Lewis approaches me and says, "Are you affected by Global Warming?"
Me "Sure, are you?"
Him "Well, in what way?"
Me "Is your skin more susceptible to sunburn due to the increase in UV ray penetration and a boost in the albedo effect?"
Him "I would assume so," he says, "I will have to do some research on the internet, and then I will let you know."
This is a classic example of a highly functioning autistic kid. Later on that same day he asks me "What is the difference between raw sewage and cooked sewage?"
If the tards are bad at recess, they have to sit at the "ball box" and untangle the jumpropes. It is virtually impossible for them. I make them do it so I can watch them get frustrated and kick and grunt. These are the small pleasures that make my day tolerable
The school district does not provide snacks to the special services departments. Some tards bring their own snack from home and some don't. Because of this, I ask that parents donate snacks for the tards. The most common things sent in are goldfish crackers, animal crackers, pretzels, etc.
One morning Francis (see entry 4, for a description of him) comes into the room with two big boxes of Lucky Charms. How nice, I thought, for the huge fat kid to bring in snacks.
Upon further investigation of the Lucky Charms, I discover that both boxes are open. Also, there is not ONE FUCKING MARSHMALLOW in either box. NOT ONE!!!!
Put yourself in my shoes here, What the hell do you do? Ask the fat tard about the marshmallows? Call his mother? I mean, the cereal was donated. I ended up throwing it out. No marshmallows probably means that his little piggy snot covered hands had been in those boxes.
Today, we sit in a circle and everyone tells what they liked most about the said field trip. Now, this is my barely functioning group, kids with IQ's of 18 month old babies. Most of the kids only use one word for their answer (rocks, mud, stick, etc.) usually they will just say another students name and that's it. Today's answers were a bit different.
Me: "Emmy, what was the part of the outing you liked the best?"
Emmy: "Boots, mine" (She sticks her leg in the air to showcase her big ass yellow moon boots with fur on top).
Me: "I need everyone's eyes up here looking at me. Thank you. Now, Emmy really liked being able to wear her boots on our field trip. Jamel, what was the part of the outing that you liked best?"
Jamel: "Eat birds."
Only two of the other kids understand this. One starts to cry and the other gets up, runs to the sink, turns on the water, and sticks his head under the faucet.
On our field trip this morning, one of the reetees spotted a birds nest in a big bush. The whole gang tweeted. I cleared some branches out so the kids could take a closer look. There was one little egg in the nest. The kids were in awe. Especially when Jamel, my little Sudanese SBD child asks if he can touch the egg. I let him. He picks the egg up out of the basket and crushes it in his hand. At this, some kids are crying, others are wanting to see the inside. Jamel fucking licks the shit out of his fucking hand, then throws the shell on the ground, and smashes it profusely with his feet.
This is only one of many things that has occurred today. I am in my room, waiting for my 11:00 group to show up for math. It is 11:09, I begin to wonder where they are. Then I remind myself that they are retarded, and stop wondering.
I teach special education, kindergarten through 6th grade. I think it is important to note that, just like candy, retards will do anything for stickers.
One of my kids is a highly-functioning autistic. He is very smart, but quite troubled. This was our sticker conversation today, ("Brad" is his name):
Brad: "Do I get two stickers today, one for last Wednesday and one for today?"
Me: "No, Brad, you didn't earn your sticker last Wednesday, you did not make good choices, and talked back to the recess teacher and kicked Fred."
Me: "Fine. I hate you. I hate you so much. My Dad hates you to. Your a sorry bitch. My dad buys me all the stickers I want, so I don't even need more stickers. You are greedy and an asshole."
At this point I hit the button on the wall, to summon the principal for help.
Brad starts to tear his sticker book apart. Page by page, ripping it to shreds. This lasts for like 30 seconds. At which point he looks at me and says, "Now look what you made me do!! My dad is gonna be so mad at you. You owe me three months of stickers for this."
Needless to say, the tard will not get another sticker from me. He will not get to chose from the Friday treat jar either.
This is a weblog written by a real life special education teacher. The original writer, Riti Sped, has retired from teaching and is now pursuing other interests. Her entire body of work is below, and if you are new here I suggest you start with Riti's first story.
1: The First Entry: The Tards may be fucked up, but so are their parents
I am a special education teacher. Unfortunately, a lot of the parents don't care about their kids, especially the parents of my special education students. I say this because only about seven out of twenty parents actually come to their scheduled parent/teacher conference.
It is often a relief that some parents do not come. Coming up with nice things to say about their kids is always tough. Basically, I have to lie to their faces and end up feeding them a load of BS. I do this for two reasons. First, I have so many negative things to say about them and their children, that throwing in a positive every now and then alleviates the tension during these conferences. Second, I force myself to say nice things so the parents don't go home and beat their kid's ass. Seriously, this happens a lot where I work.
Only one of the parents showed up today to meet with me out of the six I had scheduled. And I am convinced that the only reason this mother showed up was because we have called Child Protective Services on her so many times, that she now fears losing her daughter, who the mothers meal ticket to government aid.
A few things you should know about this mother before I get into the content of the conference.
-She works at a convenient store.
-She has two kids from two different fathers, and has never been married.
-She lives with her two kids in a low income-housing complex.
-Her son is overall a nice kid, who I feel bad for because he has to play "mom" to his younger sister.
-Her daughter, who is in my class, was born addicted to crack-cocaine and with fetal alcohol syndrome. She is a cute girl, but can barely function. She knows about 25 words, two of which are "Fooker" and "Bitch". I work with her on menial things such as drawing lines, signing colors, color recognition, and counting 1 through 3. She has severe behavior problems. She kicks, hits, screams, bites, etc. Mostly, this is due to her inability to communicate any other way.
Today's conference with the mother proved to be something that I found worthy of recording.
It was my intention to recommend to the mother that her daughter be transferred to another school that has a Behavior Disorder program, where her needs would be addressed better. There is little I can do for her when I am instructing a class and she is sitting at the table screaming to me that I am a "fooker".
I told mom about this transfer and she flipped. She started to cry and plead that her daughter HAD to stay where she was. Why? I really don't know. Maybe she likes parenting barely functioning kids. Whatever the reason, it has to be serious, as she started giving me a detailed account of her past, leading up to the birth of her daughter. Here it is:
Six years ago she decided that she wanted to kill herself. She was an alcoholic, a drug fiend, and was injecting heroine into herself multiple times a day. She lived near a railroad, and had familiarized herself with the times that the train came through each day. She was going to have the train hit her. The night she decides to do it, she gets really loaded and pulls her car up to the train tracks. She parks the car, and proceeds to shoot-up heroine and drink alcohol. The time is nearing for the train to come through, so she starts her car, and prepares to pull onto the tracks. Just then, her car is hit VERY HARD by another car, driven, ironically enough, by a drunk driver. The impact causes her car to fly forward about 50 yards, past the tracks. The car that hit her is now on the tracks. The train comes through, blasts through the car, and kills the drunk driver. She freaks out because she is still alive and knows the police will be on the way. She has drugs on her, and is severely intoxicated. She drives home.
She decides that the next night she is going to attempt the same sort of death. She does the exact same thing; pulls her car up to the track, gets regally fucked up, and waits for the train. As she is waiting, a bus pulls up in front of her, between her car and the railroad tracks and completely blocks the way to the tracks. Just then, the train comes through.
This completely depresses her, and rightfully so, considering she is such a wasteoid that she can't even kill herself.
A couple days later, her boyfriend is getting all geared up to go hunting, as it is opening day for hunting season. BING! The light in her fried brain goes off, and she decides she is going to let a hunter shoot her. So she constructs herself a deer suit. Literally gets fur, and builds herself a fucking deer costume. She was describing this to me, and all I could think was Silence of the Fucking Lambs.
She completes her costume and goes out into the woods wearing it. She is out in the woods drinking, doing drugs, when she hears some rustling. She thinks that this is her chance, so she starts making some noise in the bushes, crunching leaves and shit, when she hears "Lady, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"
It was the fucking park ranger! He immediately radios for assistance, and she is literally drug out of there in her "I love myself" jacket.
All of this while she was pregnant with her daughter, who is in my class.
The sad, honest troof of it is the massive damage caused by the bombs at Nagasaki and Hiroshima coupled with the devastating humiliation of the overall defeat in WWII has crippled the Japanese consciousness, relegating the vast majority of their population to that of a perpetual childlike state of mind and/or a severe inferiority complex.