Unfair- Chapter 5: My One Hundred Thirty-Seventh I.E.P. Meeting (Patreon)
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Chapter 5: My One Hundred Thirty-Seventh I.E.P. Meeting.
âIs everyone here?â
âI think so.â
âThen letâs begin with proper introductions.â
âHello Iâm Tamara Bankhead, and Iâm the Resource Compliance Specialist.â
âHi, Iâm Chandra Skinner: Speech and Language Pathologist.â
âHello, Iâm Maxine Winters: Physical Therapist.â
âHello, Iâm Jasmine Sosa: Occupational Therapist.â
âAnd Iâm Clark Gibson: Pre-Kindergarten Teacher.â
There was a friendly smile, followed by a nervous chuckle. âIâm Winnie Roberts. Iâm the Mom.â
Yet another ritual. Another routine in what was my regular existence: The I.E.P. meeting. I.E.P. was shorthand for Individualized Education Plan. Contrary to popular belief, schooling isnât always the same knowledge conveyor belt, pumping kids full of information and then passing them on to the next grade level.
To prevent them from falling through the cracks and to get them needed services and therapies, some students had I.E.Pâs. All of mine did. In order to even get into Pre-K at Oakshire Elementary, a student had to have an I.E.P. This wasnât terribly hard to do in Oakshire, if Iâm being honest. The school got more tax dollars per student with an I.E.P. so they were incentivised to load up my classroom as much as possible.
People like Brollish were doubly incentivised. A crack under the pressure, a misfiled paper or something improperly filled out would have been all the excuse a clerically minded Amazon might need to dismiss me and âarrange a transferâ. All of Beoufâs caseload had I.E.Pâs., too.
The first time I was in an I.E.P. I was a wreck. Buzzwords like âfederal documentationâ and âdata based conclusionsâ got thrown around all willy nilly. My peers gathered around the conference table would be all but sweating bullets sometimes, making sure to have all of their notes perfectly in order, their lines perfectly rehearsed.
Teaching is a weird job. Youâre expected to be educated and infinitely more informed on educational practices than a layperson, but also do service with a smile while keeping in mind that the parent is always right. The technical expertise of a doctor with the social constraints of a nurse.
âWe are gathered here today,â Bankhead all but read from a pre-approved script, âto discuss Jadenâs progress in meeting his yearly goals.â Bankhead was a Resource Compliance Specialist: Essentially, a glorified secretary whose sole job was to keep minutes for and run these types of meetings, as well as make sure everyone else had their paperwork properly filled out. It was a thankless job, but she made more money than me, so she didnât need thanks. âFor this Annual Review-â.
I tuned out for a second and suppressed a smirk. Annual Review was such a bullshit term. Far too often, bureaucracy demanded multiple âAnnual Reviewsâ for the same kid. An annual review would happen for a kid in the early Fall, to âget it out of the wayâ. Then the same kid would get ANOTHER annual review close to Summer so meetings didnât âpile up with all the new kids come Fallâ. Did people not know what âAnnualâ meant?
It was an equal inconvenience to everyone, so I canât even say âTypical Amazonsâ here.
Mrs. Bankhead looked to the Speech Therapist. âMiss Skinner,â she said. âHow about you go first and review Jadenâs progress towards annunciation and vocabulary acquisition?â Translation: How good was a four year old at learning new words and how was he when it came to learning new ones.
âYou see, Mom,â Miss Skinner started, âbased on the results of Jadenâs latest Language Development Survey, or L.D.S. for short-â. I tuned out again. My first I.E.P. meeting I was a nervous wreck. This was my one hundred thirty-seventh such meeting.
It probably wasnât, in actuality. I didnât keep track of how many of these boring meetings Iâd attended in my life, and that kind of normality, that lack of importance, was a good thing. I could do these in my sleep now. Yes, an I.E.P. was a Federally accountable document, but it really was just a kind of promise: A promise to pay attention to a kid, to keep track of where theyâre at, to not give up on them, and to change up strategies if the current one wasnât working. Itâs literally what any teacher that hadnât completely given up on their career would do anyways.
The rundown of Jadenâs speech ended and the narrative was passed to the Occupational Therapist. âJaden is now using a tripod grasp to when delineatingâŠâ Standing on the chair so that I could lean on the conference table, clenched my jaw and bit my tongue.
Trace! Donât say delineate! Just say âtraceâ! For all the fancy buzzwords that my colleagues were throwing around, they might as well be saying âBounce the graviton particle beam off the main deflector dishâ. All of these people were so nervous around an average working mother. They were all so eager to prove how much they knew and what experts they were in their field. But if Mrs. Roberts didnât like something, theyâd be pressured to the point of obligation to go along with her opinion.
From her own seat across from me, I could see Mrs. Robertsâs eyes started to glaze over as she smiled and nodded. She had almost no idea about what these experts were talking about, but didnât want to admit what she didnât know. All of these people were talking, but none of them were really communicating with each other.
Everyone was so afraid to slip up and look stupid in front of each other for fear of personal embarrassment or how it might come back to bite them. One of the things I liked about having a goatee was that it let me smile, ever so slightly, without giving myself away. Socially and psychologically speaking, meetings like these might be the closest thing that any of these Amazon women experienced to being a Little.
Bankhead broke me out of my revery. âMr. Gibson? Youâre up.â
I could have rattled off a string of fancy technical terms. Done the whole alphabet soup of educational buzzwords. âYour child is making A.Y.P on his I.E.P. in accordance with I.D.E.A., N.C.L.B., and R.T.T.T. Now if you look at this data chart based on the latest developmental diagnostic surveyâŠââ
I didnât.
I smiled and stood up in the chair a bit taller. âOkie dokie,â I said. âSo about Jaden, Mrs. Roberts-â
âYou can call me âMomâ,â she interrupted. âEveryone else has. Itâs alright.â I never, ever called an Amazon âMomâ. Didnât want them getting any ideas.
I slid a folder across the table. âJadenâs doing fine,â I said. âHereâs some samples of his school work. He knows his letters, colors, basic shapes, numbers, and animal sounds. Heâs even learned some sight words and weâre working on basic arithmetic using hands on manipulatives.â I suppose
In truth, Jaden probably didnât need an I.E.P. In ten years, maybe five percent of my students had. Technically, my students were all âDevelopmentally Delayedâ, a catchall term meaning that three and four year olds werenât acting âdevelopedâ enough for their parents, but it was still too early to label them with any particular learning disability. Chances are theyâd grow out of it, but it was my job to nip it in the bud, so to speak.
Thatâs what it meant for my class, at least. They somehow werenât living up to Amazonian standards, as ridiculous as they were. Most of my students just needed time, a tiny bit of attention, stimulation, and adults willing to push back on certain undesirable behaviors. Iâd had more than one parent all but admit that they pulled strings because public pre-school was less expensive than daycare. âI think heâs got a good head start for Kindergarten, next year,â I said. âI think heâll outgrow his D.D. label very soon.â
âHeâs even starting to use the potty at home!â Mrs. Roberts chimed in. Her eyes unclouded now that she finally felt like she was able to contribute to the conversation regarding her child.
âOh yeah,â I agreed. âNot counting nap time, heâs very consistent.â I felt, more than heard my colleagueâs hold their breath. I was a Little telling an Amazon that her son wasnât quite potty trained yet. âHeâs four,â I said. âHeâll grow out of it. That and thereâs no nap time in Kindergarten.â
Mrs. Roberts was all smiles. âI know, right? What is up with that, anyways? No naps in Kindergarten?â I gave my best what-can-you-do shrug and smirk and felt the tension leave the air. âThank you so much for that, Mr. Gibson!â
âYouâre quite welcome.â Mrs. Roberts was what I called a second-year-parent. The majority of my students came to me when they were three and left when they were just about to turn five. Two years.
Most of their parents had never seen a Little in a position of authority. If I had a dollar for everytime Iâd heard a crack about âbabies teaching babiesâ, Iâd make more money than the Superintendent.
Iâve had parents whoâve openly talked about putting me in a playpen, or taking me over their knee, or offered to let me sit in their lap, or asked where the ârealâ Pre-K teacher was. I âd be halfway to retirement if I got a bonus for that. That was my first year with any given parent. For some reason they just couldnât wrap their head around the idea that their childâs very first teacher was a Little.
By Fall of their childâs first year, I was an incompetent who was going irrevocably damage their precious boy or girl. By mid to late Spring of their second year, I was a miracle worker whoâd whipped their kid into shape. First they couldnât stand me, then they didnât want to leave me.
âIâm gonna miss Jaden being in your room, Mr. Gibson.â Mrs. Roberts gushed. âI know I shouldnât be, but Iâm nervous about Kindergarten.â
I smiled. All reassurance. âDonât be. Jadenâs grown up a lot, and heâll do a lot more. Just wait and see.â
âI still canât get over it,â she went on. âWhen he didnât potty train at two, I thought he was...wasâŠlike a...like...a....â She stopped. Clearly, she didnât like where this train of thought was going and who it might offend. At least she was cognizant enough to watch what she was saying in front of me. Progress.
âNot every kid potty trains at two. Theyâre called late bloomers because they do still, in fact bloom.â
Mrs. Roberts leaned over the table a bit. Much more at ease. âStill, I gotta know, for future reference..howâd you do it? Whatâs your secret?â
My secret? I made the kid change himself. Peeing and pooping yourself isnât nearly as fun when youâre the one who has to clean it up. Especially if youâre made to do so and youâre missing play time. âIf I told you that, I might put myself out of a job.â
That got a laugh from just about everyone assembled. âMr. Gibson is really good at motivating his students,â Miss Winters, the physical therapist said. She was only at this meeting to officially dismiss Jaden from P.T. Kid didnât need any help with his gross motor skills at all. âHe really makes a connection with them.â Everyone nodded in agreement.
âMr. Gibson is very good at getting into the mindset of his children,â Mrs. Bankhead said, not even looking up from her laptop as she typed away at the meetingâs minutes.
Miss Sosa nodded. âHe is very empathetic. Weâre lucky to have him.â
From there, the meeting went back to auto-pilot. Academic goals were presented and read.
âBy the review date, Jaden will recognize and read thirty Dolch Sight words.â
âJaden will add and subtract using manipulatives with sums and minuends up to twentyâ
âJaden will write his first and last name correctly with legible handwriting.â
And so on and so forth. Fairly advanced stuff for a kid who hadnât gotten into Kindergarten just yet, but a kidâs need for an I.E.P. would only be re-evaluated every three years, so I made the goals to.
âTo be clear,â I said, âthese arenât the ONLY things that weâll be working on. These are just the goals that Iâll be collecting data for.â
âOf course, Mr. Gibson.â Mrs. Roberts reached out and shook my hand. Another satisfied customer.
After that, minutes were read, papers were signed and I was able to walk out of the meeting room and make a bee-line for my personal sanctuary.
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Tracy was laughing when she opened the classroom door for me. Not polite laughing, fake laughing, either. Full on belly laugh cackling. âHey, Boss!â she said. âHow was the meeting?â
Most of the kids were busy doing coloring worksheets. Social Studies. People in our community. Basic fun stuff. No sense in having Tracy run herself ragged in my absence, but somebody had to watch the kids. âSecond year, parent,â I said. âSo it went well.â
âWhat does âsecond year parentâ mean?â I heard. I looked past Tracy. Sitting at my kidney table, playing a match game with a couple of my students was a dark haired Amazon woman. Not a stranger. Not exactly what Iâd call an acquaintance, either.
Tracy gestured to the intruder, not a hint of weariness in her tone. âAdministration sent Ms. Grange over to help while you were at your meeting.â Janet Grange. Third Grade Teacher.
Time to go into action, and graciously get this stranger out of my room. I went over to my kidney table. âThank you so much, Ms. Grange for taking the time to assist my students.â
âMrs. Grange, actually,â the Amazon said. She didnât sound particularly snooty about it. Most Amazons insisted that the shorter folks get their titles precisely correct. âAnd donât worry about it, Mr. Gibson. My kids are out at P.E. so I had some extra time. This was fun. Tracy and I were just telling jokes about our husbands.â
Tracy? Joking about her husband? She never talked about her home life. Sometimes I legitimately forgot she was married until she started talking about Aaron...or was it Eric? I could never remember. âOh reallyâŠâ
âTell him what you told me!â Tracy said, giggling just at the thought. This was weird. Tracy only ever let her guard down this much around Beouf. And weâd known Beouf for years.
Mrs. Grange smiled. It was thin. Polite. Maybe slightly embarrassed? âNah,â she said. âThe momentâs passed. Not really a joke. You kind of had to be here for it.â
I did my best to give a comically exasperated sigh and shake my head smiling. âThank you again.â I said, wishing sheâd take the hint.
âBefore I go,â Grange said, holding up a piece of paper scribbled with my handwriting. âCan I ask you about this?â
Internally I froze. Iâd been bored and working on math problems the other day at my desk. Nothing major. Just sometimes counting to a hundred and stopping there got boring. âOh that?â I said. âWas just trying to think of a different way to teach greatest common factors.â If I couldnât have been a Pre-K teacher, I would have wanted to be a Math teacher. Other way around, if Iâm being honest.
âBut why use a factor tree?â Grange asked.
âBecause if I reach prime factorization of two numbers, I can re-multiply all the prime factors that they have in common to make the greatest common factor. That way I donât accidentally miss something and I donât have to go through listing each and every variation.â
Grange pouted her lip out. âHuhâŠâ she said. âI wouldnât have thought about it like that. I would have just listed all the factors, individually.â
Again, she wasnât being critical, but typical me was nervous that this was some kind of trap. âYes, but if your third graders donât have their fact families completely memorized, they could overlook something and identify a common factor instead of the greatest common factor.â
âI know,â she said. âIâve got stragglers in my class who think that the GCF for every even number is two. This is safer. Makes them think it through instead of just plain memorization. I like it.â
I smiled; I had to show appropriate gratitude. âYou can steal it if youâd like.â Please please please! Just get out of my room so that I can let my guard down! Thank goodness she couldnât read my thoughts.
âI donât knowâŠâ she clicked her tongue. She put down the paper and stood up, really towering over me. I swallowed, feeling my throat go dry. âI donât think I could explain it the right way. Think you could drop by my room in a day or two and teach it to my kids?â
This was a trap. It had to be a trap. There was no other explanation. âIâm not sure I have the time. My students donât have the same schedule as the older kids.â
âYou could go during nap time,â Tracy offered. âThat should be fine.â I shot her a look. Why was she not reading me?! TAKE THE HINT!
Grange looked past me and to my Tweener assistant. âWhenâs their nap time?â
âJust after Noon.â Murder. I was going to murder Tracy. Thatâs what Iâd have to doâŠ
The intruder nodded. âOkay. So Iâll rearrange my Math block for just after Noon this Friday. Howâs that sound, Mr. Gibson?â
I smiled. Big, toothy and fake. âGreat,â I said. âJust great.â