Blind Faith

I haven’t really been myself lately. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s night shift getting to me after a year. Maybe it’s lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the pandemic. Maybe it’s just my state of mind. Maybe it’s my constant state of worry and anxiety. Maybe it’s the recent news of an aide in Ohio that decided the best way to remind her special needs student, Macade, to remember his water bottle was to staple that reminder to his head.

Read that again. She STAPLED THE REMINDER TO HIS HEAD! This was the school’s response. And I quote, “…the evidence does not support a criminal assault charge against the teacher’s aide…leaving the state without sufficient evidence that the teacher’s aide knowingly caused or attempted to cause physical harm to the child.” I’m sorry. What? That’s it? Nothing.

Don’t worry though, the aide resigned. With her benefits still intact. With the ability to get another job with our most vulnerable children. With barely a slap on the wrist.

I have all sorts of feelings about this. I want to staple a reminder to that woman’s head. I want to and have cried for that poor boy and his family. I am furious, enraged, sad, heartbroken, worried, scared, anxious, terrified. All the emotions.

The special needs world is getting continually rocked with news about teachers, aides, bus drivers, security guards and police officers abusing our children. And it needs to stop. Now.

We send our vulnerable kiddos to school every day with faith that they will be treated well. We send all of our children to school, neurotypical or otherwise, believing they will be educated, nurtured, cared for and helped when needed. We all have blind faith. We don’t know if they will be treated that way, we just have faith they will be. Why wouldn’t we? After all, these are people who are heroes. People who shape our children’s minds. People who bandage a scraped knee. People who give hugs, high fives, handshakes. People who are there when our children need it.

But they are also people who staple reminders to kids heads. People who hold kids face down when they have a meltdown. People who put a kid in the corner of a closet for scripting. People who punch a child for stimming. People who drag a kid off of a bus and then make fun of her. People who call our kids names. People who spit on our children because they don’t have the ability to speak. People, adults, who bully and abuse our kids.

I am one of the lucky ones. Brenly’s school is AMAZING! I can’t rave enough about what they have done and continue to do for my sweet girl. Her aide, Heather, is one of the most selfless, loving people I have ever met. I don’t have to have blind faith because I know Brenly is treated like a princess. Heather is her best friend. Brenly is also verbal. She can tell us when something is wrong. For that, I am eternally grateful. That doesn’t mean she understands when something is wrong and that is where my worry comes in. Would she tell me if someone was mean to her? Would she even know it was mean? What happens as she gets older and she doesn’t have her Heather? That is terrifying. But, as I said, I am one of the lucky ones. There are so many out there who aren’t that lucky.

I encourage all of you to teach your children to speak up if they see it. I encourage you to teach your children about autism. About ADHD. About depression. About anxiety. About the fact that everyone is different and that should be celebrated, not feared.

Every day, I advocate for Brenly. I am here to educate if anyone has questions.

Today. Today I advocate for Brenly.

I advocate for 10-year-old Macade in Ohio.

I advocate for those who don’t have a voice to advocate for themselves.

I advocate for change.

I advocate for a better world for our kiddos.

I advocate for all.

Who will you advocate for?