Teach me the way I learn please
· William L Hartwick
A blog by William L. Hartwick
“Sit down, shut up, and read” has never worked for 90% of the world.
What happens when the child cannot sit still? What happens when the sound is a tic? What happens when reading the page is not how that child can show you what he or she or they know?
If you are a parent, a care provider, a teacher, an aide, a counselor, part of administration, or another professional with a neurodivergent human in your life, this is the conversation I want to have with you. Not a conversation about how to make that human normal, basic, and average. A conversation about how we accept the differences and give that human the same opportunity to learn.
I had to battle for that opportunity as a student. I was labeled functionally illiterate. I had Tourette syndrome without knowing its name until I was 35. Then I became a teacher and a school principal. Across 27 years in public education, I had the opportunity to be on the other side of that conversation. I did not want another child to have to fight the same battle just to be understood.
“I’m not a problem child. I’m a child with a problem.” That is the difference I want us to understand. In my poem “I'm Not a Problem Child,” I ask us to remember:
“So before you judge a child as a problem not a gift from above
Please remember that every child deserves the gift of love”
Accept the disability. Get to know the human.
Acceptance does not mean pretending there is no disability. It means we stop treating the disability as a character flaw. Tourette syndrome and tic disorders involve movements or sounds that are not simply a child choosing to misbehave. Some people can hold back a tic for a time; that does not make it a choice or mean holding it back is easy.
A quiet moment does not prove the difficulty has gone away. A louder moment does not tell us the child has stopped trying. Before we decide what a movement or sound means, we need to understand what we are seeing.
At home and at school, we can begin by not making every tic the center of attention. Listen to what the child is saying, not just the sound that interrupts it. If a tic hurts, interferes with learning, or causes distress, take that seriously and bring the appropriate care provider into the conversation.
And ask the child. What is difficult? What helps? What do you wish the adults understood? Do not let the adults do all the talking about a human who is sitting right there.
Understanding is more than knowing the label.
Knowing that a child has Tourette syndrome is a beginning. It does not tell you everything about how that child learns. Neither does an ADHD label, an autism label, or a file full of last year’s concerns. We still have to get to know him or her or them.
Does listening help more than reading alone? Does talking through an idea help? Does the child understand the lesson but struggle to write the answer? Would movement, a break, a quieter place, or a different way to respond make learning more accessible? These are questions to explore with the child, not a prescription for every child with the same diagnosis.
I write in rhyme. Rhythm matters to me. I would not assume it matters the same way to every child. The point is to find the way that reaches the human in front of us.
“Unless you are willing to learn from those who already know
You’ve put limitations on yourself, never allowing you to grow”
Those are lines from my poem “Teaching.” They apply to us as adults, too. A child can teach us what our lesson plan has not told us.
Advocate without making the child fight alone.
When we talk about a disability, we need to mention the child’s name 100 more times than we mention the disability. It should not be the child’s label. It should not follow him or her or them around.
A parent should be able to say, “That is a tic,” and be heard. An educator should be able to say, “This part of the day is difficult,” and be helped. Neither conversation gets very far if we begin by deciding the other person is the enemy.
Bring in family. By family, I mean extended family, caregivers, and providers as well as parents. The people who know and support that child may see something the classroom does not see. The classroom may see something that does not happen at home. Put that information together.
Describe what actually happened. Which task? What time? What was difficult? What helped? “They won’t cooperate” gives us a judgment. Knowing that he could explain an answer aloud but could not get it onto the worksheet gives us something we can work with.
Advocacy also means asking the school about formal support when it is needed. In the United States, that may include an evaluation for a Section 504 plan or an IEP. Eligibility depends on the child’s needs and the applicable requirements. The purpose is access to education, not collecting another label.
If classmates need an explanation, involve the child and family in deciding what is shared. Understanding should not come at the price of the child’s privacy. Respond to teasing. Make room for participation. Do not leave the child to educate every adult and defend every difference alone.
“I taught them” is not the end of the conversation.
I want education to move away from the idea that delivering the lesson finishes the job. “I’m the teacher. I taught them.” All right. How did they learn it? How do we know? And what do we do when the way we taught did not reach them?
There is still a place for reading, practice, structure, and expectations. But sitting quietly is not proof of understanding. A tic is not proof of disrespect. We cannot keep confusing compliance with learning.
The classroom that is real is not just the building. It is the way we respond to the humans in it. A child may show understanding through a conversation, a demonstration, an audio response, or written work. The goal still matters. The path to it does not have to be identical for everyone.
In the 21st century, we have more ways to listen, communicate, and learn. Audio, dictation, and other tools can open a door that a printed page alone leaves closed. Technology does not replace knowing the child. It gives us more ways to reach that child.
Bridge the gap. Turn the educational pyramid upside down.
Education is a great invention of modern times and continues to be the worst system. We have public education. Now we need an equal playing field for all.
Let’s take that proverbial pyramid and turn it upside down. Have the bureaucratic world push up on education and up on children. The people making the rules should be supporting the people doing the teaching, and all of them should be supporting the children. Give them all the same opportunity to learn.
My process begins with conversation. Bring in family. Gather information. Observe. Have another conversation with what you now understand. Build an individual action plan. Turn the child’s educational pyramid upside down so the adults and the system support the child, instead of asking the child to carry the system.
That plan needs to be something people can actually do. Agree on what support will be available, who will provide it, and when you will talk again. Include the child’s view of whether it is helping. If the plan is not working, the next conversation should change the plan—not simply repeat the complaint.
One saying I return to is:
“A mind changed against its will is of the same opinion still.”
If the whole approach is forcing a child to look compliant, we may never learn what the child understands. Conversation gives us a chance to find out. So does being willing to change our own minds.
“For teaching is not always in a classroom at school
It is the sharing of lives, experiences that is a valuable tool”
That is also from “Teaching.” Home and school do not have to be two separate stories about the same child. We can share what we know and build the next part together.
The same opportunity. Not the same path.
I know what it is to be the student people do not understand. Being a teacher and principal gave me the opportunity to make a different choice for others. That is why my message is clear: education is changing, and acceptance has to be part of that change.
I want to support the parents who are tired of explaining. The care providers who want their knowledge heard. The educators, in every part of a school, who want to reach a child and need help bridging the gap.
We can begin with one child and one conversation. Ask what is getting in the way. Listen to the answer. Bring the people together. Make a plan that gives him or her or them access to learning, not another demand to become somebody else.
The privileges that the normal, basic, and average receive should not have to be earned by hiding a disability. The child who learns differently belongs in the conversation and in the classroom.
It’s not pick and choose. It’s not what worked for me. It’s not because I said. It’s because every child deserves the respect and love the one sitting next to them also gets—no matter race, creed, color, religion, or gender.
In “Children Are so Precious,” I wrote:
“They are so honest in the way that they speak and how they judge us all
Don't abuse that child's morale let them stand up tall”
And in “Teaching”:
“If you have made the same decision in your mind and in your heart
Give those kids a fighting chance by offering them a head start”
We’re human beings. It’s public education, not a bureaucratic dictatorship.
I want to close with an invitation. If you are a parent, a care provider, a teacher, an administrator, a school district, or an organization that needs the support we have to offer, I would like to bring my expertise and my services to that conversation. You can find my books, my story, and ways to reach me at https://theinvisiblebackpackorganization.com. Every child deserves the same opportunity to learn. Let’s build that opportunity together.
“Allow your ordinary to become extraordinary.”
— William L. Hartwick