Dear Kellie,
(No, not you, Kelly. That’s another post for another day. 🙂 )
In an odd coincidence, perhaps foreshadowing what was to come, on the day that my OB called to tell me that my HCG levels were rising nicely and that I could expect this pregnancy to continue, I spent the day with you. Well before the words “Down syndrome” or “inclusion” or “least restrictive environment” were a part of my every day thoughts, before my life was catapulted in an entirely different direction, my task was to shadow you, an elementary school principal, so that I could learn about your position.
I had chosen your school because you had been highly recommended to me (one of the best, they told me) and because at the time, I knew that someday, Ellie and this little one growing in my belly, would walk the halls of your building as students.
I was nervous, having not stepped foot in an elementary building since I was a child myself. But you were kind and helpful, welcoming me into your day and talking me through your usual schedule.
On the docket for our day was a family visit. This new family had just moved into the district, you explained, and while they lived within the boundaries of this building, one of the children had a disability. You explained to me that while the other two siblings would be able to attend your school, the littlest girl would need to be placed in another building, where children with her type of disability were housed, so that her needs could be met. You and I would travel to the other building, meet with the parents and the other principal, tour that school, and our goal was to help the parent understand why his daughter could not attend her home school. Her parents were pushing for her to stay at the home school, and in your words, that isn’t how things are done in your district.
I was floored.
Before I ever had Tessa, before I was as well-versed in the law as I am now, before this fight for inclusion had come the forefront of my mind, I knew this was wrong. I knew it. I didn’t understand how this child could be separated, segregated, away from her family, away from her neighborhood. At the time, I didn’t know enough to ask the right questions; I didn’t know to push you to think about this in a different way. But I knew it was wrong. And to be honest, I think you did, too.
It is because of this very day, that promptly after Tessa was born, we made a plan to move before she would go to school. My feelings on that day drive so much of what I do now. I cannot even imagine how different that day could have been if I were to live it today. Because today, I have a stronger voice, and I use it. I wish, for that girl, on that day, I would have said something. I suppose I can be thankful that God put me in that place, on that day, to prepare me to advocate in the future. I understand that you have moved on from that building and pray that you are in a district that encourages you to promote education in the least restrictive environment for all students, as is required by law. I pray that you no longer group students based on a diagnosis, and that you have grown in some small way to understand that segregation is wholly inappropriate for children to reach their potential.
All the best,
Maggie
This is part of the 31 for 21 Blog Challenge – blogging every day for the the 31 days of Down Syndrome Awareness month. To find out more about the challenge, and to see other blogs participating, click here.
This year’s theme has been inspired by the Down Syndrome Diagnosis Network’s #deardoctor campaign. To see more #deardoctor letters, visit their Facebook page here.
Yo soy La Lay 
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