Reggie was nodding encouragingly to Rose and Brad continued to look smarmily suspicious. That’s the direct opposite of magically delicious, in case you were wondering.
“Thank you, Rose,” I said, then faced Reggie and Brad. “First, let me say, I’m very excited about this opportunity. I reviewed the grant proposal as well as how many students currently have an IEP or 504 plan. Hiring special education advocates would be of great assistance to the students, as the special education staff are not currently able to manage the volume of students effectively. I’ve also been working on expanding the referral pool of specialty providers so the district can help accommodate and expedite medical evaluation times.”
Rose held out a folder to Brad. “We have an updated proposal here. If you’d like, we can email it to the members of the school board before the meetin’ next week.”
Brad sighed loudly as he flipped through the pages. I glanced to Rose who gave me a discrete thumbs up so I continued on.
“A few of the issues we wanted to address today, were some things the district can do better to identify the needs of the students within the district. First, we have examples of surveys we could send to every family to evaluate how many students will be requesting accommodation. That way, we can better estimate the volume of need to determine how many advocates should be hired.”
“What kind of survey questions are you proposing?” Reggie asked.
“Well,” Rose answered eagerly, “the survey questions would help get a rough percentage of students that may need accommodations for the next school year, who are already gettin’ services outside of school, or help figure out if they just want more information about the programs.”
Brad scoffed. “You think parents are willing to give this information to the school? I can’t imagine they want this publicized.”
My irritation spiked at his derisive tone—particularly because it was aimed at Rose, who was sunshine in human form. Still, I plastered a neutral expression on my face. “It’s an anonymous survey. In addition, we wanted to send out an informational email to lay out, step by step, how an IEP and 504 plan are created. One of the biggest barriers to receiving accommodations is from a fundamental misunderstanding about how the process works. Ultimately, I’m hoping to expand it to a monthly email that could include information about mental health screening, learning disability diagnosis and prevalence, the difference between an IEP and 504 plan, et cetera.”
As I spoke, Brad’s passive expression deepened into a frown. “You’d have to get those contents approved by the school board,” he said, eyes sharpening on me.
“Absolutely.” I nodded, staring right back at him. “The last thing we’re proposing is partnering with local health clinics. Access to care is a big problem, and with the grant funding, we propose partnering with area providers. Not only will that help connect families to reputable providers, but we could also offer a stipend to help pay for the provider fees.”
Brad cleared his throat loudly. “This sounds like a wasteful use of the grant dollars to me. Why would we pay outside doctors, lining their already rich pockets?”
I glanced at Rose, who was likely thinking the same thing.
Bless. His. Heart.
“And how many kids are we really talking about here?” Brad continued. “We only have a couple thousand students.”
Rose jumped in then. “Over the last decade, we’ve seen a significant rise in the number of students requestin’ accommodations for mental health concerns like anxiety, ADHD, autism, and depression—just to name a few of ’em. Why, in our district alone about forty percent of the plans last year were for kids with mental health conditions, which was—” Rose flipped through the pages in front of her, looking for the number.
“Seventy-five students,” Reggie added softly, smiling at Rose encouragingly.
Rose flushed scarlet and stammered, “Right, seventy-five kids. And that number’s only gettin’ bigger.”
Brad rolled his eyes. “Seventy-five kids? The entire football and basketball teams are at least twice that size. You’re wanting to spend the entire grant on seventy-five kids instead of all the other normal ones?”
I physically rocked back into my seat. Did he just classify kids into normal and abnormal?
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“We are much better off using my own proposal. Bettering our sports fields prevent injury, and better yet, expanding the sports programs to include everyone, the normal kids and the kids who have physical disabilities. Heck, it could help the depressed kids, too. They’re free to join a sport. After all, exercise makes those things that make you feel happy . . . what are they called?” Brad made a rolling hand gesture, appearing to be searching for the word.
“Endorphins?” I ventured.
“Yeah, that’s right. If you ask me what those kids need, it’s playing a sport. That’ll help them more than any school program or doctor ever could.”
Enraged, I wanted to stand up and shout, “Please define those kids!” Instead, I dug deep and forced an amiable expression on my face.
“Mr. Goldenstein, may I ask you a personal question?”
Brad crossed his arms and nodded.
“Do you have any health conditions?”
He scoffed. “I’m the picture of health.”
I’m sure.
