My Future Could Have Been Affected, Too

Writer’s Note

There have been initiatives to rename special education programs. I use this terminology because it’s the phrase with which I’m most familiar due to it being used during my time in school.

Individualized education plans (IEP) and 504 plans vary by state and district. Transitional 1st (T-1) programs are intended for students who have completed kindergarten but are still socially or educationally unprepared to begin first grade with their peers. It’s a year-long program and is often suggested for students with additional support needs.

My Education Journey

In preschool, my teacher told my parents that I was struggling with academics and with fine motor skills. The remedy for improving the latter, at least, was to place me in occupational therapy. I remember learning how to button a jacket and crab-walking. I was rewarded with lollipops. In kindergarten, I began receiving additional support for academics through a special education teacher. We met one-on-one, multiple times per week.

Transitional First Grade

I remember being sent home with lined sheets of paper with dotted letters name writing practice for home. My mother stated that I only learned how to write my name at five years old because she promised me a Strawberry Shortcake doll if I did so.

Towards the end of kindergarten, my teacher thought I still required extra help with my handwriting, despite my progress in other skills. She suggested to my mom that I start first grade a year later, participating in a T-1 program. T-1 would allow me to remain in one class all day and work with a teacher on an individualized scale. It was eventually decided that I would begin T-1 instead of moving directly into first grade.

Professional photo of a five-year-old girl, smiling in a fairy Halloween costume. — Image courtesy of the writer.

I was upset when I realized that I wouldn’t be moving up to kindergarten with my classmates. The worst part: no longer being in the same class as my best friend. Due to having a February birthday, her birthday being six months earlier, and starting first grade a year later, I was suddenly two grade levels behind her. My younger self wasn’t so happy; my older self knows that the decision wasn’t easy for my mother, and she just wanted what was best for me academically.

After a full academic year in T-1, I finally moved into first grade with an IEP.

IEPs and standardized testing

My IEP included a non-specific math learning disability; an auditory processing disorder would also be noticed once I got older.

Math doesn’t make sense to me, especially when I try to calculate things mentally. Imagine trying to solve a 500-piece puzzle while missing 100 pieces. I’m not unable to solve equations mentally; I just need support like a calculator or a piece of paper to better visualize it. Multiplication and division is a lot more straightforward because of the kinesthetic way it was taught to me.

The math-related learning disability determined the bulk of my IEP; I’d be pulled out of class a few times a week to work on math with a teacher one-on-one. Additional accommodations included clarification on assignments and instructions, preferential seating, extended time on tests and assignments, use of a highlighter on paper copies of schoolwork, and more. Having a paraprofessional in a math class was my norm. By third grade, I began to take standardized tests (SOLs), which I found difficult. Passing SOLs, however, was mandatory for advancement.

Starting in middle school, special education was rechristened resource classes. Same thing, different title. And no matter how much time I spent studying and prepping on my own and with my teachers, I still struggled.

In 9th or 10th grade, I failed my first three attempts on the SOLs. Due to my disability and trying my best every time, an exception was made. I was close to the desired score, so my teachers chose to consider my final score as passing. Without that exception and advocacy, I might not have graduated high school.

Then, COVID happened

The pandemic shut down in-person schooling during my junior year. The future of standardized testing and specialized learning was unknown.

A hybrid learning system was put in place for senior year. School administration considered resource classes too complex to navigate in this environment. Instead, we had “learning coaches” who ensured that we did our classwork on remote days. That was the extent of support. Without access to the resources I needed, I knew my results on the SAT, which I was due to take that year, would be poor.

Miraculously, a COVID consideration was available. Some school districts, including mine, decided that SATs were optional. Many colleges chose to make reporting scores optional as well. Keeping this in mind, I chose not to take the test. It was through this series of events that I managed to receive several acceptance letters from different universities.

The future is uncertain

I know I’m one of the lucky ones. Recent headlines have discussed layoffs and budget cuts to educational programs, including the Individuals with Disabilities Act. Millions of children in schools today rely on these educational programs, like I did. Cutting resource programs like these removes access to opportunities for students, changing the course of their lives. Without those very resources, I don’t think I would be where I am today.

I can’t imagine how children who have to worry about their accommodations and plans being taken away from them feel. There are legal protections surrounding resource classes for students with learning disabilities, but how can we know that the protections will always be guaranteed? For now, the action of removing accessible education has been temporarily reversed. Its long-term future is uncertain, and I worry about what might happen over the next few years.

My only hope is that future students have access to the resources they need to succeed — just like I did.