Schools are obsessed with the former. They test for it, they bill for it, they write goals for it. But they are terrified of the latter. Because relationships are messy. They require vulnerability. They require a teacher to admit that they don't know how to include the child who uses a speech-generating device in a rapid-fire debate.
We spend a lot of time in education talking about the mechanics of speech. We track phonetic milestones, administer standardized language tests, and celebrate when a student finally produces the elusive /r/ sound. Schools are obsessed with the former
So here is the blog post’s thesis, the line I hope you carry with you: Because relationships are messy
When you read about a kindergartener with a phonological disorder being teased during show-and-tell, do not ask, "How do we improve the child's intelligibility?" Ask, "How do we teach the other 25 children the moral virtue of waiting? Of leaning in? Of understanding that a distorted sound does not mean a distorted mind?" We spend a lot of time in education
We need to stop reading about "collaborative scenarios" as if they are controlled experiments. We need to read them as ethnographies of exclusion.
If you have been reading about the latest online modules on "collaborative scenarios" (and I encourage you to look at case studies from ASHA or the IRIS Center), you know the theory: We put a Speech-Language Pathologist (SLP), a general ed teacher, a special ed teacher, and a parent in a shared Google Doc or a virtual breakout room. We talk about accommodations. We write goals about "initiating conversation" or "asking for clarification."
If you are an educator, a parent, or a clinician reading case studies online tonight, stop looking for the scenario where the SLP fixes the child. Start looking for the scenario where the system gets fixed.