I work in the Special Education section of an Elementary school.
Other schools I have worked in have terrible Sped departments, but this one is delightful. The staff are more than qualified, there's enough staff, and an abounding amount of resources for every child.
In a classroom that I do not work in there is a little boy with Downs Syndrome. His name is not Lucas, but I am going to call him Lucas.
Lucas is adorable. Seriously, the cutest little boy I have ever seen. All the kids in the school wear name tags and even if they didn't, I've seen Lucas around campus so many times that I know him pretty well. One day in passing he stopped in the hallway and said hello to me.
"Hello, Lucas!" I responded cheerfully.
Lucas stops in his tracks, staring at me, "You know my name." it isn't a question.
"Yup."
"What's your name?"
"Miss. Melly."
At this point the adult accompanying him in the hall reminds Lucas he has somewhere to be. Although he continues along on his journey, he keeps his eyes set on me as he walks past, somewhat like a very confused, but determined vulture.
Since this initial interaction, my meetings with Lucas have become more frequent and flavourful.
My client has a specific cubicle he uses in the bathroom. Partly this is due to the fact that my client is blind and we're working on routine and familiarity with surroundings. It has a little cubby which we keep spare clothes in as he's working on being potty trained. I sit on a Fisher Price sized chair at the door of the stall while he works on deciding whether or not he wants to go into the toilet, or just hold on long enough to get as far from the toilet as possible to mess his pants and then fuss as I try to change him. Now that we were friends, Lucas has made it a point to visit me at this chair anytime he enters the bathroom himself.
"Hello." he'll say, invariably, staring at me and my client.
"Hi, Lucas."
"Is he using the toilet?" he asks, pointing at my client on the toilet.
"Yup. Do you need to use the toilet?"
"No." At this point usually an adult calls into the bathroom to remind Lucas that he does indeed need to use the toilet and that he better hurry up and do it.
One day as I guided my client to his stall, I was surprised to find Lucas squatted on the toilet.
"Hi." he greets us.
"Oh, hi, Lucas" I say, surprised, because as far as I'm aware no other child uses this specific toilet, as it has been set aside for my client. This is not a difficult situation, however. I grab the cubby, and continue on to another stall.
That's when the sermon began.
Some of you may say that a four-year-old boy with Downs Syndrome giving a Born-Again Christian sermon from the toilet is an everyday occurrence, and if that's the case, I'm truly glad for you, because this was my first time hearing such a thing, and it was fantastic. Lucas, in his sweet little mildly lisped voice praised Jesus and harkened the world of sinners to repentance. I listened while trying to keep from chuckling, because I'm sure that would be considered unprofessional. According to my teacher, sermons and hymns are a pretty regular happening anytime sweet little Pastor Lucas has a BM. I almost want to feed him laxatives to hear more, but I'm sure that one is considered even more unprofessional than chuckling to some people. Some people, clearly, need to reconsider their priorities.
Today Lucas decided that our relationship had developed further and it was time for me to receive hugs. Specifically, butt hugs. To be fair, my butt is the highest part of my body that he can reach, however, why he wanted to attempt the hugs from behind, I'm not entirely sure. Regardless of my flawed logic, however, I was blessed to receive three butt hugs today, much to the amusement of my teacher who liked to say, "ooooh, better tell your husband!" after each one.
Just as I suspected, Peter had very little to say about a four year old getting frisky with my butt. For shame, I need to get a more actively jealous husband.
Other schools I have worked in have terrible Sped departments, but this one is delightful. The staff are more than qualified, there's enough staff, and an abounding amount of resources for every child.
In a classroom that I do not work in there is a little boy with Downs Syndrome. His name is not Lucas, but I am going to call him Lucas.
Lucas is adorable. Seriously, the cutest little boy I have ever seen. All the kids in the school wear name tags and even if they didn't, I've seen Lucas around campus so many times that I know him pretty well. One day in passing he stopped in the hallway and said hello to me.
"Hello, Lucas!" I responded cheerfully.
Lucas stops in his tracks, staring at me, "You know my name." it isn't a question.
"Yup."
"What's your name?"
"Miss. Melly."
At this point the adult accompanying him in the hall reminds Lucas he has somewhere to be. Although he continues along on his journey, he keeps his eyes set on me as he walks past, somewhat like a very confused, but determined vulture.
Since this initial interaction, my meetings with Lucas have become more frequent and flavourful.
My client has a specific cubicle he uses in the bathroom. Partly this is due to the fact that my client is blind and we're working on routine and familiarity with surroundings. It has a little cubby which we keep spare clothes in as he's working on being potty trained. I sit on a Fisher Price sized chair at the door of the stall while he works on deciding whether or not he wants to go into the toilet, or just hold on long enough to get as far from the toilet as possible to mess his pants and then fuss as I try to change him. Now that we were friends, Lucas has made it a point to visit me at this chair anytime he enters the bathroom himself.
"Hello." he'll say, invariably, staring at me and my client.
"Hi, Lucas."
"Is he using the toilet?" he asks, pointing at my client on the toilet.
"Yup. Do you need to use the toilet?"
"No." At this point usually an adult calls into the bathroom to remind Lucas that he does indeed need to use the toilet and that he better hurry up and do it.
One day as I guided my client to his stall, I was surprised to find Lucas squatted on the toilet.
"Hi." he greets us.
"Oh, hi, Lucas" I say, surprised, because as far as I'm aware no other child uses this specific toilet, as it has been set aside for my client. This is not a difficult situation, however. I grab the cubby, and continue on to another stall.
That's when the sermon began.
Some of you may say that a four-year-old boy with Downs Syndrome giving a Born-Again Christian sermon from the toilet is an everyday occurrence, and if that's the case, I'm truly glad for you, because this was my first time hearing such a thing, and it was fantastic. Lucas, in his sweet little mildly lisped voice praised Jesus and harkened the world of sinners to repentance. I listened while trying to keep from chuckling, because I'm sure that would be considered unprofessional. According to my teacher, sermons and hymns are a pretty regular happening anytime sweet little Pastor Lucas has a BM. I almost want to feed him laxatives to hear more, but I'm sure that one is considered even more unprofessional than chuckling to some people. Some people, clearly, need to reconsider their priorities.
Today Lucas decided that our relationship had developed further and it was time for me to receive hugs. Specifically, butt hugs. To be fair, my butt is the highest part of my body that he can reach, however, why he wanted to attempt the hugs from behind, I'm not entirely sure. Regardless of my flawed logic, however, I was blessed to receive three butt hugs today, much to the amusement of my teacher who liked to say, "ooooh, better tell your husband!" after each one.
Just as I suspected, Peter had very little to say about a four year old getting frisky with my butt. For shame, I need to get a more actively jealous husband.
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