If you have a minute, look up the word special. It means, essentially, different or distinct. This can, of course, be positive or it can be negative. It can mean peculiar, strange, unappealing or it can mean exalted, singular, something selected for attention.
My students are labeled "special", as in, special education or, as the state of Florida prefers, exceptional. As my students use it, and refer to themselves, it is not a positive thing. It means they choose fewer electives, their classes are almost entirely comprised of the same students from the beginning of their academic lives and they are, in the extremes, segregated from the "general" population. It also means they have often endured years of people telling them they are "slow", "retarded", or otherwise inferior.
But it doesn't have to mean that.
My classroom is populated by people, just as any other classroom is. Some days are good, with everyone "getting it" and "aha" moments causing my students to smile, to laugh, to want to share with each other. Some days are bad, with test anxiety pushing our buttons, and every day stress wearing on our nerves. Just like a "general" classroom.
Some of my students are low, but the same is true in classrooms across the country, at every level. Some of my students are immature, some lack appropriate social skills, some lash out in anger or don't know when to just stop talking... others never really start talking. What makes my students different is the degree their behaviors differ from the statistical norm. It doesn't mean I expect less or ask less; it means I push more, have more tricks up my sleeve (and more paperwork to back up why I do what I do) and have to find new ways for my students to demonstrate their talents.
My students are required to master the same content, pass tests nearly identical to "general ed" tests and, when they reach the end of their senior year, are held to the same standards every graduating student with a standard diploma is held to. My students' IEPs protect them in the way a pair of crutches protects a broken bone, builds in more support for them as eyeglasses support a vision difficulty. We don't just hand them crutches, but teach them to use them and, when they are in our classrooms, challenge them to try steps without them, just holding our hands or on their own. Because that's what makes our students special, but no more special than any other students: they have us in their corner. And even if we're knocked down, we'll come up swinging, ready for the next round.
