candor. ha.

I have a vivid memory of being at an IEP meeting for Conor years ago, can’t remember when.  I was a little kid, not sitting at the table with my Mom and his teachers, but I was listening.  As a goal for that year, the teachers were suggesting that Conor be able to do the grocery shopping for our family.

(In those days, I very often did the grocery shopping with my Mom.  Doing the grocery shopping for our big-ass family meant two overflowing carts at Aldi and one at Jewel.  It took hours.)

The idea was that Mom would drive Conor to the grocery store and wheel him in with an envelope in his lap containing the list and some money. The grocery store staff would then wheel him around and get all the stuff.  Then, they’d bring him up to the front where the cashier would ring up his cart and take the money from the envelope.  Finally, they’d call my Mom to pick him up.  This was supposed to be a way that Conor could contribute to the family, that he could take on a chore.

Okay, for those of you who haven’t gotten to spend any time with our little man, check it:

My Mom lost her shit at that meeting. 

A couple of weeks ago, at another such meeting, she was thanked for her “candor” in response to another ridiculous goal set for Conor.  This time, the goal is: “With no more than three verbal prompts, Conor will independently eat at least twice per month with 50% accuracy for three consecutive months by January 13, 2016.”   What a serious crock of shit.

I don’t think I blame the staff at his day care center.  He’s able to go to this center (despite Illinois being the worst state in the Union in terms of services for adults with disabilities) because he’s got state funding to do so.  In order to keep the state funding, he’s got to prove that he’s working toward and meeting goals.  Always improving. 

HOLY FUCK, WHY?

He should get the services he needs because he needs them, and they cost what they cost. 

The header of the goals sheet they provided reads, “These goals help me to achieve my dreams and assist me to be as independent as possible.  They are what matters most to me and have been decided by myself with the assistance of those who are closest to me.  My support team will help me in achieving these goals by making sure I have all of the necessary supports and materials to make my dreams into a reality.”  I can see how such a statement might apply well in the cases of people whose ability profiles include more communicative capacity than Conor’s.  But in the case of Conor, how seriously disingenuous.

Conor’s experiences with this kind of “goal-setting” brings into focus for me the broader fixation that education policy-makers and professionals have with fixing people.  When I think, “Holy shit, just let him be,” I must also wonder who else (and how else) is also being done so heinously wrong by the way we approach education.  Onward and upward!