadhil’s zipper on his winter coat, and harness. He’s a big boy, but fortunately passive during the process. This final task often requires support from an able assistant. Many hands make light work. Our finishing touch is The Goodbye Song, a catchy video song that gets all, or most, of the kids ready for their departure. Rituals and routines, again. This is Fadhil’s swan song, his final performance as he vocalizes, with great gusto, key refrains. Finally, as the curtain is about to close, it’s bus time, and our entourage makes its way down the hall to the front door, usually, though not always, without incident or drama. When that special moment arrives, when each child is securely seated on their bus, a deep and collective sigh can be heard. Then it’s back to the classroom to set the stage for the next day’s performances.