Remember when your grandpa would tell you about the bad good old days, when he had to walk ten miles to school in the snow without shoes uphill both ways?  Yeah, well, he ain't got nothing on 16 year old Aubrey Sandifer of Hutto, Texas.  After his school district cut bus services, he has to walk over a mile to school every day. 

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/09/us/for-texas-schools-a-year-of-doing-without.html?_r=1&hpw=&pagewanted=all

Over the past two years, Texas has cut over 10,000 teaching jobs, and one district in San Antonio has eliminated 40 special education teaching jobs. 

Once again, the most disadvantaged members of our society are having to bare the burden of the Great Recession.  This should be of special concern for special education teachers, who a) are federally required to provide a free an appropriate education to their students, come Hell or high water, and b) generally serve the most disadvantaged in society, including students with severe disabilities, racial minorities, and students living in severe poverty.  (Of which there seem to be more and more every day!) 

   Last week in practicum workshop, the instructor talked about some of the common impressions that folks on the street have when you tell them that you are going to be a special education teacher.  Most of the students there shared that common experience – that kind of glassy stare that people give you, like YOU might be the one who is “special,” the common clichés of “Oh, you must be so patient,” or “I could never do that.” 

            I had an interesting variation of this kind of encounter a few days later at the CVS.  While I was purchasing some dish soap and cat food, the cashier turned to me and said, “Hey, I think I know you.  Do you work at the Middle School?”

            “I used to, but I don’t anymore.” 

            “Yeah, I subbed there a couple of times, and you were my aide!"

            "Yeah, that's pretty likely."

            "That class was crazy.  I don't know how you could do that for a living!"
            She laughed.

            "So have you still been subbing around town?" I asked, after a pause.

            "Oh, goodness no!" she laughed again, bagging my cans of cat food.  "After that experience, those children of yours..." she trailed off, and focused on some point of space about two feet above my right shoulder.  "I just felt like there was no way - I just couldn't go back there.  It wasn't worth it."

              We stopped talking again.

            "So what have you been doing since you left the Middle School?" she asked.

            "I'm starting a Master's Program."

            "Oh.... good for you."