When we were in fifth grade and the state required us to do science and we could not do science, an independent contractor called Effective Education Passport was sent to observe us. Effective education was what they were supposed to make sure we had. The passport part was so they could give us each a little book to record our progress in so they could prove they were doing a good job. They thought it would be easy since our progress in science when they came was zero, so even if we only did a little bit, that would still be more, and anyone who looked in our passports could see it. But when they met with us, they discovered there were some problems.
Nellie Long would not do Dissecting a Frog because it was sticky when you touched it, and she would not do Dissecting a Fake Frog because it was sticky too. “No frogs were harmed in the making of this science experiment,” Mr. Farer joked with her, but she did not laugh because her objection was not ethical but tactile and also it was not funny.
Nigel Peterman would not do the Is Your Mouth Cleaner Than a Dog’s experiment or the Roast a Marshmallow in an Oven You Built Yourself experiment or the What Food Will Rot First experiment because they smelled like dogs, marshmallows, and rotten, soon-to-be-rotten, and weirdly-not-rotten food, and Nigel Peterman does not like things that smell like anything.
Lulu Isaacs would not do the experiment where you listened to your partner’s heart and then you both did jumping jacks and then listened again because the hearts were loud in her ears and the stethoscope was pressing, also in her ears.
When Effective Education Passport called me into an empty classroom and asked what experiment was my favorite, I said, “Eep,” and when they asked if any of the experiments had upset me, I said, “Eep,” and when they asked if I had felt the need to skip any of the experiments or leave the room while they occurred, I said, “Eep,” and when they asked if there was any way the experiments could be modified or augmented to make me more comfortable or able to participate, I said, “Eep,” and when they asked me why I would not answer them, I protested that I was answering them by saying, “Eep,” and when they asked me why I kept peeping like a duck, I pointed to their clipboards, notebooks, pencils, pens, and shirt pockets, all of which read, “E.E.P. Your passport to education effectiveness.” And I also told them ducks do not say “Eep.” That is when the Effective Education Passport team got up and left the room.
They did not close the door, however, so I overheard the conversation they had with our principal. It went like this:
Mrs. Mussbaum: You’re leaving?
E.E.P.: I’m afraid we’ve accomplished all we can here. Too many of your students are special needs. Too many are on the spectrum. What you need is professional help.
Mrs. Mussbaum: You are professionals.
E.E.P.: Not the kind you need. We’re sorry we can’t offer more assistance. As a gesture of goodwill, we’ll waive half our fee.
Mrs. Mussbaum: Half? You didn’t do anything.
E.E.P.: We’re consultants. We consulted. Implementation of our recommendations is the school’s responsibility.
Mrs. Mussbaum: You didn’t recommend anything either.
E.E.P.: We recommend seeking professional help. You’ll have our bill by the end of the week.
Mrs. Mussbaum: Eep.
Before that I did not know what “special needs” meant, and I did not know what “on the spectrum” meant. So I asked Pastor Jeff.
Or, to be more accurate, I asked Dr. Lilly. Dr. Lilly is Bourne’s only doctor, but he prefers to go by Pastor Jeff because he is also Bourne’s only priest. He used to be a Catholic priest, but there are not enough people in Bourne anymore for everyone to have different religions. Whatever sickness you have and whatever prayers you pray, Pastor Jeff is your only option anyway. Mab, Mirabel, and I are a trinity, but we are not a Trinity—which is how capital letters work—and we are not religious, but this does not matter to Pastor Jeff. We are his flock, he says. A doctor’s job and a priest’s job are both to spread care and love and healing no matter what you believe, he says. Bourne could use some ministering, he says. When I was little, I hoped he would marry our mother because he is nice and because husband and father are also both jobs with lots of ministering, but he said that is not how it works with Catholic priests.
When I told him what Effective Education Passport said about us, he said, “Everyone needs air, water, food, shelter, and clothing all the time, Monday. Everyone needs care when they’re sick or hurt, love when they’re sad or scared, someone to tell them no or stop when they’re being unsafe. Everything else people need sometimes—and it’s a lot—is special. All of us have special needs.”