My First Job

When I was in high school, there really weren't a whole lot of jobs for teens. Those that got any job other than babysitting were lucky. To become a salad girl in a restaurant ten miles from our town was big time. The closest fast-food restaurant was 100 miles away and in a town of less than 1000 people, the jobs were few and far between. That is why my first job was something special--in so many ways.

The summer before I was a senior, I worked for our intermediate school district as a teacher's aid. The summer program was for mentally and emotionally handicapped people. More than a handful of the students were older than I was. I'm still amazed that as a 15-year-old I was able to talk my way into that job--I still don't know how I did it!

The summer program for these students lasted eight weeks. We were in the classroom for three weeks, then we were at Camp Wayoutinthewoods for one week--and repeated the same. This was the summer right after I had been to Camp for the first time. THAT part of the job sucked eggs big time. In a cabin full of mentally handicapped females, there were three aids, myself and two young college-age girls. And a lot of the students could barely do more than dress themselves without help. One girl got her period during the week--and couldn't take care of herself. Fun. Showering wasn't any better.

While I don't know how the classifications are today, the students I worked with that summer were considered 'educables' and trainables.' The 'educables' were a rung up the ladder in terms of what they could/would be able to do. They actually could be taught simple things up through the later elementary school level. The 'trainables' could be 'trained' to do things in a way that there would be no thinking involved--personal hygiene and living skills, basically. Most of the students I worked with could never be expected to live on their own--at best, they would be able to live in group homes and some wouldn't even be able to do that. Even after all these years, I still remember some of the students vividly.

Autism wasn't a term that most people had ever heard of during the time I worked with the mentally disabled--but I know now that at least two of the students were autistic. The girl who started her period while we were at camp probably was autistic. I remember her 'flapping' her arms like wings whenever she ran--one characteristic of autism. She also had no/very little vocal skills. I don't know if I ever heard her speak. There really was little or no social interaction with her. Thankfully, she never had any tantrums, that I remember. One boy, on the other hand, probably was a high-functioning autistic. He talked, but only about the things he was obsessed with: sewers/pipes/drainage ditches and alarm clocks. One day I had to follow him as he tried to find the end of the roadside-drainage ditch. I finally had to stop him--I didn't want to continue for 50 miles, something that HE would have done. While there wasn't much of a personal interaction with him, he at least talked and was very interesting. He, on the other hand, had meltdowns.

Quite a few of the students had Down's syndrome. I'm sure it is a cliche, but I found most Down's students very easy going and sweet--for the most part. One of the girls/women--she was MANY years older than me--was the sweetest person you could ever meet. She always had a smile and hug for you. And she would do anything she was asked--and do it very well. Her mother spent a lot of time making sure she was as self-sufficient as possible. I would have taken her home with me in an instant.

The student that I disliked the most that summer, had Down's. She was in her early twenties, was very large--approaching 200 pounds--and had parents that indulged her at every turn. She DEFINITELY didn't fit the cliche. Her personality was not sweet and she was very difficult to handle. And here is the story about her. In the classroom, there was a teacher and four aids--myself, two other girls and one guy. Part of the guy's job was to transport one or more students to school every day--and the one he had to transport always was this girl. One day he was driving--with her in the backseat--and she told him she didn't want to go to school. They were more than halfway to the school and he told her his turning around just wasn't going to happen. She insisted that she didn't want to go to school and he insisted she WAS going. After a couple of minutes of this, she leaned over the back of the seat--with her metal lunchbox raised--and screamed, "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL TODAY!!!!" Thankfully, they were at the school by this time and the teacher was able to take over and calm her down. Frightening.

Those eight weeks, way back then, taught me many things. I learned I COULD be around mentally handicapped people--and that I didn't want to be. In that I mean, I never wanted to be a special education teacher. While I don't have a prejudice against the mentally disabled, I also don't have the disposition to be around them all of the time. I found the whole thing to be too nerve-racking for me--that summer is when I began smoking full-time. I learned tolerance and compassion--which is a very good lesson at such a young age. And I learned that I could do much more than I thought. While those eight weeks weren't the most fun I ever had, they were very interesting and educational. I admire anyone who has the passion to work with the disabled--and am grateful that there are people who have the passion. It is something I could never do.