Empathy Narrative
For my Special Education Specialist course we had to write a letter to a classmate. Here is what I wrote...
Dear Classmate,
I’ve taken some time to reflect on a moment in my life, both as a student and as a teacher, when I felt an overwhelming sense of empathy. Two stories came to mind, but I want to share the one that nearly pushed me out of teaching three years ago.
At the time, I was working in a particularly challenging Grade 5 class. That year tested me in ways I hope no teacher ever has to experience. The most difficult part of the year centred around one student, let’s call him Cameron.
Before my contract began, the principal warned me that Cameron often had emotional outbursts and could become physically aggressive toward objects. On the first day of school, while I was establishing classroom expectations, he repeatedly interrupted. As a new teacher in a new school, I felt the pressure to set firm boundaries early. After trying several strategies with no success, I became frustrated and asked him to write a letter to his parents explaining his behaviour. He immediately broke down, hid under a counter, and rocked back and forth. After dismissal, I asked the principal for more information. All she could tell me was that he had significant behavioural challenges, was academically behind, and that writing was a major trigger. He had no formal identification.
As the year went on, I noticed behaviours that aligned with Autism. I sought support from the SERT, who told me that Cameron’s parents did not believe in labels and refused any assessment. I shifted my teaching to be as inquiry-based and hands-on as possible so he could access learning without formal accommodations or modifications.
Despite my efforts, the principal repeatedly told me not to provide additional support, insisting we had to respect the parents’ wishes. At one point, she suggested I allow him to fail so the parents would “see the reality” of his struggles. This felt deeply wrong. Eventually, the SERT and I organized an appeal meeting with the board to advocate for an assessment without parental consent. The board denied the request, stating that the parents’ wishes had to be honoured.
After countless meetings with the parents, the SERT, and the principal, Cameron’s parents accused me of not caring about their son and claimed I wanted to label him to isolate him from his peers. It was heartbreaking. I could see how desperately he wanted to learn and how hard he tried when the environment allowed him to succeed. I even asked the principal whether I should call child services, because withholding necessary supports felt like neglect. She told me not to, fearing it would escalate tensions.
The parents eventually filed a complaint against me, leading to an investigation alleging that I was isolating their child. Nothing came of it, because I had done nothing wrong, but the emotional toll was immense.
By the end of the year, I cried almost every day. I felt frustrated with the system and deeply empathetic toward a child who was slipping through the cracks. I knew he deserved better. Looking back, with the knowledge and experience I have now, I would have approached that year very differently.
This experience leaves me with two questions:
As a Special Education Specialist candidate, how would you have supported a teacher in my position?
How can school boards better support students whose parents refuse additional supports, so the gap does not continue to widen?
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