Inclusive Education: Why It Matters, and Why We Don't Always Choose It.

Countless research exists on why inclusion is important.  A lot of what I learned about inclusion accompanied my degree in education, and my experience in the classroom.  Inclusive education is powerful, plain and simple.  And yet, it isn’t always the best option for every student 100% of the time.

Our plan was for Marshall to be in an inclusive public school environment from day one.  When he was diagnosed with autism a few days before his third birthday, the action steps given to us included contacting the school system to request an evaluation for a potential IEP (Individualized Education Program), and finding a preschool environment for him.  One of our options was the preschool provided by our public school system, which is an inclusive environment with 50% students on IEPs and 50% peer models, who do not require IEPs.  I assumed that this would be our best choice, as a public school teacher myself, and a firm believer in inclusion.  However, I am also a firm believer in having all the facts before making a big decision, so I asked what our other options were.  There was another option that would not be an inclusive environment – it was actually a preschool program for only students diagnosed with autism.  The class sizes were capped at 6, and there were always at least two adults in the room.  As an educator, the idea of Marshall going to school without any peer models sounded unacceptable.  As a mom, the student to adult ratio of 6 students per class and built in aquatic therapy intrigued me. 

Before we left the developmental pediatrician’s office the day Marshall was diagnosed, I asked the nurse what she would do if it were her child. Without batting an eye, she said she would choose the non-inclusive program.  The program was actually right next door to the developmental pediatrician’s office, and had been developed based on a need the doctor felt existed to prepare students on the spectrum for an inclusive kindergarten setting. 

When we got home, I told Wes that I planned to observe both environments firsthand.  My mind was already made up that Marshall would go to the inclusive public preschool-- I just needed to rule out the non-inclusive environment.  

The day I visited that school “just to rule it out,” I left Marshall with a babysitter and wheeled little 5-week-old baby Joey into the classroom in the stroller.  I camped out in the corner and watched the students come in quietly, unpack their own backpacks, and check a visual schedule.  They sat down at a table, played with the toys on the table appropriately, and had a conversation about what they were doing.  I’m pretty sure my jaw hit the floor at that point, and it may have rested there for the remainder of my observation.  I remember thinking, are these boys even on the spectrum?! Marshall is so far from unpacking a backpack and having these kinds of conversations! 

Still, my skepticism was stronger than my appreciation of what I observed in those first few minutes.  A third student entered, and he was very upset.  He was crying, screaming, kicking bookcases.  That’s what I expected to see, to be honest.  That’s what I wanted to protect my sweet little Marshall from.  And yet, I watched as one of the teachers calmly greeted the student, gave the expectation that he sit quietly, and shared that he could have his breakfast once he calmed down.  (He had walked in with a bag of Cheerios.)  She walked away and gave him some space, and he continued to kick, scream and cry.  I wondered what she would do next. 

A few minutes later, she came back, repeated the direction with fewer words, and provided a visual that showed a person being quiet.  She pointed to it, and pointed to his breakfast, then walked away again.  Would you believe that that sweet little boy sat down quietly? Never in a thousand years did I expect him to.  But he did.  She praised him, handed him his breakfast, and he happily ate it.  And do you know what?  I watched that little boy have the best day following that initial incident.  He followed directions, smiled, participated, and worked hard. 

I was sold.  This was what my Marshall needed.  If I wanted him to be in a general education classroom with his peers someday, this was our best starting point.  I came home like a kid who just visited their favorite team’s batting practice—I must have talked a mile a minute about all of the wonderful things I saw and how much it would benefit Marshall.  Wes, wonderful man that he is, smiled and nodded and agreed to do whatever I thought would be best.  Over the next few weeks as my maternity leave wrapped up, we had meetings and evaluations, developed Marshall’s IEP, lined up a driver to take him to school each day and transport him to the sitter afterwards, and managed to get him started just two days before I went back to work. 

For us, the choice for Marshall’s education has to be fluid and based on present circumstances.  Really, I would argue the same is true for any child—as parents, we make the best choices we have in our current situation and leave the future problems in the future where they belong.  We knew that Marshall would get structured time with his peers with our amazing babysitter, Di, and would spend the other half of the day getting very direct intervention from professionals.  It was our best choice for that first year and a half, and I have zero regrets.

While school is an important choice in regards to inclusion, there are so many other opportunities for inclusion outside of school.  With both Wes and I working full time, our kids have had to be away from us for 40 hours a week, and that choice, in my opinion, has had far bigger implications than even the preschool setting we choose for them.  The sitter our boys have attended for the last few years is a legend in our region—she has been watching kids for nearly as long as I’ve been alive.  I’ve watched countless faces light up when they hear that our boys go to Di’s house—I’ve met many who know from experience just how wonderful she is.  Di is kind, patient, and gentle, and yet she provides structure and boundaries.  At Di’s house, Marshall (and Joey) sang songs, made crafts, played in sensory bins, fed chickens, visited cows, and got plenty of fresh air.  Di was wonderful with Marshall from the very first day—she adapted art projects when he didn’t want to touch the paint or a wet sponge (she used a clothes pin so he could hold the sponge without touching it!) and allowed him to watch music time activities until he was ready to join.  Di “gets it,” and will forever be part of our village.  At Di’s house, Marshall had plenty of exposure to peers in a structured social setting, so we knew that he wasn’t going to completely miss out on that inclusive factor.

As with any beautiful educational scenario, there came a time when I knew that Marshall’s preschool setting was no longer the best fit for him—he had made lots of growth and had gained many skills, and was ready to be in a class with his peers. Wes and I had learned lots of ABA techniques from his teachers and therapists, and felt more confident in how to instruct Marshall in his day-to-day life.  We researched local school districts, visited a preschool in a neighboring district, and the rest is history.  We moved our family a few minutes up the road, enrolled Marshall in public preschool, and he has truly taken off. 

While I’m a firm believer in the beauty of his current inclusive setting and his phenomenal teacher and therapists, I also believe wholeheartedly that his days outside of an inclusive classroom built the foundation for his success.  We are so thankful for Marshall’s educational journey to this point, and are content to watch it unfold one year, or sometimes one month, at a time.  It’s really easy to get caught up in the long, winding road of wondering “what if,” but I can tell you from just a few years of our journey that it’s all irrelevant.  We never planned for Marshall to be in a non-inclusive environment, never planned to move mid-school year and transfer schools in late February, never planned for me to be home this year to teach him self-help skills, and truly never thought Marshall would go to elementary school without at least access to a paraprofessional—but all of those have become part of our journey over the last two and a half years.  In parenting, and life, we really can’t see around the next bend, no matter how far we crane our necks or squint our eyes.  We just have to take the next right step in front of us.

When choosing the best educational environment for our kids, with or without special needs, I truly believe the setting has to be one we can walk away from peacefully.  I also believe that the educational choices we make for our children start at birth—if you work, who does your child spend their days with?  Their worlds are being molded and shaped by the people who speak to them, challenge them, teach them boundaries, read them stories, and show them the world.  We have been so blessed for both of our boys to have great educations thus far— they’ve been safe, cared for, and instructed with respect, right from the very start.  To those of you reading this that have cared for our children: thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, for being part of their village and part of their educational upbringing.  We are so thankful for each kind, careful explanation, each enthusiastic reinforcement, each gentle correction. 

While long-term goal setting has a time and place, we are short-sighted in these younger years with our kids, specifically with Marshall.  There are just too many factors in development and life to make sweeping declarations about what we will or will not do for our children and their education.  In my limited experience, inclusion and separation are both powerful tools in the right timing— and we all have to make the best decisions we can for our kids, one step at a time. Neither parenting nor education are a one-size-fits-all endeavor— I’m so thankful we’ve been blessed with the right fit each step of the way.