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Courageous mom seeks aid for son
By Deborah Taylor-Hollis
Being a parent is rough, for we take great pride in our children's achievements, and suffer when they fail. When a child is disabled, it's hard for most adults to admit to a problem, let alone bring a public focus to it.
Advertising your son's needs in your neighborhood newspaper is an act of courage most of us will never understand.
Our newspaper ran a quarter-page ad for an aide to an autistic child. What struck me about this ad was that it wasn't from the employer (a school district), but from a mom. Titled, "Can You help Me?," it featured a photo of 7-year-old Brett Cordova, and was a last ditch attempt by a frustrated parent to find the help legally promised, but not adequately supplied.
Joanne Cordova was frustrated. "He's got issues, and I was concerned that it was sensational," Brett's mom said about this public plea. "I was worried, and I did not want to do that, but I also know that I have a finite amount of time to find an aide," the concerned single mom explained.
Brett has been included in Shallenberger for the past 1 1/2 years. He is well liked by his classmates. "The students have been overwhelmingly kind, receptive and compassionate," his mom explains. Brett enjoys life, mostly due to the support network his mother has built.
But services that should be automatic are often withheld without explanation, requests for assistance are lost or ignored, and legally mandated programs are unavailable, overbooked, inappropriate or deliberately inconvenient to deter enrollment and save money by various agencies. All special-education parents face this. It is what led Cordova to advertise for an aide.
"I've done my time with the district, sitting on task forces and (doing the) things I have to do ... The aides the district provided did not seem to be qualified or trained in how to effectively shadow Brett at school," Cordova explained about advertising for a job that the district is, by law, supposed to provide.
"He's (Brett) done so well and is so incredibly successful at Shallenberger this year, with his team of therapists and the home program that we have created ...We had to try to keep the momentum going. The key component is a one-to-one aide."
Day aides, during school hours, "shadow" their charges, watching out for obvious pitfalls, shielding them, assisting them in social skills ranging from how to ask to play with others to managing money and disappointment.
They keep children focused in class, remind them of forgotten or ignored chores, and try to be an assistant who allows the child to learn and grow without doing "for" them. They keep children in the optimal learning situation of a mainstream school environment, which is also the less expensive path--a path paid for by taxpayers.
Most aides need to work with parents, who know the most about their children's special-needs responses and unique problems. Factor in the minimal, or nonexistent, training that most districts give to aides (who are viewed as "keepers," by many), and you have vulnerable children left in the lurch.
"Two year ago, at a special day class, we had an aide who was district-supplied and, because of our intensive home program, we needed the aide to communicate to us what he was doing in school." she said. "That did not happen, and Brett's care suffered." Now, Cordova pays some of the aide's salary out of her own pocket, trying to attract better qualified help.
"I've had to, because of the district's pay program. We supplement their pay and they become a member of our family when they are working with Brett. We treat them like that--there is no way he would have made that amount of progress, if he hadn't had the help of these aides."
Joanne Cordova is not alone. In November, the San Jose Unified School District had 13 children on a waiting list for one-to-one aides. The 13th child was notified two weeks ago that an aide would be available next year. The district paid less than $11 per hour, and would not advertise the positions in local newspapers.
Cordova took the extraordinary step of admitting that her beautiful child is not perfect, and asked for help in a public forum. It is a heroic and awkward step.
"Every time we put ourselves out there, it's scary," she admits. "I'm not special--I'm doing what everybody else would do... Brett is the one who works hard every day and tries to actually succeed in our world more than his e-ticket to autism land," she says with pride. "We are seeing success ... (but) you're always putting yourself out there."
I admire her. My son was the 13th on that waiting list.
Contact Deborah Taylor-Hollis via email at dthollis@metronews.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
