Decades Later, the Fight for Educational Supports for Kids with Disabilities Remains Unchanged

This summer, I spent time cleaning out my parents’ basement. Having lived in the same house for over 50 years, it was a treasure trove of old magazines, family photos, expired foods, vases and so much more.

One of the interesting things I came across in my purging was a binder from the 1980s about my brother. I know many parents and caregivers of kids with disabilities are familiar with this binder (I have a few in my house). It’s a summary of letters to the school, medical and therapy reports, assessments, and report cards.

What got my attention were the letters my mom wrote to the school advocating for supports for my autistic brother (who of course didn’t come with a diagnosis in his early grades). Reading her letters, I was surprised to see not only her words reflecting countless emails I’ve written over the years, but also the school’s response.  

She kept the many responses from the school board, which often said, “While we’d like to support your son, we just don’t have the resources” (sound familiar?). There were also apologies for missing meetings (“It must have slipped my mind”), not having enough educational supports (or what we now call EAs) and judgements about my brother’s behaviour, without seeking first to understand.

The most troublesome was how quickly they dismissed any academic future for my brother. After kindergarten, he was shuffled into a special education program that was essentially seclusion. It was my parents who taught him to read, not the school.

An old story

Over the years my mother and I have had many conversations about my journey advocating for my autistic child. We’ve talked about the struggles I’ve faced, the artificial barriers I’ve encountered and the “Hunger Games” fight to get supports.

Reading correspondence that’s over 40 years old was disheartening - primarily because it highlighted how little has changed, despite assurances from politicians and school boards about the great strides made in inclusive education.

Sure, we now have kids with disabilities included in classrooms with their peers, but in many cases, this is token inclusion - or inclusion without the necessary supports to help them thrive, not just survive.

Looking back on my brother’s educational journey, I see many parallels to my son’s time in public education. The endless emails advocating for an IEP that includes academic goals, not just behavioural ones (which were often a result of the lack of support). Writing about my child’s strengths while the school fixated on weaknesses. Asking, often begging, for recommendations from his pyscho-educational report to be included in his learning plan.

While I was fortunate to find an independent school that takes a strength-based approach and has sparked my child’s interest in education, I know this route isn’t available to all families. There was no option like that for my brother in our hometown, so he was shuffled along year after year, with my mom continuing to bang her head against a wall.  

Time for change

This trip down memory lane has further fueled my passion for truly supporting kids with disabilities. The “change takes time” approach has been failing kids for generations.

In Canada, autistic adults have the lowest employment rates across all populations with disabilities at 14.3% compared to 92.7% of the general population. This is unacceptable.  

So how can we create a new path forward? It starts with truly investing in education. It’s about recognizing for every $1 spent on prevention, $10 is saved in the future.

We need more therapists, educational assistants and resource teachers in our schools. Shuffling kids with disabilities along limits their potential for employment and personal success.

I often wonder what my brother’s future would have looked like if he had received the supports that he needed. He’s very bright, has an incredible memory, and loves repetition.

I can think of many jobs he would enjoy – from working in a warehouse filling orders to greeting people in a store.

But due the limitations placed on him, he left high school without the tools needed to transition to employment. Throughout his adult life, he has continued to be shuffled from day program to day program.

As my mother aged, her ability to advocate decreased.

I know we can do better for kids with disabilities, but it will take all of us working together and advocating for meaningful investments and supports.

I don’t want my daughter to come across my binders when she’s a mother and shake her head saying, “Wow nothing has changed.” Rather, I want her to read the binders and know that barriers have been removed and a new path has been created that ensures kids with disabilities are able to lead their best lives.