Never Laugh at the Teacher's Jokes
Never Laugh at the Teacher's Jokes
Never Laugh at the Teacher's Jokes
by Srikala Ashok
Editor's Note: Srikala Ashok, a teacher of
blind children, was asked to do a presentation to the 1996 National Federation of the
Blind of Illinois Convention Parents' Seminar on the topic of socialization of blind
children. The presentation was so well done and so well received that Debbie Stein, a long
leader of the NFB of Illinois, encouraged her to submit her remarks to Future Reflections
for publication. She did, and here, preceded by an introducation by Debbie Stein, is what
she submitted:
Introductory Remarks by
Debbie Stein
Kala Ashok is a teacher of blind children with
the SEDOM Co-op program based in Woodstock, Illinois. She grew up in Madras, India, where
she taught children with cerebral palsy for several years before coming to the United
States. At Western Michigan University she earned a master's degree in teaching blind
children. She has taught multiply-handicapped blind children in Louisiana, and since 1993
has been at SEDOM working with children from infancy through junior high level.
Kala got in touch with us about a year ago
because she was looking for blind adults who could talk to some of her students about
their careers. I said to her, "In the ten years that I've been involved with the
Federation, this is the first time a teacher of blind kids has ever come to us and said,
`I'd like my kids to get to know some blind adults.'" She was amazed. She said,
"How come people aren't doing it more?" and I said, "That's a really good
question." That began an ongoing dialogue about this and many other topics. I think
she has some very important and interesting thoughts to share. Here is Kala:
KALA ASHOK—When I was asked to come and
speak to you I gave many reasons why I would be a bad choice. I was excited, but I felt
unsure about my professional expertise. I was unsure whether I was the right person to do
this, whether I know enough. I don't think I do know enough. I'm constantly learning. I
don't have all the answers—so if I say something off the wall you'll know who to
throw your eggs at. (Laughter)
When we hear a child's behavior being addressed
in school, it's usually because that behavior is negative in some way. It's mouthing
behavior, acting-out behavior—something that has a negative impact on other kids. If
it's not an obviously negative behavior it's less a cause for alarm. But what alarms me
about my students who are blind is not so much negative behavior, as a need for positive
social behaviors. Because this is not something that has a negative impact on other
people, it fails to get the attention it deserves. Actually it is having a very strong
negative impact on someone, and that person is my blind student.
When blind kids are placed in a regular school
setting, you might think that they are constantly in a situation where they can pick up
the social skills they need. That's a logical assumption to make, but it doesn't always
happen. Just putting a kid into a situation does not assure that socialization will occur.
It works well for some kids; they can make the system work for them. I'm more concerned
with the kids who may be shy, who may not have the ability to initiate social interaction.
For those kids we really need to intervene. We need to plan ways to assist them.
As an itinerant teacher I know there is very real
academic pressure in school, especially in the middle and upper grades. All of
us—classroom teachers, itinerants, parents, and students—are concerned about
assignments, tests, and making sure that all the necessary materials are in Braille.
Everyone's caught up in this effort to make certain that the student's grades don't suffer
for any reason. We're right to be concerned. But in the whole process something else gets
bumped down on the priorities list, and that's social skills. That's why we all need to
come together as a team sometimes. We have to provide these kids with experiences that
will help them get the social skills they need.
It's very important for us to be tuned into the
world of the sighted peers of our blind children. We need to know what makes them laugh,
what interests them, what makes them angry, what kinds of things they jeer at. We need to
know everything about their world. Only then can I, as a teacher, give appropriate
feedback to my students about social skills.
I rely a great deal on classroom teachers. They
see a lot of behaviors which, as an itinerant teacher, I may not pick up on. One junior
high classroom teacher told me this: it's not considered cool to laugh at a teacher's
jokes. After she pointed this out I observed and found it was really true. The kids would
look at each other, or look away, or appear completely uninterested, but they would never
laugh at the teacher's joke, no matter how funny it was!
My student, a charming young lady with impeccable
manners, would laugh out loud. She thought that it was perfectly appropriate to laugh. But
in the world of that classroom, she was setting herself further apart than she already
was. It's not that she did anything wrong. But by laughing when the others did not, she
heightened the difference that already existed between her and the rest of the class.
That's why I think it's so important for us to be aware of the world of the sighted peers
of our kids.
Sometimes simple arrangements in the classroom
will seriously hamper a blind child's interactions. It amazes me how conditioned a lot of
us are to think that the best seat for a student who is blind is right near the door.
After all, she has her big heavy Brailler, and all these large books to pick out and put
back, and she has to get in and out of the classroom quickly because there's only so much
time for passing between periods. The other place which is considered appropriate for kids
who are blind is near the shelves in the back of the room, where all those fifteen million
volumes of every textbook can be stored. That way she has easy access to them and a way to
store all her other equipment.
These are all very legitimate reasons which can't
be disputed. But if you think about it, those are the worst places for social interaction.
When you're seated near the door or in the far back, you tend to be away from the group.
You're more easily left out of what's going on. When there are fewer people talking around
you, there is less chance for you to be drawn into conversation.
I like to see my students right in the middle, in
the thick of everything. There they have more people around them and have more
opportunities to engage in conversations. There's more of a chance for teachers and other
kids to call on them. Yes, those issues of time and storage are important. But if social
skills are a priority, they need to be given status as such. We need to make socialization
a priority and work around these other issues. It calls for additional time management and
planning, but it can still be done within that context. Maybe you don't have to do it in
every classroom. It may not work with every teacher. But if there are situations where it
can work, it needs to be stressed as an important priority for the student.
I find social workers to be very helpful within
the school. They come up with some great ideas on how to encourage social interaction in
the classroom. Besides the inevitable group projects and work with partners, they have
other suggestions too. One thing we have tried is the "circle of friends." A
student identifies other kids in the building with whom he or she has had positive
interaction. These kids can form a little club, a circle within the school where they do
things for each other and look out for one another. They can do things outside of school
too. It's so important to carry over the interaction from school to the outside.
Let me explain why I think this is so important.
If you think about the pace of the school schedule—and this is especially true in the
higher grades—there is very little time for chit-chat with friends. Classroom
teachers have told me directly that they're not there to encourage kids to talk to each
other. They want them to come in, do their work, get out, and go to the next class. In
fact, where you see most of the interaction is out in the hallways during passing periods.
The hallway is noisy and bustling. It's where the latest gossip is all being shared. The
kids are shouting over people's heads or from one end of the hallway to the other. They
may just exchange a smile, they may thump somebody on the back, but that's where the
interaction is taking place—during that three- or four-minute passing time.
At that time, my student is busy gathering her
stuff. She's putting her books into her bag, getting her Brailler, and maneuvering through
those very crowded hallways to the next classroom, which could be way down at the other
end. She's getting there, taking out her Brailler, and rolling in a piece of paper to be
ready for the next teacher. Kids have a very rigorous schedule, and sometimes I think they
don't even realize they're missing out on those friendship moments.
One of my students had never told me that she
missed having friends, that she missed having someone to share things with. After a lot of
prodding she finally said one day, "Mrs. Ashok, nobody talks to me on the school
bus." The bus would be the perfect place for making friends. You're not worried about
getting somewhere on time, you're not thinking about the teacher's directions—you're
sitting on the bus going home. What could be more relaxing? It's the kind of pressure-free
time that we want to provide for our kids, where they can have a chance to get to know
their sighted peers better. It's an opportunity for them to get to know their interests
and to share their own interests too. But my student didn't know how to make use of this
opportunity that she had every day.
You know your kids best. Some are less inhibited,
are able to take risks and initiate social interaction. But other kids are not, and those
are the ones that I'm really concerned about.
I want to digress a little bit and talk about
something that makes this whole discussion so personal for me. I think perhaps it helps me
understand the needs of my students a little better. In many ways I perceive people with
visual disabilities as expressing a different kind of culture. There is a difference in
the manner in which they do some things, and the unique perspective because of that
difference represents another culture.
I grew up in a culture that is vastly different
from the one I find myself in every day. There's one thing I've learned after many, many
years. I've fought it, I have resented it, and finally learned to accept it. If I want to
integrate socially in this dominant culture, the responsibility for doing so lies entirely
with me and with nobody else. I have to push myself into this dominant world. I cannot
wait to be pulled in. That for me is always the hardest challenge. I see it paralleled in
the lives of my students. They need to push themselves into this dominant sighted world.
They cannot wait to be drawn in. It will not happen unless they make it happen themselves.
They have to initiate.
To initiate means participating in a discussion
without being called on to do so. It means asking a question and not merely providing
answers to questions that you are asked. It means offering opinions or suggestions. It
means asking for assistance and offering assistance. All of that is social initiative.
It's so important for us to provide opportunities for kids to take these steps when
they're young. We can't wait until they're thirty-something and can start to figure it out
on their own. We must facilitate experiences with their sighted peers at a very early age,
and continue to do so as they grow up. By doing so you are in a sense creating and
recreating the real world. That world is made up of both sighted and blind people.
Learning to interact within that world must become a very normal process.
At my age, I constantly have to give myself
reasons for pushing myself into the world. My job is on the line. I need to be perceived
as competent. A big part of my job is consulting—talk about social skills there!
Because my job is on the line, I must take the initiative. I push myself to do it.
When you make interaction a priority for your
children at an early age, it becomes a natural way of dealing with the world. You don't
have to list reasons for them as to why they should do it. It's just part of life.
Right along with this is the idea of networking
with kids and adults who are blind. Our experiences as we go through childhood and
adolescence will ultimately determine our self-image as adults. The fact that my blind
student is considered atypical by this "typical" world is going to be a large
part of her experience. Connecting to and maintaining connections with other people who
are blind will strengthen her self-image in two ways. First, it will help her understand
that being different, atypical, is an integral part of who she is. Secondly, it will allow
her to see this difference not as a bad thing, but as something fruitful, productive,
socially rewarding, and empowering. We need to give our kids the chance to develop a
positive self-image.
I want to thank the Federation for giving me this
opportunity to share my thoughts. They are my thoughts, they're not anything else. I learn
a lot from my students. They're my best teachers. (Applause)
Question From Cathy Randall—Has your student
found ways to interact between classes? Has she made friends on the bus? Kala—It
would be easy for me to say yes, she has. But I think it's really an ongoing process. It's
not going to happen in a month or even a year. I would like to think I started that
process with her, that I've made her aware of what she needs and how much she could enjoy
it. She's in high school now, and I'm hoping to continue the circle of friends we started.
It opened up a world for her. It's too soon to say she took complete advantage of that
opportunity. She needs more time. I think she needs input from all of us, from teachers
and parents continuously. Has she found it? No, not yet, but I think she's working and
trying, and her parents are still trying, too.
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