J - Joe

Before leaving the States, I lived in Indianapolis for a few years. My first job in that city was working in one of the city schools. I worked in the "Severely Disabled Special Education" classroom. Many of the students in that classroom were non-verbal. Some were in wheelchairs. A few were not even capable of taking care of personal hygiene issues. There were autistic children, one with Down Syndrome, one that was blind, non-verbal and unable to care for himself. Several other ailments existed in this classroom as well. Each student had their own combination of challenges to face.

Of all the students in that class, there were three that were capable of having a normal conversation. One of them is who I am writing about today. His name is Joe.

Joe was a 12-year-old African American student with some sort of high-functioning autism and some other cognitive issues.  A person actually could talk to Joe for a few minutes and (other than a bit of a speech impediment) not realize he had any issues.

Joe could not read and I doubt he ever will be able to. He could not even recognize letters. Joe's mental state was probably as advanced as it is ever going to be. There are specialized schools who may have been able to be more help, but Joe came from a poor inner-city family and a public school day-care setting was the best he was ever going to get.

Whatever setbacks he had facing him, Joe was a notoriously happy kid. And he was one of my favorites in the class. I know a teacher is not supposed to have favorites, but we do. And Joe seemed to adore me. He was at my side constantly. He would get a bit moody when one of the other teaching assistants had to do something with him so I could work with another student.

Joe is one of those kids that I really wanted to take under my wing and be of more assistance to but teacher-student relationships can be tricky so it is better to just not get involved. However, when I left that school to go work in an actual autism center, I got Joe's information. If I was no longer his teacher, I could be of more help.

On the last day of school, I drove to his house to go introduce myself to his mother and explain my intentions. Joe and I just wanted to occasionally hang out. Go catch a movie, play video games, whatever. However, getting to his house was an eye-opening experience. Seventeen people lived in this tiny, filthy house. Most of them were kids. There were holes all the way through the walls and I could tell immediately upon meeting Joe's mother that she had a severe substance abuse problem.

She didn't question anything I said and told me I could take Joe any time to do anything. I didn't consider that to be good parenting, but I was sure that was far from the biggest problem in that house.

For the next year, I picked Joe up about every other week and we went to do something. We went to see the latest Fast & Furious movie in the theater. We went back to my house to play XBOX. We went and played catch in the park. He never cared what we did. He just loved having someone who paid attention to him. And I enjoyed knowing that I was taking him to do things that he never got to do.

Joe never asked for anything. He was always happy to do whatever I had in mind. However, once I said, "What would you like to eat tonight?" He told me he wanted a steak. He had a steak once and loved it. So, we went to Applebee's.

As soon as we stepped inside, he said, "I don't like this place." I was surprised.

"Have you been here before?"

He said, "There's just too many white people."

Here's a picture of me.
In case you can't tell, I'm pretty white.

I asked, "You don't like white people?"

"No. All that money. They think they're better than everybody else."

I got down low and said, "Joe, look at me. I am white."

Joe stepped back and looked me up and down. He then laughed and waved me away. "You're not white. You're pretty cool."

That was intended as a compliment, so I took it that way.

He did agree to eat there and was thrilled that we got a black waitress. We sat and ate steak and fat baked potatoes while he told me all the reasons he hates white people. It was an interesting dinner.

I stayed in touch with one of the other aides from Joe's classroom and she knew that I saw Joe now and then. She would occasionally call me to tell me about things Joe needed. Maybe Joe did not have a winter coat or his shoes were falling apart or he needed a haircut. I would try to get these things for him or find someone who could.

Getting involved in Joe's life was an eye-opening experience. I always knew I had it better than most people, but seeing it face-to-face is different than hearing about it. However, I didn't do it to be a big help to him. Yes, I know I helped, but my original intention was actually for myself also.

When I moved to Indianapolis, my youngest had just turned 18 and she did not come with me. I was without my kids for the first time in over twenty years and I missed having kids to do stuff with. That may sound immature, but it's part of who I am. Today, I live in Vietnam and despite the language barrier, I try to engage with the kids in my neighborhood. I just love it.

That experience with Joe introduced me to how other people live and struggle. Conversations with him and some people in his family really opened my eyes to how blinded we are by our own circumstances and experiences when we observe the world. There are realities that they could not see due to their life experience and the same is true of me. It is difficult to see outside our beliefs, prejudices, customs, culture, and traditions.

I don't know what Joe got from me other than a few fun days, but I know I learned a lot from him.

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This month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. Each day this month, people around the world are writing blog posts and working their way through the alphabet. Each person decides their own personal theme. I am writing about people who have affected my life.