Where have all the children gone: A glimpse of students with special needs in the prison classroom

Journal of Correctional Education, Sep 2003 by Matthews, Sandra Lea

Abstract

Students that make up a prison classroom often have many special needs, ranging from behavioral and learning problems to physical impairments and addictive disorders. This article takes a brief look at some of these students, who attended special education classrooms all across the State of Texas.

The field of special education has always intrigued me, and for many years I worked with special needs students in various public school settings. Often I wondered what lay ahead for them. It was easy to recognize that some would have problems, but I could not begin to imagine just how significant their problems could be-until now. In a juvenile prison, I see the struggles of these youth every day. What seemingly begins as "learning differences" often advances to chaos, crime, and shattered lives behind bars.

I work at an orientation and assessment center for the Texas juvenile prison system. Part of my time is spent as a special education support teacher. The remainder is work on files attempting to investigate and piece together students' educational backgrounds. The goal is for each student to leave with an assessment of needs along with previous school records. The assigned school then takes the information and designs and implements the right educational program.

Unique in many ways, each student brings an element of intrigue all his own. There is, however, a common thread-many of them have very special learning needs. Following are true accounts of my work with these young people. Names and other details have been changed to prevent identification.

Mike

Mike is a "recommit" (has been in the system before) and his file is several inches thick. He is 15 years old and has not spent a day outside of institutions since he was 10. At that time he was convicted of beating up his best friend and leaving him to drown.

The afternoon comes, and I must meet the person that goes with the file. At first glance as I enter the classroom, Mike appears to be like any other 15-year-old-average in size, appearance, and behavior, until I look closer into his eyes. They are brown and very dark. More notably, they appear hollow and empty in a way that is startling and haunts me long after the day ends and well into the night.

As we discuss his educational needs, I find him quite knowledgeable. He tells me whom to contact for records and even about his special education classes. Mike is, as noted by several inches of paperwork, a student with very special needs. He has been served in many different settings with every kind of behavioral management program imaginable.

After my interview with Mike, I struggle to be optimistic. Perhaps we can help meet the needs of this troubled young man. For sure we will document our efforts as we add to the never-ending trail of paperwork.

Thomas

I dread the upcoming afternoon. I must make a phone call to the mother of Thomas, a student whose file I have been working on. I note that Thomas has been convicted of sexually abusing a child, his young cousin, as witnessed by his mother who then pressed charges. I must clarify conflicting information in his file regarding educational placement. I wonder what her attitude will be like.

"He was in special classes, but they took him out. I don't know why. He still needs help," she informs me. "And by the way, can you tell Thomas that I'll be there this weekend to see him?" She proceeds to tell me about a bus trip she has planned that will take most of a day, with several stops and layovers along the way to the facility. This call was nothing like I anticipated.

My heart goes out to this woman. She shows genuine love and concern for this son whom she recognized needs a lot of help. The conversation leaves me with a sense of something lacking. I think of my own children. I wonder, could I make such a seemingly harsh move as pressing criminal charges out of concern for the well-being of my child and those around him? The answer is questionable and disturbing.

As I deliver the message to Thomas, I am struck by his charm and winning smile. He is happy to hear of his mother's upcoming visit. His teacher reports that he is doing okay but needs a lot of help. The paperwork arrives in the mail a few days later. Whereas Thomas had qualified in the past for special services as a student with emotional disturbance, he no longer qualifies due to a new diagnosis of conduct disorder. Sadly, there is no special educational program designed for Thomas-at least not outside of prison walls. I note with intrigue an inscription at the bottom of the page: "Thank you for helping my son, Thomas."

Monroe

"Do me a favor and check out Monroe's reading skills, please." Though Monroe is not on my caseload, my supervisor knows I love to do diagnostic reading and this is a challenging case.

As Monroe and I walk down the hall together, the conversation turns to drugs. "I did better in school before I smoked fry," Monroe explains in a proud and indignant manner. Although he seems to have insight into his problem, there is no hint of remorse. We enter the learning lab, and I notice there is no one else in the room. Working in prisons has sharpened my sense of impending danger, and I begin to feel slightly uncomfortable. I am watching every move as we sit down at a table to begin working.