School had been in session about two weeks when my principal came to tell me I would be getting a new student. A new inclusion policy adopted by the district meant Kim, a special needs student, was to be placed in a regular classroom for the first time.

Records provided us with some information. Kim had been abandoned by her alcoholic and drug-dependent mother shortly after birth. She had been shuffled from institutions to foster homes for several years before finally being adopted by a distant relative. Kim had been in a special school for retarded children, where she was often restrained to keep her from running away or hurting other children. Her IQ was estimated to be about forty.

"Kim can't be expected to do very much. Just do your best under the circumstances. The special education teacher will help all she can," the principal said.

I spoke to my class the next day, preparing them for the new student. I explained that she was a special needs student and would need all our help in order to adjust to her new surroundings. I enlisted the help of two sweet girls, Deirdre and Rene. They volunteered to sit by Kim and help her in any way they could. They would be Kim's special friends.

The next day, when Kim was guided into my fifth-grade classroom, my heart sank. She walked with a shuffling gait resembling that of a prehistoric man. Her lank blonde hair was pulled up in a "Pebbles" style. Spittle drooled from her mouth. Her startlingly blue eyes seemed vacant. She clutched a dirty baby doll in her hand.

'Whatever will I do with this child in my classroom?' I thought to myself. Recovering quickly, I welcomed her and asked Deirdre and Rene to come forward. I introduced them to Kim, and they helped her to her desk.

Children never cease to amaze me. The students acted as if having Kim in our class was as natural as could be. I don't recall anyone ever being unkind, teasing or hurting her in any way. Instead, they accepted Kim as one of them and treated her with love. We carried on with our lessons every day as usual, coping with her occasional outbursts as best we could.

As time passed, we noticed changes in Kim. She walked more upright. She rarely drooled anymore. She began to experiment with a pencil and crayons and became interested in books and magazines. At lunch, Kim no longer ate with her fingers, but used a fork or spoon. She still got food all over her face, but Rene and Deirdre taught her to wipe her mouth with a napkin. The vacant look left her face, and she smiled and even laughed once in a while. Kim learned to trace over letters to write her name. She began to speak in short sentences rather than pointing and saying one word. Each day seemed to bring improvement.

The changes not only occurred in Kim but in everyone in our class. Students were more willing to help one another, more kind and patient. We became almost like a family, not a class.

One day, as I sat on my high stool at the front of the room calling out words for the spelling test, Kim got out of her seat and walked to me.

"Yes, Kim. What is it?"  "Kim say words," she replied. "Certainly, Kim. You may help me. Come and sit on the stool."

Then as I called out each spelling word, Kim repeated the word in her own special way. The class smiled and continued with the test. Kim's face was aglow! From then on, Kim and I gave the spelling test together each Friday.

Kim left school at the end of the year and headed for middle school. Though I've never seen her again, I think of her often and carry her picture in my wallet. It reminds me of the great blessing she brought to my students and me - the knowledge that everyone, regardless of race, religion, socioeconomic or intellectual level, is a "special needs" person, and that the greatest of all those "special needs" is love.

By Frankie Germany
(I received this from a mother of a "special needs" child)

Yes, everything (everyONE) is beautiful
in their own way!  Always look for the positive in people. The power of kindness, acceptance and love makes a big difference!  Adelle