When "special" really is...

All four of my kids went to preschool in North Olmsted, at a school that is part of the city's school district. We happened upon it by accident. I had been asking around about where other moms had sent their kids, and one friend told me "somewhere on Dover Center." And so I called Successful Starts Preschool. It turns out that this "accident" has greatly affected my life in so many ways.

In all reality, this preschool is not unusual. Many school districts have similar programs, where there are a certain number of "special needs" kids, and a certain number of "typically developing" kids, or "peers." What makes this particular school unique, at least for me, is the teachers. My children were safe, and loved, and cared for. They learned compassion, and kindness, right along with their numbers and letters. They thrived in this environment. As I visited the classroom, I saw amazing changes in children throughout the school year. Children who may have fallen through the cracks. But every child was important, and these teachers worked miracles.

And of course, a personal relationship started to develop. I count these three teachers as dear friends. I have gotten Melissa involved as well, as Macey was a part of the program for two years. We've shared pizza and movie nights, backyard dips in the pool, lunch dates, and visits to the hospital when babies were born. I truly love these women.

So why am I writing about preschool now? Because the last couple weeks I have been back. This time, as a substitute teacher for the morning class, filling in here and there as my schedule allows. This time, I am the one giving these children the love and compassion that was shown to my own.

Not all preschoolers are easy to love. They come from all different backgrounds and family situations and have varying degrees of behavioral issues. But somehow, in the four days I have worked, I have gotten a little attached. I love how one little boy talks a lot, about all sorts of things. I love how so many of the kids want to hold my hand when we walk to the bathroom. I love when one nonverbal little girl responds to me, basically a stranger, when I help her follow directions. I love how one little boy is constantly reminding us of the schedule. I love how three of the kids gathered around a wheelchair-bound girl to play Little People.

I was not subbing for a particular teacher. The previous aide left for the high school. The position is open. And I know I would have a permanent job in a heartbeat. But I am torn. I can't go through my whole Harvard/Yale list (think Gilmore Girls) here, but after the past couple days I have thought more seriously about turning in my application.

Yesterday may well be the last time I see those kids. But whether I was holding a healthy hand down the hall or a crippled hand during center time, whether I was on the floor playing with blocks or in one of those tiny little chairs doing puzzles, I talked to them with respect and tried to make school fun. And if these children collectively have made me think twice about staying home and "enjoying my freedom," they really are special.