I was standing outside my house in San Francisco on Burrows St. when the school bus came. I tucked my mouth into my puffy blue jacket and got on the bus with all of the other young special needs students. I didn’t think I belonged there on that long and bumpy drive to downtown San Francisco. When the bus stopped rumbling, I walked with the other students into the old fashioned pink colored building of Sherman Elementary School. I climbed the stairs under the large window that let sunlight into the classroom of Mr. Ivan, my special education teacher who had been teaching me since 4th grade. The class was small, with very few kids; I didn’t really learn much because the other kids in my class were mentally challenged, rowdy, and needed to be taught how to behave in a classroom. Most of them were autistic. One girl who always wore a pink shirt and was much shorter than me, picked on me everyday. I always thought she was bullying me, but looking back now, I realize this was probably just her way of being playful with me.
When the teacher passed out a basic division worksheet, I struggled to complete it because I had never been given any real school work during my time in Mr. Ivan’s class. That afternoon, I got on the bus to Pomeroy Recreation and Rehabilitation Center, a poorly funded and dimly lit center made for kindergarteners with toys in every room. My favorite memory of the center is my time outside on the playground, garden, and the field. I would go there to meet my counselor Michelle, a kind and energetic woman who always wore a magenta sweatsuit jacket and wore her brown hair in a bun. She cared for me; I was one of the few kids she cared for who could talk to her like another adult, but my time in special education was so far infantilizing me.
I was eventually diagnosed with mild autism, but I was really capable of learning like any other kid in general education. I needed only a few accommodations on school assignments and tests. I told my mom and my teacher that I hated being in this class and wanted to leave, throwing tantrums every so often. Because I didn’t want to be treated like a baby any longer.
"My favorite memory of the center is my time outside on the playground, garden, and the field."
For 6th grade I attended Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Middle School. My teacher Mr. Carrasco always made sarcastic jokes and occasionally cracked a chuckle. He had what we called a “dad bod” and wore a black t-shirt almost everyday. He was also a lawyer and he turned out to be the teacher with whom I did the least amount of work. The worksheets he gave us were like childish cartoons and illustrations. I desperately wanted to do harder, more challenging work. I wanted to learn algebra but instead, I was the target for another kid in the class who would throw erasers and broken pencils at me. Eventually, Mr. Carrasco grew tired of my anger and complaining so he obliged and gave me simple algebra worksheets.
My world lit up when I got that first algebra worksheet. I was being challenged for the first time. It was difficult to learn, but I did it because I was starved for it, and still it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t satisfied, so I asked Mr. Carrasco if I could move to the general education classes. At first he said no, but after I improved my behavior, eventually he caved again and scheduled a meeting with my mom at an Independent Education Plan (IEP), and with a few bumps on the way, I was admitted into the general education classrooms. I still had my first period with Mr. Carrasco, so I wasn’t completely off the hook. This was very disappointing so I planted my face on my desk during his class and grumbled to myself until it was over, and I could begin to learn again.
My first period at Jefferson High School during my freshman year was an art sketching class in the F building, a large room with paint stained tables. My second period was Health in the A building, in a windowless and dimly lit classroom with giant art posters on the wall. We were there to learn about ways to be mentally and physically healthy. My third period class was a special education study skills class with Mr. Carrasco again where we did the exact same types of work as we did in every previous special education class. I didn’t participate in his class because the room felt smaller and even more childish than it had before. Every time Mr. Carrasco told us that we were “shining stars,” I’d respond by saying that I was actually a “brown dwarf, a failed star,” which frequently landed me in detention. I said a lot of inappropriate things to him in retaliation because I always felt he was insulting my intelligence. One time I was so fed up with him giving us childish worksheets to complete, I yelled “I will shove this paper up your a-”, cutting myself off before saying the a-word. I was angry all the time in his classes until one day I told him that I wanted to have all general education classes and he told me that would only be possible if I behaved and was able to control my anger.
My world lit up when I got that first algebra worksheet. I was being challenged for the first time. It was difficult to learn, but I did it because I was starved for it, and still it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t satisfied, so I asked Mr. Carrasco if I could move to the general education classes. At first he said no, but after I improved my behavior, eventually he caved again and scheduled a meeting with my mom at an Independent Education Plan (IEP), and with a few bumps on the way, I was admitted into the general education classrooms. I still had my first period with Mr. Carrasco, so I wasn’t completely off the hook. This was very disappointing so I planted my face on my desk during his class and grumbled to myself until it was over, and I could begin to learn again.
My first period at Jefferson High School during my freshman year was an art sketching class in the F building, a large room with paint stained tables. My second period was Health in the A building, in a windowless and dimly lit classroom with giant art posters on the wall. We were there to learn about ways to be mentally and physically healthy. My third period class was a special education study skills class with Mr. Carrasco again where we did the exact same types of work as we did in every previous special education class. I didn’t participate in his class because the room felt smaller and even more childish than it had before. Every time Mr. Carrasco told us that we were “shining stars,” I’d respond by saying that I was actually a “brown dwarf, a failed star,” which frequently landed me in detention. I said a lot of inappropriate things to him in retaliation because I always felt he was insulting my intelligence. One time I was so fed up with him giving us childish worksheets to complete, I yelled “I will shove this paper up your a-”, cutting myself off before saying the a-word. I was angry all the time in his classes until one day I told him that I wanted to have all general education classes and he told me that would only be possible if I behaved and was able to control my anger.
"My world lit up when I got that first algebra worksheet. I was being challenged for the first time."
There was another IEP meeting in which everyone agreed that I could only take all general education classes if I maintained good grades. I felt the chains were being cut for the first time. After many long years of being treated like a child much younger than I was, after years of losing out on a good education, I was finally free from special education classes. I knew I would maintain good grades and good behavior, and I slept very well that night.
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About the Author
Brian Tran is a first year student studying BIOL concentration in Ecology, Evolution, and Conservation Science, and wrote this essay for English 104 with Christy Shick. When I wrote this essay, I was encouraged to submit it to Sutro Review for my writing skills; to show people my ability to write something that people can enjoy reading. |