Working with student teachers was one of the highlights of my career. I served as a cooperating teacher for nearly a decade. Even after leaving the classroom, I continued my involvement with them by presenting sessions on special education protocol and holding practice interviews. I volunteered to do all of this. I’m glad I did so.
My connection with student teachers was rewarding. I felt a need to share my knowledge and insight with those entering the field. This need stemmed from my positive experience as a student teacher. I had a splendid cooperating teacher and supervisor. They were instrumental in my decision to continue with my career path. Their push was crucial, because I had doubted whether or not I wanted to teach. I didn’t commit until near the end of my assignment. The system of priming teachers turned out to be pivotal for me. As I advanced in my career, I carried a desire to give back to this system.
Giving back resulted in reciprocal relationships. I enjoyed helping them hone their craft while imparting what wisdom I could. All throughout, they helped me grow, even if they didn’t realize it. I felt I had to be at my best while they were in my classroom. Their presence improved my performance. They rejuvenated me too, as their enthusiasm helped me shake off some cynicism. Although I sometimes felt humbled by how they were able to take over my classroom with such ease, I appreciated what they brought out of me.
I’m now on the outside of the field, having essentially fled it. I maintain contact with some former students and colleagues. The colleagues include former student teachers. Despite these remaining connections, I no longer have that direct connection with those staring at the field. I might lack that connection, but I do have this platform as a way to reach prospective teachers.
I posed a question to many of the student teachers with whom I worked. I never expected any of them to answer it. In fairness, I didn’t expect them to be able to so early in their careers. The question seemed crucial, so I encouraged them to remember it and reflect on it at a future juncture. I’ll never know how many formed an answer.
As a way of continuing my connection with anyone considering special education as a career, I’m going to offer the question here. It requires some context. I’ll provide that and then I’ll pose the question directly.
By several measures, special education is a failure. If the goal is merely the provision of services to qualifying students, it more or less succeeds. If instead the goal is to engender qualifying students with the aptitude necessary to functionally participate in adulthood, evidence points to sorely disappointing results. Students with IEPs drop out at rates higher than those without. In some districts, more than half of students with learning disabilities drop out. Think about that: as many as half of the students on an elementary level special education teacher’s caseload—the students he or she gives to every day—might not go on to graduate. Worse scenarios exist. Urban districts serve students with behavior disorders who are nearly as likely to be incarcerated as they are to be employed as adults. Nationwide, unemployment is disproportionately high among all adults with disabilities. Disability benefits are the primary source of income for many former special education students. Such dire outcomes follow decades of special education legislation.
While the field struggles to help students forge independent adult lives, it costs an exorbitant fortune. Students with disabilities routinely cost two to three times more to educate than their non-disabled peers. Those requiring approved private schools or intensive health services can cost as much as a half-dozen general education students. The most disabled and vulnerable students are often the most expensive to teach. This means the students with the least potential tend to have the highest price tags. Special education employs many people, but it consumes resources like no other aspect of education. Unfortunately, it does this while infrequently making a satisfactory difference in post-secondary prospects for those receiving services.
Here is the question, posed directly to student teachers, or to any others about to enter the field: considering all of this, how do you justify the effort and expense that go into special education? Posed another way, how do you explain why schools, states, and our entire society continue with such outlays for such poor results? I’ll offer yet another phrasing: why should we bother?
Having done this for a living, I feel someone signing up to do it needs to be able to answer this question. An answer might help rebuke a critic of the field or explain a career choice to a doubter. More importantly, it might provide a sense of purpose for a new teacher. For some, the answer could veer from any supposed mission. A person simply might need a stable income. One might seek a job with built-in time off. Fine. With what awaits, I think more personal reasons to press on might be helpful.
Special education can be a bleak field. The job can drain the enthusiasm out of the most dedicated teachers. Look at rate of flight from the field if you feel I’m exaggerating. Rolling a heavy rock up a slippery hill has the potential to crush someone. To be more direct, getting up every day to fight a losing battle (or a battle in which victories are quite small) can be demoralizing to the point of driving someone to quit. Without a well-reasoned answer to the above question, I think a new special education teacher’s career could be drastically short, or worse yet, long and miserable.
Much of what new teachers will encounter can’t be taught. When I started, I didn’t realize how dealing with obstinate students who were completely resistant to being taught would feel. I didn’t realize how many parents would be outright combative and how frustrating coping with most irrational among them would be. Dealing with special education bureaucracy wasn’t yet a concern. I hadn’t figured out that I would be a service provider spending at least half of my time staring at paperwork rather than an actual teacher working with students. The desperate imbalance between efforts and results didn’t sink in until after I had started. Hence, I don’t expect incoming teachers to have the perspective to form an answer. This is an inherent problem, but I figure the earlier they can begin to contemplate one, the better.
I might be the wrong guy to ask the question I’ve posed. My aim here is to pose it to others and encourage its consideration. If I can get even one person on the brink of his or her career to pause and reflect on why it might be worthwhile, this article will have served its purpose.