My Life As Special Ed

When I began school, I was put in a class with kids who also had similar troubles. I thought I was just extra smart because I was put in "Special" Education. Even more so because my name is Ed; get it, "Special Ed"?

When I started school I got moved up a grade quicker then everyone else because there was no Special Education class in kindergarten. I was the youngest in the whole school, and no one wanted to hang with me at recess. I was not alone for long. I became friends with He-Man. Actually, I studied the cartoon to learn the ropes of life. I watched on TV how He-Man would fight someone, and then they always became friends afterwards.


"At parent-teacher meetings they would tell my mom as nicely as they could, "Your son gets along with other classmates pretty well...but he is not very bright."
I began looking around campus for who I thought was cool--then I would start a fight with them. I fought to make friends all the way to middle school.

In junior high I learned what being in Special Ed really meant. I remember sitting down on the bus and glancing over to some elementary school kid's homework. Since I was obviously older, he asked me for help with his assignment. I couldn't believe it, this kid was on timetables, and I was still in pluses and minuses. He had spelling words like "forbidden;" mine were words like "cow."

Before, I thought the other kids teased me because they were jealous. After the bus ride, I knew otherwise. At parent-teacher meetings they would tell my mom as nicely as they could, "Your son gets along with other classmates pretty well...but he is not very bright."

By eighth grade the Special Ed class had had it with the teasing, and we got together during break times to back each other up. We walked around school like a gang, and the rejection was temporarily made bearable by our unity. We felt like we ruled the campus, until high school hit and we all went to different schools.

The high school education system had given up on me before I even got there. While mainstream classes were having discussions and learning, Special Ed students were stuck watching the "Little Mermaid" for the umpteenth time and having crossword puzzles for homework. My senior year math teacher told me all I had to do was show up and I would pass. I spent that year reading comic books.

Towards the end of high school I wanted to learn a lot of things, but the counselors said I was better off just take vocational training. I pleaded my case, that I wanted to know what others my age knew, but they said I had two choices--take the class they offered or drop out.

I took the class, and it was cool. We all got stoned every day and still passed. At the end of the year in the parent-teacher meeting, the teacher told my mother that "Edward is very well known, but he is still at a sixth-grade learning level." He told my mother I was particularly bad at math, so I should not get a job as a cashier. He said that she should not expect much out of me. At the end, the teacher offered hope: "He is doing well at his welding class, so maybe he should be a welder."

"Here I was wanting to go out there and rule the world, and everyone was shoving sticks in my wheels (only five of us graduated from the special education program). I chose not to listen to them and enrolled in junior college."
My mom was mad at the teacher, and I hated welding, but by this time I was scared. Here I was wanting to go out there and rule the world, and everyone was shoving sticks in my wheels (only five of us graduated from the special education program). I chose not to listen to them and enrolled in junior college.

In college, it was called the disabled program. Once I got used to being labeled "disabled" it wasn't so bad. If I wanted to milk it, I could have gotten a parking pass, even though I have no physical disability.

At De Anza Community College I was doing great in all my classes. Hell, I was doing better in the mainstream classes than any of the ones I had been forced into because of my learning disability. I was really looking forward to taking computer classes. Because of my label, they said I could not take them until I completed tests. At the end of a two-week testing spree, they had a meeting with me and said, "Look, we know its nice to go around saying you go to college, but college is not for everyone and you're not De Anza material."

So, once again, I was faced with a tough choice. I could try sticking it out at De Anza until the teachers blacklisted me, or, like many other college dropouts, move on my own and tell all those people to shove it.

That's where I am at today. Just like everyone else my age, I am doing temp work in Silicon Valley. I have had at least ten different temp jobs in the last few years. I never really wanted to do manufacturing and assembly work--it is real boring -- but I have to pay the bills. I have built computer monitors, made boxes for printers, and shipped computers.

None of these jobs offered any training on how to use the technology we worked on. The computer skills I have now, I learned from teaching myself. I am also a staff writer and organizer for "Silicon Valley Youth Outlook," part of a Bay Area monthly publication. We are giving young temp workers a platform to express their unheard voices. I am learning HTML to put Silicon Valley YO! on the web. Oh, by the way, the first thing I did after school was go out and get a cashier's job.
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