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(This is the second of two posts sharing remarks I overheard during my holiday break, and the reactions in my mind as I reflected on the meaning contained within each.)

I was at Costco during the holiday week picking up a few things for the family.  As I was waiting in line to check out, I realized a young family of three had moved into line behind me.  A mother, a father, and a little boy of about four were waiting patiently, just like the rest of us.  Well, not everyone was waiting patiently.  The little boy was a little fidgety and a little whiny. 

As the person in front of me finished checking out and as I moved to the head of the conveyor to unload my cart, I heard the youngster tell his Dad that he wanted the candy bars he could see from his vantage point sitting in the cart.  I didn’t hear it, but I assume the child was told “no” because he then began to demand the candy bars more persistently.  It was not quite a tantrum, but he didn’t have to go far to get there.

At this point the father said, “how come every time we come to Costco, you pester me for things?”

I realized we had the makings of yet another example of the classic power struggle between parent and child, most often played out in the checkout line at the supermarket when the child sees something he wants on the sales rack.  In the classic story, the child is first told “no” by the parent, but in the end gets what he wants, usually after a temper tantrum of one degree or another. 

So, in almost all these cases the answer to the question the father posed rather rhetorically to his son at Costco is, “because it works.”

To explain what I mean, we have to talk a little behavior management, specifically operant theory.  According to operant theory, the things that people do, their behaviors, tend to be repeated when those behaviors have generated a positive outcome under similar conditions in the past.  All behavior has a context.  When a person’s behavior produces a positive outcome or consequence within that context, the next time the person finds himself in a similar context, it will more likely be the case that he will exhibit the behavior again…in order to repeat the desirable outcome.  This is, in the technical parlance of operant theory, the basic operant relationship known as positive reinforcement; the antecedent conditions set the occasion for the behavior to be used because under very similar conditions in the past the behavior produced a positive, desirable consequence.  Behaviors become stronger as a result of multiple iterations of this A-B-C relationship. 

How about an example from real life: I watch a comedy on television every Tuesday because so far every time I’ve seen it I have laughed at its humor and wound up in a better mood.  The context is the realization that it is Tuesday and I am at home in front of my TV, the behavior is watching the show, and the reward is the good mood the comedy imparts on me.  Here’s another example:  In the winter, upon returning home from work to a chilly house, I turn up the heat and put on a sweatshirt, which allows me to keep warm. 

So “how come every time we come to Costco, you pester me for things?”  Because of the likelihood of a history of Dad giving the child the object of his desire whilst at Costco.  The child’s behavior has produced, repeatedly over time, a positive consequence in the context of being in the checkout line at Costco.  It is very likely that each time the child finds himself in that checkout line, he will ask for something.  And each time he gets what he wants, the likelihood of asking again in the future is strengthened even more.

What is a parent to do?  Most certainly if the Dad refuses to give in, there will be an embarrassing tantrum.

Refusing to give in is just what he needs to do, though.  He needs to get over the embarrassment of the tantrum and stick to a plan of ignoring the request.  Each time the child is in the checkout line and has his request ignored, the relationship between the behavior and the positive consequence will be weakened.  The tantrum will get worse at first (stay strong!), but eventually it will disappear altogether because the operant relationship between behavior and consequence will have been broken.  (For those of you who are keeping track of the technical aspects of operant theory in this post, the technical term for this is extinction.)  Of course, if the father has a weak moment and gives in, even once, all bets are off because the child will realize that although he may not get his way every time, there is still hope that it will work out for him every once in a while.  (For you operant theorists, this is intermittent reinforcement, the mortal enemy of extinction.)

By the way, there are many other operant aspects to the checkout line scenario.  For example, when faced with a child who is increasingly more likely to have a tantrum, a natural response from a Dad who doesn’t want to be embarrassed might be to give in to the demand more quickly.  In this case the Dad’s behavior is being negatively reinforced.  But the explanation of how that works is a whole other story.  If you want to hear about that or if you want to see the related exercise I used with my behavior management students at WCU (based on trips to the grocery store with one of my own sons), leave me a comment.  Otherwise, no homework tonight.

Until next time…

(This is the first of two posts sharing remarks I overheard during my holiday break, and the reactions in my mind as I reflected on the meaning contained within each.)

I was at a holiday gathering just before Christmas when I overheard part of a conversation taking place among a group of people that included a woman I know.  The woman, who works one-on-one with a student with severe disabilities in a local public school, made a comment that caused my ears to perk up.  I didn’t hear much of the conversation preceding the comment, so I don’t have the full context, but…I’m pretty sure I understand the essence of the comment based on what was said afterward.

What I heard that piqued my interest was “…Friday is social skills day.”

What I pictured in my mind at that moment was a Friday class session in which a teacher uses direct instruction to teach the student to use better social skills.  Previously planned, purposive instruction scheduled for, let’s say, 9:30 on Friday morning right after Math.  I convinced myself that the teacher had even drafted a lesson plan containing objectives, activities, and a means to assess outcomes. 

The problem is that social skills are best learned not according to schedule, but in a manner that is incidental, as a function of being in social situations in which they are needed.  This is the way we all learned them, most of them when we were children, many more by the time we reached the age of majority, perhaps some yet to be learned (!).  We learned by what amounts to trial and error, what to say and what not to say, how to act and how not to act, all as a function of how those around us reacted to what we said and did.  We didn’t likely repeat the things that didn’t gain us positive social contact.

What I overheard was a reference to an increasingly antiquated model of educating students with more severe disabilities in segregated settings.  Back in those days students with disabilities tended to be educated in…well, wait, let me find something I wrote in 2006 that may say it best:

I would venture to say that most students in the five counties of Southeastern Pennsylvania who have what we consider to be severe disabilities receive special education and related services in non-inclusive school programs. Before I discuss how and why we should continue movement away from these segregated settings and toward quality supported education in truly inclusive settings, l think it is important we have common understanding of (a) what it means in this context to have a severe disability and (b) why students with severe disabilities are educated the way they are in our area.

We know that severe disabilities is a broad term used in human disability and special education to describe a group that includes many different types of people. But it is important to note that at present many professional organizations and advocacy groups consider people to have a severe disabilities if they require persistent, perhaps, lifelong support in one or more important life skill area. That’s why it is sometimes the case that people with physical disabilities have severe disabilities, as do some with autism, dual sensory impairments, and perhaps even some with significant behavior disorders. People with significant intellectual disabilities are very likely to have support needs that are substantial and ongoing, and that span many or all of the relevant life skill areas.

Historically, we have perceived of people with severe disabilities from within a medical model. In this context, disabilities are perceived to have a pathological etiology; the people who have them have a deficit of a sort that can be diagnosed and remediated, much like a surgeon would diagnose and remove a ruptured appendix.  This deficit-oriented thinking has for years been the context for definitions of many disabilities and syndromes, has been the basis for the mainstream public perception of human disability (think about our interest in telethons designed to raise money to “cure” disabilities…), and is still the basis for special education for these children when they are school-aged as it is central to the concept of the continuum of services found in the federal law.  It is this ill-conceived continuum that has led our culture to believe that the more severe a disability is, the farther from typically developing peers a student must go to be educated, be it a separate classroom in a regular district school or a separate, center-based school, as are often found in the Intermediate Units in Pennsylvania and the Special Services School Districts in New Jersey. It has helped create and sustain special education as a separate system of education running parallel to general education rather than acting as a complement to it.

Inclusion and supported education will not work effectively for students with severe disabilities when attempted from within this inherently flawed medical model.  It is not a set of programs and procedures designed to bring students with severe disabilities into the general education classroom with support within the context of deficit-oriented thinking.  It is a new way of thinking, practical and pragmatic, to be sure, but also philosophical and theoretical for it takes a shift in the way we conceptualize human disability as well as what a school is and why it exists. What is needed to make inclusion and supported education work is a community-wide shift in thinking toward a more capacity-oriented social model of human disability in which disabilities are defined by the nature of the social and functional support that exists around a person who needs them. (This constructivist approach enables us to perceive a reality of disability from the nature of idiosyncratic socio-cultural realities in our communities.)  Movement toward thinking of this sort by all members of an educational community enables the movement toward inclusion and supported education.

Indeed, in order to be done well, inclusion and supported education requires all members of a school community to spend time coming to a consensus of purpose and achieving a broad level of commitment to all the students in that community. It takes frank discussion and “visionizing.” It necessitates the identification of individual and collective biases and barriers as well as strategies for overcoming them. It needs to come more from within, as a result of collaborative planning, strategizing, and decision making.

School communities will know that they are moving in the right direction when they can find evidence that their students with severe disabilities identify themselves with general education classes and groups. If you are a principal, you will know are making progress toward inclusion and supported education when a student with severe disabilities gets off the bus in the morning; rolls to a general education homeroom in your school; hangs up her coat next to the other kids in that classroom; hears her name called on that attendance list; goes to lunch and assemblies with those classmates; and is even present for some of the lessons being taught in her classroom, perhaps Science or Math or even Reading. She may not spend her entire day in that room (as some of her non-disabled classmates may not), but she identifies herself as a member of that group. Instead of coming in from the outside to be included in general education activities that are deemed appropriate for her to be there for, she leaves for whatever special education cannot be done in that room and is therefore not appropriate for her to be there for. The difference may seem subtle, but it is important.

The promise and efficacy of inclusive and supported education is supported by the literature, by practice in a number of places in our country, and by human values. Best practices for students with severe disabilities suggest, partly because of a likelihood of skill generalization difficulties, a curricular approach that emphasizes the need for functional skills taught in criterion environments. These community environments are by definition inclusive; they are our towns and cities, our stores and restaurants, and our public buses and sidewalks. If our desired outcomes for young adults include participation in these settings, and these young adults do not generalize well, then we need to teach functional skills in criterion settings. For school aged children this means inclusive school settings.

At least a dozen or more years ago I participated in an internet discussion group devoted to special education. One participant, Jim Paladino of Colorado, responded to a query for a one sentence definition of inclusive education with the following. I think his response says it all:

"Inclusion is many, many things and it changes with the needs and desires of the individual. It depends on your community, your family, and your friends. It is as simple as being accepting of the differences of others and as complex as being creative around strategies to allow individuals to truly feel part of a group. It is not a parallel existence, but mutually interactive living. It is full participation to the capacity possible and desired. It is natural, not forced. It is something friends and family do by nature. It cannot be taught. It is not the least restrictive environment, but the most participative.” 

So, your homework is this:  How should the student with severe disabilities who needs better social skills learn them in her (his?) school?

Until next time…

 Several weeks ago I told you that I would be celebrating American Education Week by participating as a guest reader in a third grade classroom at Bancroft Elementary School in the Kennett Consolidated School District.  Here’s an update:

 Prior to the date of the event, I asked my colleague and friend, Dr. Dan Darigan, if he would select some titles for me to choose from to share with the children.  Dan is a member of the faculty in the Department of Literacy in the College of Education here at West Chester University.  He is an expert on children’s literature and a member of the Newbery Award Selection Committee.  (The Newbery Medal is the top literary award in children’s literature and is given by the Association for Library Service to Children, a division of the American Library Association.)

 Dan brought along several titles; I chose to read Raisel’s Riddle with story by Erica Silverman and illustrations by Susan Gaber.  From inside the book jacket: “Erica Silverman’s lively retelling of the Cinderella story portrays a heroine for whom knowledge is as essential as love.  In striking paintings, Susan Gaber captures all her beauty, both external and internal.”

 I arrived at school early enough to gather with the other readers – school board colleagues, district and school administrators, local business owners, local elected officials, and members of law enforcement.  We networked very briefly before we made our way to the auditorium to meet escorts who would take us to our classrooms.  My escort, a very friendly third-grader, walked me down the long hallway to Ms. Miller’s classroom.

 I was prepared not only with a copy of Raisel’s Riddle, but another book, a Newbery Medal winner from the Bancroft library, a text with a reproduction of the medal right on the cover.

 I held up the Newbery winner and asked the children if anyone knew what the medal on the cover signified.  To my delight, four or five hands went up.  They knew it was for the “best children’s book of the year.”  I told them that they were in for a treat because “the book I brought to read to you today was chosen just for you by my friend Dan, who also gets to help choose the Newbery Medal winner.”  They thought that was just about the coolest thing.

 Before I read Raisel’s Riddle, I told them to listen carefully because they would probably realize that they had heard the story before and that they should raise their hands when they knew what story it resembled.  Just as the clock in the story was striking twelve, a student raised her hand and told us all that the story was the same as Cinderella.  The look of realization that appeared on her face before she raised her hand was priceless.

 I got to spend 45 minutes or so with Ms. Miller’s third grade class.  I enjoyed myself thoroughly and so did her students, it seemed to me.   The morning reaffirmed for me the important responsibility educators assume each day as they work to prepare a new generation of citizens for active participation in the world that will be waiting for them when they become adults. 

 I hope you had the opportunity to read to (or otherwise interact and engage with) school children for American Education Week.  If you didn’t, why not do it today?  Heck, do it today anyway, and tomorrow.  Their future depends on it.

 Until next time…

 I suspect most taxpayers are not really unhappy to have a portion of their tax dollars earmarked to support public servants, including police officers and fire fighters.  Although we might grumble about paying taxes, I don’t think we are truly bothered by that expense, in fact, the level of protection our tax dollars help support gives comfort to many.  And when a cop or fire fighter comes to our rescue, we realize they are worth every cent.

 But imagine a society in which, in addition to public cops and fire fighters, there was also a robust private sector of police and fire services.  As a resident, you would have the choice of relying on your local cops and fire companies or you could opt out of those public services by looking through the yellow pages and selecting a private police and/or fire service.  If you were robbed or woke up to smoke in the middle of the night, you would call your private contractor to respond to your emergency.

 Setting aside for a moment the risk inherent in having multiple police and fire services in a single municipality (e.g., a longer response time when a passerby upon seeing smoke in your house calls the wrong fire service or a multiple vehicle accident scene in which all parties have contracts with different police services) there might not be anything inherently wrong with having this choice, right?  As long as the tax dollars that supports the public police and fire services are not diverted, support that is necessary since it is unlikely that public police and fire departments could go away entirely.

Now imagine the same scenario, but now the government has decided that if you are unhappy with the performance of your local public cops and firefighters, you can get a credit equal to the per capita cost of maintaining those services and use it to hire the services of private police and fire services.  You always had the choice to do this, but now the government is offering you a voucher to help cover the cost of your choice.  How would that effect public services?  Would the loss of operating dollars make it just that much more difficult for those cops and firefighters to improve the services they provide, particularly when they knew they needed to improve and where striving to do so? 

 Senate Bill 1 (SB 1), which is currently in the Education Committee of the PA House of Representatives, proposes to do much the same thing to education.  SB 1 will provide tuition vouchers (called Opportunity Scholarships) to low income students who attend school in the lowest performing schools in the Commonwealth.  Families who choose to take advantage of the vouchers could send their children to other schools, including private and parochial schools, assuming those schools would accept them (they are not required to do so).  The voucher would equal the per-pupil state subsidy the child’s school district receives from the state; it is conceivable that some vouchers could approach $10,000.

That’s $10,000 per child being taken from the school district that is underperforming and working hard to do something about it.

 Of course, we don’t have a robust private sector of police and fire services, there are too many important reasons why neither would work.  We do have a robust private sector in schooling for our children, but it competes with our public schools, public schools fully funded by tax dollars.  Parents have the choice to send their children to selective private or parochial schools, but those parents, as residents, still have an obligation to do their share to fund local public schools.

 What do you think?  Want to see vouchers come to Pennsylvania?

 You have homework this time.  I have included links below providing further information and various opinions on vouchers.  Do some further reading and let me know what you think?

http://www.pennlive.com/midstate/index.ssf/2011/10/school_vouchers_qa_pennsylvani.html

http://voicesweb.org/top-ten-reasons-why-pa-senate-bill-1-terrible-idea

http://www.freedomworks.org/blog/mkibbe/key-vote-yes-pennsylvania-sb1-opportunity-scholars

Until next time…