Abstract

It is often said that everyone remembers one teacher who made a difference in his or her life. Ms. Willard-Holt writes of the opposite experience: being a teacher whose life has been profoundly affected by one of her students. ONCE IN a while in a long teaching career, there appears, with a crooked smile and a mischievous glint in the eye, a living reminder of why you became a teacher. These are the children who teach you more than you teach them. And they live in your stories and in your heart long after the echoes of their laughter have faded from the classroom. For me, Ian was such a child. I was a researcher working on my dissertation when I met Ian. He was 6 years old. At least that's how old his body was. I suspected that his mind and soul were older. Ian had cerebral palsy, which kept him in a wheelchair and made his speech so difficult to understand that he had to use a communication board. What became obvious only on closer inspection were his razor-sharp intelligence, his indomitable spirit, and his unyielding will to be treated just like the other children. Ian was probably the most gifted child I have ever met. He seemed to inhale knowledge. He had demonstrated to his parents that he could read at age 2 by leaning his body toward words spelled out on a magnetic board. His mathematical skills amazed his first-grade teacher, who watched him do three-digit multiplication in his head, from left to right. And then there was Ian's poetry. He wrote the following insightful piece at age 6 as a gift for a friend: My Song Poems are nicer than letters Because they have a song in them. My gift to you is the tune I write here Listen quietly for my voice - I may quit speaking at any moment But I can never stop singing. Even though the physical aspect of schoolwork was often exhausting for him, Ian refused to accept special treatment in the form of multiple- choice versus essay tests, extended due dates, and the like. He proved repeatedly that he could do the same work as his classmates -- often to a higher standard of performance. His academic achievement remained at or near the top of his class throughout his school years. But it seemed that this was not enough for Ian. His true mission was to advocate for others with disabilities. His mother told a story about an occupational therapy session in which a woman was visiting to borrow some equipment. Ian seemed to take a shine to her, and he spelled out on his communication board, should visit my school. To keep him communicating and to show Karen how he was able to communicate, his therapist said, Oh, why, Ian? …

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