My name is Zach Deets, and I proudly hold the title of Doctor, with an Ed. D. in Counseling and Special Education Leadership. More importantly, I stand as a passionate advocate for inclusive education--but I didn't start that way. As an individual the same number of years old as Public Law 94-142--what we now know as the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA)--my formative experiences as a public education student and later as a paraprofessional and then professional working in public schools were not yet sufficient to allow me to challenge my thinking or, apparently, the vast majority of my colleagues in public education. As if stuck in the prevailing winds of the past I believed students with disabilities naturally and logically should be placed with other students "like them" in special classes and programs. I believed, without much thought or evidence beyond my own segregated experiences, that students experiencing disability would struggle with much of the general education context and curriculum, face rejection from peers, and encounter educators ill-equipped to support them adequately. I was wrong, if not with some caveats.
I started my educational career over two decades ago, initially as a paraprofessional working in several segregated behavior support classrooms, later as a school psychologist, and then as a district-level coordinator of special education services in support of inclusive practices within a fully inclusive school district with zero special programs or classes. As a professional, I’ve been a part of teams that determined students needed more restrictive placements based nearly entirely on the disability category they happened to have qualified for services under. I've looked parents in the eye and informed them that their child needed to attend a different school because the particular program that seemed a better fit for their child was located somewhere else. But, not to worry: we'd provide transportation.
I’ve worked in schools with special program classes just down the hall—full of kids I didn’t even know the names of and whose general education peers asked why “those kids” had a different recess and a different PE and music class. I didn’t have a good answer.
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I was there when the programs were dismantled, and those same “program students” were granted the opportunity to join their neighborhood school and have a home in their general education classes. I was there when the teachers worried, and parents worried, and administrators worried, and I worried because we hadn’t done what we were doing before. I was there when we determined to put their desk in the general education classroom instead of a special classroom.
And I was there when those same kids got invited to their first birthday party, and when their peers shared, earnestly, that they wanted to be in the same class together next year. I’ve listened to parents tearfully share how they used to go to the park and the grocery store and no one would know their child’s name.
But now they do.
I’ve watched a student graduate from 5th grade with his class and share at the ceremony, using his alternative and augmentative communication (AAC) device, that he wants to be a paleontologist when he grows up. I believe him.
I’ve supported a student placed in a life skills-focused classroom—with literally zero interaction with any students outside of the program and virtually no connection to the general education curriculum—with attending their neighborhood school instead and witnessed them being invited to join the school’s student leadership team within a matter of weeks.
I’ve borne witness to countless stories of educators expressing how they “didn’t know So and So could do what they just did!” and I’ve watched students with disabilities graduate from high school and find independence and belonging in the community.
I’ve worked in the same district now for 19 years and have been privileged with the unique opportunity to grow professionally alongside some of the most impressive and courageous educators as we dismantled all special programs and classes and instead shifted to supporting all students with attending their neighborhood school, with programs and supports built around them—instead of the other way around. In short, I don’t need evidence to tell me that an inclusive education is qualitatively different than a segregated one because I’ve already lived it.
I’ve worked in schools with special program classes just down the hall—full of kids I didn’t even know the names of and whose general education peers asked why “those kids” had a different recess and a different PE and music class. I didn’t have a good answer.
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I was there when the programs were dismantled, and those same “program students” were granted the opportunity to join their neighborhood school and have a home in their general education classes. I was there when the teachers worried, and parents worried, and administrators worried, and I worried because we hadn’t done what we were doing before. I was there when we determined to put their desk in the general education classroom instead of a special classroom.
And I was there when those same kids got invited to their first birthday party, and when their peers shared, earnestly, that they wanted to be in the same class together next year. I’ve listened to parents tearfully share how they used to go to the park and the grocery store and no one would know their child’s name.
But now they do.
I’ve watched a student graduate from 5th grade with his class and share at the ceremony, using his alternative and augmentative communication (AAC) device, that he wants to be a paleontologist when he grows up. I believe him.
I’ve supported a student placed in a life skills-focused classroom—with literally zero interaction with any students outside of the program and virtually no connection to the general education curriculum—with attending their neighborhood school instead and witnessed them being invited to join the school’s student leadership team within a matter of weeks.
I’ve borne witness to countless stories of educators expressing how they “didn’t know So and So could do what they just did!” and I’ve watched students with disabilities graduate from high school and find independence and belonging in the community.
I’ve worked in the same district now for 19 years and have been privileged with the unique opportunity to grow professionally alongside some of the most impressive and courageous educators as we dismantled all special programs and classes and instead shifted to supporting all students with attending their neighborhood school, with programs and supports built around them—instead of the other way around. In short, I don’t need evidence to tell me that an inclusive education is qualitatively different than a segregated one because I’ve already lived it.