Learning in the mainstream: a parent's perspective on what children of different abilities teach each other

Children Today, March-April, 1991 by Barbara Myers

The literature is full of evidence that children with disabilities reap academic and social benefits from learning in the "regular" classroom at school. As a developmental psychologist, I teach the value of mainstreaming children with developmental disabilities with their same-age peers. I also talk about keeping "tracking" to a minimum, especially at the younger grades. But how much attention is paid to what the rest of the children learn from having classmates with disabilities in their lives? I had not given it that much thought, until my son Ryan opened my eyes with a small but important struggle in his life.

Ryan was uneasy and upset. During our traditional bedtime talk in his darkened room, he complained, "Why do we have to play sports, anyway?" A fourth grader who excels in the classroom, Ryan was beginning to think he was sort of average, or even less than average, at most organized sports. He likes to run, ride his bike, climb trees, ride a pony, and play in the woods, but hitting a ball or making a basket were hard for him--so hard, in fact, he didn't want to be asked to try. And now they were playing football during their daily physical education class. Ryan had never even tried to throw or kick a football, and he had no idea of the rules of the game.

"But you're not supposed to know already how to play. That's why they're teaching you."

"The other kids know how. They can at least throw the ball."

"Do you want us to get a football? We could practice throwing."

"No. I hate football."

Realizing he had to solve this problem himself, I tolf Ryan I was sure he could find a way to manage his problems with football. Things got worse.

"I'm terrible, and I don't want to go back to school!"

"Why does it bother you that you're not so great at football?"

"Because the other kids see me, and I can't do anything right."

"Not anything right?"

"Well, I'm not the worst, but I'm not the best."

"Does it matter who's the best? Does it even matter if you're the worst? Can't you just play for fun, and not compare yourself with the other kids?"

My reassuring words failed to comfort him. Ryan brooded and considered dropping out of fourth grade. A few more days went by without mention of football. Then, during another bedtime talk, Ryan said, "Karl had to throw the football today. It was so hard for him he fell over backwards. But he kept trying and trying, and finally he threw it a few feet to Mrs. Miller."

"How did the kids react?"

"They all cheered for him. He was really brave. Everybody likes Karl."

Karl has spent part of each day in Ryan's class since second grade. As Ryan explains it, "Karl is really smart, but he can't talk. He makes sounds, though. He can't walk very well, so he has this electric scooter that all of us wish we could get on. It goes forwards, backwards, spins around." To communicate with others, Karl has a computer attached to the scooter. He types in his messages, and a voice simulator speaks for him. The kids think the computer is cool. The computer, plus the red scooter, give Karl a special status among the fourth graders. "And he's really nice, too. Like, he smiles a lot, and he tries to say my name. It sounds weird, but I can understand it."

So now Karl had to throw the football. I asked Ryan how he thought Karl felt, falling over when he tried to throw.

"I don't know. Probably not too good. But he has to try harder to do everything. And at the end, when he threw it, he was really happy."

"And how are you feeling about throwing in front of the kids?"

Ryan thought for a long time. "I guess it's not so important. I mean, if Karl can try so hard and then smile at the end.... I don't have as hard a time as he does, but he just keeps trying. When my turn came, I just kept thinking about how brave Karl was, and how none of the kids really minded that it took him so long and that he couldn't throw very far. We were just glad for what he could do. And so I just did the best I could and I did okay."

How does mainstreaming affect the "regular" children in the classroom? Having Karl in my son's classroom is teaching him lessons that would never sink in from my lectures or logical explanations: These truths have to come from Ryan's own experience. Every day in the classroom, Ryan and his classmates live side by side with Karl. They help him out or leave him to accomplish on his own; they talk and joke with him and accept that his voice comes from his computer talking. They planned a special role for him in the school play that involved flying along in a red scooter, waving a flag. For Ryan, knowing Karl allows him to think through what's important about learning, about being the best and not being the best, about trying hard, and about being a friend.

The "differently-abled" in the classroom are not just the extremes of abilities: Our children eventually learn about tracking. At a PTA function at the start of the school year, Ryan overheard another mother talking about which teacher got most of the "smart" kids and which teacher had the "slow learners." Ryan heard her say that the year before, his class had been a group of "slow learners," with a handful of the "TAG" (talented and gifted) students thrown in. This year, the mother went on, Ryan and her daughter were in a class with more of the "smart" kids. The other mother was delighted at this year's placement. I was uncomfortable with all the talk about who was "smart" and who wasn't. We had always avoided talking about comparisons between children. I wasn't sure what Ryan thought of it. I knew he was aware of "red" and "blue" reading groups, and that the red's were in a harder book, but I didn't know what he thought beyond that.