"I AM, I AM NOT"
My Experience as a Young Adult with Special Needs
By
Edward Burke, Receptionist
Parent to Parent of Vermont, Williston
Parent to Parent of Vermont, Williston
"I am not a schoolteacher. I
am not a school principal. I am not a paraprofessional. I am not a
psychiatrist. I am not a doctor. I am not a licensed SLP registered in
the State of Vermont. I am not a parent. I am not a coach. I am not a
child with Down’s syndrome, or Spina Bifida, or Cerebral Palsy, or on
the Autism Spectrum. I
do not own, nor am I securely
fastened in, a wheelchair as I write this article. I do not “talk”
through the help of facilitated communication.I am not in elementary or grade school, nor Junior High, though I once was, of course, and they were as tough and rough on me as sandpaper: so many bullies, so little time to adjust to the public schools! I was once a high school student as well, and I’m not there anymore, either. I am glad this is the case because moving through high school was as tough as a frozen wheel of pizza. Why was it tough you ask? I spent three years in the same math class, the lowest one offered in the curriculum.
My name is Edward Ashey Burke and I have a non-verbal learning disability (which has to do with transitions, spatial concepts, social cues) and learning disabilities, especially in mathematics. I also have apraxia, which is a combination of slow mental/physical processing and poor motor control. Apraxia comes from the Greek praxis, meaning an act, word, or deed. You may notice that “praxis”, sounds a lot like “practice”; I need much more practice at simple tasks than others in my age group do. In addition to all of this, I’m convinced I have a
pinch
of Asperger’s thrown
in for extra flavor. Why? Because of poor eye
contact, nervous
tapping or drumming, and I do have a tendency to talk or sing to myself
from time to time. Let simmer for 25 years in the Vermont school system
and season to taste. Garnish with an optional diploma.This is WHO I WAS, and WHO I AM. I was born with “special needs” back before many Vermont teachers knew what “special needs” were. I continue to have “special needs” to this day. Despite these “special needs”, I AM a high school and college graduate! I know WHAT I AM and WHERE I HAVE BEEN! I recently acquired a job with the wonderful, invaluable organization known as Parent to Parent of Vermont. I AM a receptionist; the first contact people have with this great organization, and I'm making more money than I ever have in previous jobs, so I AM proud of Myself!
I write to you today in an attempt to provide professionals and parents alike with the adolescent/young adult perspective of special needs and education, a perspective, which, as I understand it, is so often over-looked; so often lost, in the murky, swampy jungle we call special education and Medicare.
Yes, I graduated high school and college as a teen with “special needs”. I never thought I’d achieve either goal, what with my horrible grades in math and science, and the fact that I never really felt “one” with the community; that I never really “fit in”. (This was true in high school, anyway). I never quite established an “in” for myself as my other high school classmates had. I didn’t drive (and I still don’t), I didn’t play team sports (I still don’t, though I enjoy the occasional mini-golf games with college friends), I just didn’t have that one group of high school friends who instantly mark you as “cool”, or “rad” (do they use that word anymore?). I did not endure the kind of bullying I had heard about in public schools. I'm thankful that I was able to attend a small, Catholic, private school where bullying, beating-up, name-calling and rejection was not as bad. I was an easy target for high school pranks but luckily my problems were mainly academics-based. My grades were SO POOR in high school MATH and SCIENCE that I was afraid they were going to look past all my GOOD GRADES in ENGLISH, SOCIAL STUDIES, DRAMA, and RELIGION. Fortunately for me they didn’t, and it was on a cold and rainy June 13th, 2000 that I walked across that stage in a tent out on the soccer field, and the Bishop handed me that little, leathery-green, monogrammed folder-like book. I couldn’t believe it; I still can’t believe it to this day. (But I’m here writing this article to you on the site of a good, paying job so I guess I must have done something right)!
The transition to college was as rough for me as high school was. In fact, I had doubts that I would even be able to attend college, and that my family would be able to pay for it. My father and I took a tour of Castleton State College down in Rutland, Vermont. I found out they had a big theater program down there, which is what I wanted to study. Well, they did indeed have a good theater program, but the college itself was VERY BIG, and un-like anything I was ever used to up here in Northern Vermont.
That tour was, in all seriousness, silly for me to take. My mother was the secretary of Admissions for Saint Michael’s College in Colchester, Vermont, and so her job could allow me to attend college with free tuition. St Mike’s also has a bigger theater department than Castleton’s, I might add. It was also smaller than Castleton, which I still thank God for to this day. Now I was able to take college classes, but I could not be fully matriculated yet. I took only one class the fall of my freshman year and had to live at home. I had to commute in with my mom each day. Again, folks, this would have been prime fodder for put-downs had St. Mike’s not been a Catholic school with an accepting atmosphere. My classmates were decent to me, and my professor was kind, understanding, and accommodating, as I found all my professors to be throughout my college career.
The spring of 2001 came and I was allowed to take a few more classes, but I still had to live at home. God, how I wished I could have participated in the nightly coffee houses, poetry recitals, theme dinners in the cafeteria, Student Association meetings; I wouldn’t have minded an evening lecture or two. Good God! It was all so attractive, the college life! I took a few summer classes that year to get my grades up and I was thinking “Oh God, I’m such a dork! I’m an off-campus, un-matriculated college student who lives with his mother, and has a disability”! I started to give up hope that I’d ever be “one” with the campus; that I’d ever be accepted. And then the fall of 2002 came. An unassuming envelope arrived in our mailbox. It was addressed to me. Naturally I opened it. Inside I could see the words “St. Michael’s College” in official-looking, purple and gold lettering. My name was also on the card stock in different, fancy-lettering. I read it silently to myself, and it was like a blanket of joy had wrapped around me like a warm, fuzzy cloud, or like a warm blanket from my bed.
This fancy-looking piece of card stock told me I was now a “Fully-Matriculated” (new and improved?) student of Saint Michael’s College, and plans were made for me to move on campus, and out of my Mom’s house! I picked out my classes, just a few, though, not the full 12-course load, and then settled into big, un-familiar, noisy Cashman Hall my sophomore year.
Now you've got to imagine this un-assuming, quiet, introspective teen from a quiet, Jericho, Vermont country farmhouse, moving into a suburban dormitory suite with six other students, two of them who happen to be from inner-city New York, with stereos and cell phones and i-pods to boot. The loud, fast-paced lifestyles of these students baffled and confused me even frightened me a little; they and their friends would regularly sit on our couch each talking to a different person on their cellular. They would also play loud, bass-heavy, music almost every evening. For my part I spent many a noisy, sophomore-year night sleeping on the couch downstairs in our building’s commons room.
Despite being a quiet person among many noisy roommates, I was able to learn one great lesson outside of the college classroom: the lesson of acceptance. No matter who you are, where you come from, how poor or rich you are, what music you listen to or how loud you turn it up, no matter if you’re a theater, or math, or business, or biology, or journalism major, everyone needs acceptance. No matter if you’re of a different race, or religion, or IQ level then somebody else, we all need acceptance. Not only did I learn to ACCEPT OTHERS once I got to college, I learned to accept myself. I WAS, and STILL AM, my BIGGEST CRITIC. “Oh, I’M NOT going to pass high school, or college. I’m just a MAMA’S BOY and I DON’T HAVE ANY FRIENDS. My grades are horrible”! That’s what I said to myself. Before I graduated college I didn’t have the amount of self-esteem I needed to believe in myself. Eventually, though, I began to see myself in relation to the world around me and suddenly I noticed that there were people who were struggling on the same level as me; that I COULD RELATE TO MY FELLOW STUDENTS. I also realized that there were also THOSE WHO WERE SUFFERING MORE THAN I WAS, and through a college education rooted in the Catholic faith, I HAVE BEEN INSPIRED to do what I can to help those who seem worse off than myself. It was MY EXPERIENCE IN COLLEGE, as well as invaluable, individual help from my parents and professors (the ones who actually understood my disability), who made me fully aware of WHO I AM, and WHO I AM NOT. WHAT I AM GOOD AT, and WHAT MY SHORTCOMINGS ARE. I AM someone with “special needs” and I KNOW I can successfully jump over hurdles when they come up, for I HAVE DONE THAT many times.
As you read this article, and the rest of this “The Heart of It” newsletter, I encourage you reach down into your own HEART, and pull out some RESPECT AND KINDNESS for those young adults in your life who have a disability. It may be your teenage son or daughter trying to get through high school or college, as I worked towards and succeeded. It may be your neighbor’s teenage son or daughter, who has become disillusioned with him or herself and the world around them; who feel like there’s no one who really understands. Reach down in to the cookie jar of your heart and pull out some sweet, kind, cookie-like words and deeds with which to help these people out. A young, adult co-worker of yours may have a disability, whether you know it or not, regardless of his looks or behavior on the outside. Be kind to him and let him know that there are people around him who care for him and root for him on a daily basis. Let us help these young adults and adolescents to truly realize WHO THEY ARE, and to become valuable additions to the workforce.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my experiences with academics in relation to my special needs. I hope my story will be hope for all those who have ever thought “it can’t be done”. This ATTITUDE WILL GET YOU NOWHERE, my friend; I hope I’VE SETTLED that myth ONCE AND FOR ALL. Now who wants some PIZZA? ©
Edward still lives with his mother in Colchester, Vermont, participates in community theater, and broadcasts his own Celtic, reggae, rock, jazz, world, and blues radio show on the side. You can hear him on-line Fridays 5-8pm E.S.T. at http://www.wwpv.org/. Edward is also writing and starring in a play about his experiences with disabilities entitled Silent But Outspoken, sponsored by VSA Arts of Vermont, the Awareness Theater Company, and partly by the ACCORDION Advisory Board of Vermont. Edward is a proponent of CAPITALIZATION for the sake of EMPHASIS. "
