Here is something that gave me hope. I was invited to read a story to a class of teen-agers who have autism. Should it surprise us that they love a good story?
Most of them are boys, some are girls. Some speak clearly, others—not so much. Some can introduce themselves with a smile, for others the very idea is a minefield of anxiety.
The comings and goings are capably managed by four staff. Calm and cool they appear to be, at any point when chaos threatens. And though I sympathize with the teacher who worries about doing it well, and striving to do better, and having one more idea when nobody else has one, I am overwhelmed by the enormity of how far our education system has come, and how miraculously things have changed in the course of my adult life.
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