Seeing Beyond the Spectrum

Unteachable. Out of control. Potential threat to others. These were just some of the disconcerting labels that my new group of students had been given over the years. Every one of them had a permanent record featuring some combination of arrests and school suspensions coupled with troubled home lives. Most had been transferred between a number of different schools during the short span of time that they had been alive and most had been deemed lost causes that were better kept away from the general populace of “ordinary” students. They were a diverse bunch that on the surface appeared to be the same as any other group of youngsters that you would expect to see in a typical classroom; however, they also had one uncommon characteristic that was responsible for bringing them together here at Northpark Academy: they were all on the severe side of the autistic spectrum.

The journey that had brought me to this strange juncture in my life was in itself a bit of a fluke if I am being completely honest. Sure, I had been a classroom teacher for almost five years at that point so I was no stranger to the challenges inherent to public teaching, yet nothing could have prepared me for the unique group of students that awaited me at Northpark. Truth was, that I had only applied for the job because I had recently made the ill-fated choice to move to the Seattle area and was in desperate need of work. For all its beauty, the state of Washington is not a cheap place to live and my paltry savings were rapidly dwindling. After months of rejections, I didn’t even expect to get a call-back when I applied to the vaguely worded online job listing looking for a special needs teacher. You can therefore imagine my surprise when the director himself reached out the very next day to extend an invitation to visit his school and see, “if I was a good fit for the unique kind of children we serve here.” This peculiar statement didn’t exactly fill me with a whole lot of confidence, but my options were limited and I didn’t have much in the way of options if I wanted to pay rent at month’s end.

Upon arriving at Northpark Academy, the first thing one notices is that the building itself is unlike any other private school that you would expect to find. Rather than a gated campus with sprawling grounds, I instead found a visibly crumbling, derelict-looking structure that gave the faint impression of having been some kind of church at some point in the distant past. The total lack of signage indicating what the purpose of the place was only added to my sense of unease, which made me wonder if I was either lost or walking into some kind of sketchy situation that I would soon regret. The massive man awaiting me at the front door made me think it was the latter. At nearly seven feet tall and weighing at least three hundred pounds, the dude looked more bear than human, yet I soon found that this intimidating appearance belied a soft-spoken soul unlike any that I would ever know. This gentle giant turned out to be one of my future students who, together with his equally inimitable classmates, would eventually grow to be the most rewarding group of young people that I ever had the pleasure of working with. Moreover, these children would soon teach me about the human side of autism that is often overlooked when those diagnosed with a disability are treated as a mental illness rather than a person.

Northpark Academy was not your typical nonprofit organization. For starters, its mission was to take in autistic students who had been deemed too troubled to handle the rigors of normal public schools and for many of these kids, this was their last chance at an education before being sent away to either a lockdown institute or a group home. As such, the goal of the academy was to help every student learn the basic behavioral skills necessary to function in society. Learning subject matter was secondary and incidents were just part of the day-to-day happenings which is why only certain individuals had what it took to work with such a unique group of students. Turns out, I was one such individual.

In years prior, I had been described as the “fun teacher” for my more laid-back demeanor and less-rigid approach to education which often could be charitably described as controlled chaos. Must admit that not all my former colleagues appreciated this style of teaching, yet my unconventional instructional methods turned out to be a natural fit for an unorthodox school such as Northpark. Rigid structure and grades, the bread-and-butter of your typical school, were the last things this particular group of students wanted or needed. Instead, flexibility and an open mind proved to be crucial if you were to have any chance of reaching students who most of society had already written off. For all the stigma that surrounded these kids, I soon found out that most of them were genuinely lovable individuals who just wanted to be normal yet often lacked the social skills and regulatory capacities to do so. Thus, my time spent at Northpark ended up being a learning experience for not only my students but myself as well.

In the years that followed, I had the opportunity to work with a diverse bunch of children attending the academy whose ages ranged from ten all the way up to eighteen, which meant every one of them had their own learning goals and associated challenges. The younger students were typically still new enough to the world of education that they didn’t have the walls built up that came from years of being “othered” that their older peers had experienced. Sure, they had their issues too and yet most of them were eager to learn and play just like any other kid. The older students, on the other hand, opened my eyes to the true scope of symptoms that one can possess after years of living on the spectrum without proper support. This group could be likened to that of moody teenagers whose emotional limiters had been removed and replaced with a case of super puberty which meant you never quite knew what you would get one moment from the next. There were blissful days where everything went exactly as planned punctuated by others where anarchy reigned. Classroom equipment might end up being tossed out a second-story window or classmates would conspire to sneak onto the roof of the building to smoke a joint. Such incidents were so commonplace that the staff didn’t even bat an eye when one student decided to tape another to the wall for a perceived slight over a pudding cup. Yet for all the craziness, I grew to love working with these students the most and they are the reason I still fondly look back at this admittedly stressful period in my life.

The funny thing about getting to know people that most others avoid is that you begin to see them as the unique individuals that they are and realize that for all their intricacies, they are not so different from you and me. From one student’s love of drawing to another’s utter fascination with mechanical workings, they all had something that motivated them which I could build potential lessons around. Sometimes all they ever really needed to succeed was a sympathetic ear to hear them out coupled with a willingness to work with them to achieve a goal instead of doggedly doing things the “right” way. Some just wanted to be hugged and told that they were loved while others needed the space to take life at their own pace. Regardless, trust was the biggest thing that had to be earned and given in return if you were to have any shot of building a relationship with these students. Walls would only begin to crumble if they believed that you truly cared for them and had their best interests at heart.

All these years later, I still don’t claim to be an expert on working with individuals who live with Autism, yet my time at Northpark taught me that there is so much more that we as a society need to do to better support those whose lives have been impacted by mental and physical disability. These kids showed me just how much good can come from a simple willingness to look beyond assumptions while striving to include everyone which in turn fosters understanding over prejudice. Sometimes life leads us down paths we would least expect or even desire, yet often it’s these temporary sojourns that indelibly shape us as individuals and it is for this reason that I would encourage others to step out of their comfort zone and see what lies on the other side of the spectrum.

This resource is no cost at https://open.library.okstate.edu/goodthingstoread/