Think About Such Things

On a blessed August morning in 2012, I gave birth to our third child, Austin. Our prayers for a healthy and happy little boy, adorned with two unexpected dimples, were answered. He was an immediate treasure. We savored our first few months with him as in no other season in our life. Austin seemed to progress more slowly than did our older two children, but our pediatrician assured us that his development was within typical range so we did not worry.

However, at eight months of age he experienced small tremors in his arms and legs. We were quickly referred to our local children’s hospital, where they identified infantile spasms and a brain-damaging, severe type of pediatric seizures. Over the next months, yet seemingly at once, his cognitive growth appeared to stop while his neurological difficulties persisted. Doctors were perplexed until, after a year of tests, they discovered a rare genetic condition. We were told our son would never walk, talk, or live independently. It was crushing. We were scared.

For the next couple of years we enlisted the help of all types of specialists, therapists, and doctors as we hoped to find an intervention that would “fix” Austin. He was eventually given two diagnoses in addition to his seizure disorder: autism spectrum disorder and intellectual developmental disorder. This gave us access to all types of private therapies and public programs. Austin’s days were filled with appointments, in-home training, and other interventions to target his deficit areas. His progress was painfully slow. Before long, this was draining for him and depressing for us. We seemed buried in reports of his struggles with few options for closing the gap. Specialists often referred to Austin as a “puzzle,” which became more discouraging and disheartening than intriguing. Those early years unfolded like an exhausting, ongoing obstacle course filled with moving targets.

In many ways, my professional background as a teacher and school administrator was a blessing. In other ways, I knew too much. Because of Austin’s now severe cognitive delays and persistent epilepsy, I could not envision him being served well in any educational setting near us. Secular options could not offer him the worldview we wanted, and the classical Christian school our older children attended was not equipped to meet his medical or academic needs.

It was during this season that I read Simply Classical: A Beautiful Education for Any Child. With this new-at-the-time book, Cheryl Swope captivated me with her eloquent explanation of classical education and, most notably, her pursuit of a virtuous education for every child. I admired her knowledge. The anecdotal stories of her family’s triumphs and struggles gave me inspiration, encouragement, and well-timed hope. As she made a case for classical education for children with unique educational needs, I was reminded of Philippians 4:8:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

I was convinced: It is right for us to help all children pursue wisdom, virtue, and eloquence, even if the pace is slow and progress is difficult to measure—or is even at times regressive. With the wisdom from Simply Classical and Philippians 4:8 as an outline, we began designing a new, beautiful education for our son.

Because learning had become so frustrating for Austin, we started by focusing on his existing skills, interests, and joys. We requested that his therapists build upon or enhance those things rather than targeting only deficits. What does Austin do that is excellent or praiseworthy? He loves rhyming. He loves colorful images of humans and animals, especially their eyes. He loves music. We believed that these could become ways to spark new learning most effectively.

We targeted Austin’s love of rhyming first. He finds great comfort in predictability. Predictable rhymes seem to afford escape from his anxiety, which fosters “stimming” or perseverating behaviors. Mesmerized by Eric Carle’s Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, Austin relaxes as he listens. We added to the book to assist fine-motor skills, support sensory processing, and boost visual attention. We put feathers on the red bird, googly eyes wherever possible, and fur on the bear—these added renewed interest to a favorite book. Additionally, the added textures allowed the pages to separate more readily, enabling him to turn pages independently for the first time. We later created felt cutouts of each animal to create matching games and improve small-muscle skills. Since then we have similarly adapted many other books with tactile supports. We also purchased a set of the books for his therapists to use. They have adapted the books to increase his goals.

His love of pictures, faces, and animals encouraged the use of Picture Exchange Communication System (PECS) when he turned four. He struggled greatly with receptive (understood) and expressive (spoken) language, but his therapists were impressed with his swift ability to make the association of a picture with familiar objects. We began to use the PECS picture cards to give him a tool for expressing his desire for a particular snack, book, or toy. To extend this in a more lovely way, we purchased the art posters from Memoria Press. We began with art featuring familiar items. Renoir’s A Girl with a Watering Can features a beautiful young girl with vibrant eyes and a colorful background. We printed two cards for shoes—one of the girl’s, and one of Austin’s. We introduced a card for “apple” to add to his food card collection while studying van Gogh’s Still Life with Apples. Learning new cards is slowly giving Austin the gift of communication. Art has proven a beautiful modality for this process.

Music is another love of Austin’s. During a lengthy hospital stay he became entranced by a video for babies featuring the music of Mozart. Puppets, toys, and other visuals accompanied the music, and I wondered if it was merely the puppets and graphics that captivated him. We purchased our own copy but, after downloading the soundtrack, I found Austin was comforted by the music alone. I then substituted similar canons performed by different musicians and orchestras. Now we have a variety of Mozart audio performances to play and numerous symphonies to watch. Austin is now better able to focus on the primary source and meditate on the loveliness the music offers.

Today, the framework of Philippians 4:8 continues to serve as a litmus test when designing Austin’s academics. Since the time when I first read Simply Classical, Cheryl Swope and the team at Memoria Press have designed a thoroughly incremental classical curriculum for students with special needs. Austin is in his second year of Simply Classical Level A: Readiness, Rhythm, & Rhyme. The poetic components, tactile activities, and pace are just right for him. It brings us great joy knowing Austin is exposed to beautiful literature, music, poetry, and art, components often omitted for children with educational needs as severe as his. We continue partnering with many specialists toward his therapeutic goals, but as we address his struggles we also design educational approaches to foster his strengths, interests, and joys. For our family, a classical Christian curriculum brings goodness to Austin’s world, even through a modified—but no less beautiful—lens.