That "special" sibling can be a real pain in the neck.
OPERATION LUNCHBOX
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall
Deedee wanted to smash her cereal bowl into a million pieces. How could anyone eat out of a bowl like that? A shiny new dish with no memories. Deedee took a quick look in the mirror. She didn’t look like a cereal bowl smasher. She still looked like the girl from Nova Scotia, too tall and too slim. Her long dark hair was parted on the side. At least today was a good hair day. Deedee’s braces were blue this month. Her manicured nails at the end of long fingers were painted hot apple. She couldn’t run with the cool crowd, but she wasn’t an obvious geek and not a geek by association.
It wasn’t fair she should have to worry about making new friends. Her old friends understood about her growth spurt and about Steven. Maybe she didn’t count but how could her parents uproot an autistic kid from everything familiar? The party line was Steven’s disability wasn’t going to keep them from being a normal family and normal families take advantage of career opportunities and move to stinking Toronto.
Dad left for work with his usual, “Have a good day.”
“Had a good day,” Steven shouted in his usual response. “Nice lunchbox.”
There had been some scary moments unpacking when Steven’s Zorro lunchbox, a flea market find in near mint condition, hadn’t been uncovered until the last crate. Apparently “Rainman” could adapt to a new city, house and school if he could eat his crackers with the masked avenger of old California.
“Here’s your lunchbox, pest.”
Deedee hurried out the door before Mom could offer a drive. The special needs kids and eighth grade class were in separate parts of the school. There was no chance of crossing paths with banana brain boy.
“Here comes the glamour girl,” Sara Brackman said to her crowed, giggling near the classroom door, about Mrs. Lane. She was always being knocked by the smart set for her flat shoes and ancient sweaters. Deedee took those comments to heart. Mrs. Lane had quickly become her favourite teacher, a kindred spirit with a dry sense of humour.
Mrs. Lane had announced a new project and Deedee hoped it would be something that would make her stand out in her teacher’s eyes. Maybe something to do with her great love, art.
“As you know,” Mrs. Lane began, “West Toronto Middle School has an exceptional special needs program. Staff and students are interesting and motivated individuals.”
Derisive snickers greeted that description of the retard class. Deedee wanted to cry. She didn’t want to run with the cool crowd, just fly under their radar. This couldn’t be happening.
“This morning we’ll learn about the physical and developmental challenges faced by your schoolmates in the multi-handicapped class,” Mrs. Lane continued. “Today will be the first of many lunches shared with the class. I call the project Operation Lunchbox. Our goal is inclusion. You will be meeting Margaret, who has Downs Syndrome. Justin suffers from epileptic seizures. Kenneth uses a wheelchair. Steven, Graham and Carol are diagnosed with autism, a developmental delay that impedes the ability to communicate. Graham can sing in perfect pitch and Steven draws amazing pictures on the computer.”
I have to have a plan, thought Deedee. I’ll just stay in the back of the class. I’ll keep quiet and Steven won’t even know I’m around. Unless, of course, he looks up! Okay. Quiet and scrunched down. It’s the best I can do.
The multi-handicapped class was large and bright. Everything in the room was labeled with a picture symbol and the corresponding word printed in block letters: DOOR, DESK, CHAIR, WALL and so on. Some eighth-graders pointed and laughed at the signs. Mrs. Lane laughed, too. “They’re rather like the icons we use on computers. I’d call it a universal language of imagery.”
It was free time before lunch. Steven was engrossed at the computer. Deedee crossed her fingers. If she were lucky Steven wouldn’t look away from the screen for hours.
Mrs. Lane explained that the students had plastic baskets holding recent work and favourite items. The grade eight class was invited to look through the baskets to acquaint themselves with their new friends. Deedee stayed scrunched down in the corner while the rest of the class milled around the lockers. Maybe I can sneak out to the girls’ room, thought Deedee. The cool gang was gathered around their leader, Sara. Deedee could make out the word “dorky” amid the superior laughter.
Deedee was making her way toward the door when a high-pitched squeal she recognized as Steven’s response to frustration stole everyone’s attention. Deedee knew stamping feet would soon join the squeal and maybe he’d start throwing things.
Yes, there was Steven throwing his plastic basket on the floor, stamping his feet and squealing. Steven’s teacher, a sincere young woman in her first full year on the job, was trying to calm him.
Life, thought Deedee, sucks. She walked over to the reviled relation and took him firmly by the shoulders. “Steven,” Deedee prompted, “I want?”
Steven stamped his feet.
Deedee made an effort to forget that she and her brother were now the center of attention and future grapevine headliners. Again she prompted, “Steven, I want?”
Steven yelled, “I want nice lunchbox.”
Deedee stood to her full height and calmly said, “Sara, I believe you have my brother’s nice lunchbox.”
It seemed a long moment before Sara Brackman came forward and handed Steven his treasured Zorro lunchbox.
Steven smiled at Sara and shouted, “Had a good day.” Sara looked so shocked and Steven looked so pleased that Deedee couldn’t keep from laughing. Suddenly everyone was laughing.
“It’s no surprise this is your brother,” Sara whispered to Deedee.
“It certainly isn’t,” said Mrs. Lane, smiling at Deedee. Artistic talent seems to run in the family.”
Deedee took Steven by the arm. Alright, you little fiend, let’s eat crackers.”
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall
Deedee wanted to smash her cereal bowl into a million pieces. How could anyone eat out of a bowl like that? A shiny new dish with no memories. Deedee took a quick look in the mirror. She didn’t look like a cereal bowl smasher. She still looked like the girl from Nova Scotia, too tall and too slim. Her long dark hair was parted on the side. At least today was a good hair day. Deedee’s braces were blue this month. Her manicured nails at the end of long fingers were painted hot apple. She couldn’t run with the cool crowd, but she wasn’t an obvious geek and not a geek by association.
It wasn’t fair she should have to worry about making new friends. Her old friends understood about her growth spurt and about Steven. Maybe she didn’t count but how could her parents uproot an autistic kid from everything familiar? The party line was Steven’s disability wasn’t going to keep them from being a normal family and normal families take advantage of career opportunities and move to stinking Toronto.
Dad left for work with his usual, “Have a good day.”
“Had a good day,” Steven shouted in his usual response. “Nice lunchbox.”
There had been some scary moments unpacking when Steven’s Zorro lunchbox, a flea market find in near mint condition, hadn’t been uncovered until the last crate. Apparently “Rainman” could adapt to a new city, house and school if he could eat his crackers with the masked avenger of old California.
“Here’s your lunchbox, pest.”
Deedee hurried out the door before Mom could offer a drive. The special needs kids and eighth grade class were in separate parts of the school. There was no chance of crossing paths with banana brain boy.
“Here comes the glamour girl,” Sara Brackman said to her crowed, giggling near the classroom door, about Mrs. Lane. She was always being knocked by the smart set for her flat shoes and ancient sweaters. Deedee took those comments to heart. Mrs. Lane had quickly become her favourite teacher, a kindred spirit with a dry sense of humour.
Mrs. Lane had announced a new project and Deedee hoped it would be something that would make her stand out in her teacher’s eyes. Maybe something to do with her great love, art.
“As you know,” Mrs. Lane began, “West Toronto Middle School has an exceptional special needs program. Staff and students are interesting and motivated individuals.”
Derisive snickers greeted that description of the retard class. Deedee wanted to cry. She didn’t want to run with the cool crowd, just fly under their radar. This couldn’t be happening.
“This morning we’ll learn about the physical and developmental challenges faced by your schoolmates in the multi-handicapped class,” Mrs. Lane continued. “Today will be the first of many lunches shared with the class. I call the project Operation Lunchbox. Our goal is inclusion. You will be meeting Margaret, who has Downs Syndrome. Justin suffers from epileptic seizures. Kenneth uses a wheelchair. Steven, Graham and Carol are diagnosed with autism, a developmental delay that impedes the ability to communicate. Graham can sing in perfect pitch and Steven draws amazing pictures on the computer.”
I have to have a plan, thought Deedee. I’ll just stay in the back of the class. I’ll keep quiet and Steven won’t even know I’m around. Unless, of course, he looks up! Okay. Quiet and scrunched down. It’s the best I can do.
The multi-handicapped class was large and bright. Everything in the room was labeled with a picture symbol and the corresponding word printed in block letters: DOOR, DESK, CHAIR, WALL and so on. Some eighth-graders pointed and laughed at the signs. Mrs. Lane laughed, too. “They’re rather like the icons we use on computers. I’d call it a universal language of imagery.”
It was free time before lunch. Steven was engrossed at the computer. Deedee crossed her fingers. If she were lucky Steven wouldn’t look away from the screen for hours.
Mrs. Lane explained that the students had plastic baskets holding recent work and favourite items. The grade eight class was invited to look through the baskets to acquaint themselves with their new friends. Deedee stayed scrunched down in the corner while the rest of the class milled around the lockers. Maybe I can sneak out to the girls’ room, thought Deedee. The cool gang was gathered around their leader, Sara. Deedee could make out the word “dorky” amid the superior laughter.
Deedee was making her way toward the door when a high-pitched squeal she recognized as Steven’s response to frustration stole everyone’s attention. Deedee knew stamping feet would soon join the squeal and maybe he’d start throwing things.
Yes, there was Steven throwing his plastic basket on the floor, stamping his feet and squealing. Steven’s teacher, a sincere young woman in her first full year on the job, was trying to calm him.
Life, thought Deedee, sucks. She walked over to the reviled relation and took him firmly by the shoulders. “Steven,” Deedee prompted, “I want?”
Steven stamped his feet.
Deedee made an effort to forget that she and her brother were now the center of attention and future grapevine headliners. Again she prompted, “Steven, I want?”
Steven yelled, “I want nice lunchbox.”
Deedee stood to her full height and calmly said, “Sara, I believe you have my brother’s nice lunchbox.”
It seemed a long moment before Sara Brackman came forward and handed Steven his treasured Zorro lunchbox.
Steven smiled at Sara and shouted, “Had a good day.” Sara looked so shocked and Steven looked so pleased that Deedee couldn’t keep from laughing. Suddenly everyone was laughing.
“It’s no surprise this is your brother,” Sara whispered to Deedee.
“It certainly isn’t,” said Mrs. Lane, smiling at Deedee. Artistic talent seems to run in the family.”
Deedee took Steven by the arm. Alright, you little fiend, let’s eat crackers.”
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