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More educators learn that secluding special-education students isn't the answer

February 29, 2004 6:44 am

STOP BY Nicholas Howard's class at Falmouth Elementary School and the 9-year-old wouldn't stand out--except for his mop of golden curls.

Stay a few minutes, and you'll notice Nicholas isn't quite like the other kids. He has trouble following conversations and sometimes flaps his arms.

Nicholas--who has autism--spends about half of his school day in a regular classroom and the other half in a classroom for students with autism.

Nicholas is one of 79,184 special-education students in Virginia who spend part of their day in regular classes, said Charles Pyle, director of communications for the Virginia Department of Education.

Nicholas and the other special-education students are part of a practice known as inclusion.

In its most basic form, inclusion is simply the act of putting all children in the general education curriculum.

In practice, it's not that simple.

"There is no definition, it's just perception," said Carolyn Mills, director of special education for Culpeper County schools.

Sue Clark, Stafford County's director of special education, said inclusion is more a philosophy than a specific practice.

"When you walk into a school, you can feel if all children are welcome," she said.

At Falmouth Elementary School, three boys in the hallway set the scene for Clark's words. Gail Thyrring, the school's principal, stops to talk to the trio. One of the boys doesn't answer as fluently as the others.

In his hand, he carries a blue plastic photo album. It's filled with picture symbols so the student, Tyler Haney, can communicate even with his verbal language delays.

Thyrring chats with the boys and learns they are Tyler's buddies this morning, bringing him from his special-education resource room to their classroom for calendar time.

Tyler's resource room is empty for the moment; all of the children in the class for moderately mentally retarded students are in regular classrooms. Some are with a kindergarten class during computer time. Others are doing circle time in another kindergarten class.

An hour later, most of the students are back in the resource room--affectionately called "the hugging room" by the teacher, LuAnne Clatterbuck. She and the para-educators work with the students, going over what they've learned in their regular classes.

Additional people wander in and out of the classroom. There's a vision specialist and a speech therapist, coming to offer special services for the students.

Most of the children work one-on-one with an adult; some spend the time resting with a toy. Clatterbuck lets the students relax throughout the day.

"It's a rigorous day," she said, explaining that the students in her classroom have regular kindergarten activities such as specials, centers, and calendar time, as well as special education activities: speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy.

The combination of special-education classroom and regular classroom works well for her students, Clatterbuck said. They get to learn the general education curriculum with their peers, but still get the individualized attention they need.

Clatterbuck feels the program doesn't just benefit her students, it also helps the children in the regular education classrooms.

Most educators agree--inclusion benefits all students.

"You're really pairing expertise in identifying what children need along with a content specialist, and that makes a good team," said Clark.

For inclusion to work, special-education teachers and regular teachers need to work together. Educators say that these partnerships help all students.

"Two brains are better than one," said Lisa Gidcumb, director of special education for King George County schools.

Down the hall from Clatterbuck, the team of Lynne Rawlings and Lisa Emerson teaches reading to their third-grade students. Rawlings, a regular teacher with special-education experience, was thrilled to get an "inclusion class."

Her classroom is about half-filled with students from regular educational; the other half of her students have learning disabilities. In the middle of a reading quiz, it is impossible to distinguish one from the other.

Rawlings considers this the beauty of inclusion.

But to many, Rawlings' class is not true inclusion.

"In true inclusion, they are absolutely in [the regular education classroom], no matter what their abilities," said Brenda Wickard, mother of a special-education student in Spotsylvania and a parent advocate with the disAbility Resource Center in Fredericksburg. "If you're looking at true inclusion, done the right way, it's supports and services in the classroom."

Some children from special education do spend most of their day in a regular classroom. Jacob Urnosky, a first-grader at Harrison Road Elementary School, goes to a resource room for half an hour each day. He receives an hour each week of speech therapy and an hour of occupational therapy. At all other times, Jacob is in his first-grade classroom.

"Special education is supposed to be the least restrictive environment, so they're only supposed to be pulled out for the minimum they need," Mills said.

Years ago, Jacob might have been left in a special-education classroom and allowed to mix with his peers only for lunch or specials. Now, he's being educated with them.

Jacob's mother, Trish Urnosky, wishes Jacob had more support in his classroom. But she's happy to see him included.

Educators admit inclusion practices still need some work. Inclusion has been around for a while, existing in some form since the 1970s. But as educators learn that seclusion isn't the answer, they're sending more and more of the special-education students to regular classrooms.

"The research is proving that special education, in the way we've done it in the past, isn't effective," Mills said. "It's come a long way. Special education used to be a lot more restrictive; it's gotten a lot more inclusive."

To reach AMY FLOWERS UMBLE: 540/374-5000, ext. 5764 aumble@freelancestar.com