It’s the hypocrisy that bothers me

So I live in a city where few things are more stressful or difficult than getting your kids into school. Due to a long history of segregation, public school assignments are not based on neighborhood, but on some black-box formula that ends up using parental education as a proxy. So, my daughter got assigned to a failing school located across from an open-air drug market. It’s a system with good, laudable motivations that ends up not solving the problem at all and, in fact, exacerbating racial and social divisions. When my daughter was applying for Kindergarten (first, how screwed up is it that you have to “apply” for Kindergarten?), she did not get into the excellent public school that is literally a block from our house. But, she did get into one of the most coveted private schools in the city—a school we loved for its inclusive philosophy and professed commitment to diversity and difference. I really wanted to send her to that school because not just because it would be great for her, but also because I thought it would be a welcoming place for our family and for my boy when it came time for him to go to Kindergarten.

The school’s website lauds its dedication to a diverse community and a “diverse learning environment,” and speaks of commitment to “an awareness that we each have distinct power” and emphasizes that “community members represent a diversity that encompasses differences in the human experience.” Pretty cool, huh? I thought how wonderful not just for my able-bodied daughter, but also for my boy. At the school tour, the P.E. teacher even talked about tailoring physical education to each student’s abilities and recognizing the difference in physical attributes among the community of students. Wow, how cool. How inspiring. How encouraging.

What crap.

My boy is going to Kindergarten in the Fall, so we opened a dialog with my girl’s school about it. We were very open about our concerns, recognized the investment the school would have to make to commit to true inclusion, and I assumed my boy would be welcomed. I assumed that this elite private school with the great philosophy would realize what my boy’s preschool had realized—that not-insignificant, but not massive adaptations are all that he needs and that he adds so much to any community that welcomes him. That the “burden” of helping him open his lunchbox, transferring him from powerchair to floor, and even assisting with toileting is minimal in comparison to what he brings to the community. Not just because of the benefit of a community replete with diversity, but also because he is so sweet, so smart, and so damn witty/funny. The able-bodied students are enriched, the teachers are enriched, the whole god-damned community is bettered. And, it’s easy. My boy has his physical challenges, but he is not burdened with behavioral or cognitive challenges. He makes it easy for a school to achieve its “diversity” commitment with just a few simple adaptations—rearrange the tables to there’s a bit more space to accommodate his powerchair, commit to some physical assistance, take some extra care that he doesn’t tumble over while sitting on a chair or the floor.

So, when my wife and I were summoned to a meeting with the head of school and director of admissions, I imagined it was so they could reassure us that they will do what is needed to meaningfully include him in the class and that they couldn’t wait for him to join the community. I actually expected that they were going to sell us on why we could trust them with our boy. How naïve was I? I imagine it’s obvious by now that they did not assure us of anything. Instead, they told us that the school is “just not right” for my boy.

Obviously, that was a disappointment. But, that’s not what really sticks in my craw. Certainly, I’m not happy that they were so limited in their thinking that they could not see the benefits the school would get by welcoming my boy. But what really bothers me is the way they delivered the message. In my view, they were dishonest and hypocritical. They could have said that accepting and including my boy was a commitment they just are not prepared to undertake. They could have explained that they worried about limited resources they have for “special needs” students, and that they just are not set up to address those needs and don’t want to make the effort to do so. That would have been honest. Disappointing, but honest.

Instead, they fell into bureaucrat and apologist mode. Telling us how “special” our boy is, how wonderful and smart, but he just “would not get what he needs” in their program. Theirs is a very “hands on” learning environment, they said (rather condescendingly). Okay, but (1) my boy does have hands, and (2) its Kindergarten for god’s sake…”hands on learning” is sort of the definition of such early education, right? No, they explained, they just worried that my boy couldn’t participate in everything, so (again) he wouldn’t get what he needs. Well, (1) his life is and will always be a life of not being able to participate in everything an able-bodied person can do…at least not in the traditional, typical way…but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to run to understand what running is. And, (2), I will decide what my boy “needs” and what is right for him, thank you very much…at least until he is old enough to make those decisions himself. How dare you tell me what is and is not “right” for him. And, if you “compliment” him one more time while delivering this message that he is unwelcome, I’ll scream.

I didn’t scream. But, I did say that their rejection, no matter how “considered,” was really just bigotry. And, I made the point that throughout history much has been done to oppress the powerless under the guise of acting “for their own good.”

I don’t think I’ll be invited to join the board of directors of the school anytime soon…

So, where does this leave my boy? Luckily, this rant has a happy ending. He got into the local public elementary school. It is absolutely the best result, and even if he had gotten accepted at the private school, we would have sent him to the public school. The public school principal is a rockstar, who has already been more welcoming, friendly, and interested in our family than the head of a school to which we pay an obscene amount of money in tuition every year. The public school is so close to our house that my boy can roll on up the street to get there every morning—providing a significant level of independence (not to mention ease). And, the public school has a legal duty to do all the things that any school should want to do on its own to provide a meaningfully inclusive learning environment.

In the end, what still bothers me is not the result, but the disheartening dishonesty displayed by the private school. I expected much more. Their fucking loss.