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by Catherine Hedgecock
A SPECIAL
TEACHER FOR
SPECIAL
KIDS
Published February 10, 1997
Other Columns by Catherine Hedgecock
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Jocelyn Paré isn't your typical P.E. teacher. Her students walk with braces and roll in wheelchairs. They are blind, deaf, dyslexic, obese, or severely retarded. If you think physical education is a waste of time for these children, you're wrong. Paré, who has a nursing degree and a master's in education for those with learning disabilities, says kids can't thrive if they don't get physical. "Movement matters so much in education. It helps with confidence, flexibility of thinking, and finding other options to solve problems."
Her students are a challenge, but Paré is up to it. Tall and slender, with a wave of long brown hair, she is a dervish of vitality. Last year, at age 47, she ran her seventh marathon, in Boston, and bicycled 500 miles from San Francisco to Los Angeles for the California AIDS ride. In her free time, she works out at the gym, hikes, and ice skates. "I just have lots of energy," she says with a laugh.
She needs that energy to keep up with the 400 children she sees each week. Paré is the adaptive P.E. specialist for the 37,000-student school district in Richmond, California. She has no classroom; instead she travels from school to school in her "office," a Jeep Cherokee packed with the tools of her trade -- big balls, little balls, balance boards, jump ropes, measuring tapes, and Hula Hoops.
It's a job Paré never expected to have. When she first met a group of disabled kids, she "freaked out. I thought, 'I'm not capable of working with these kids.' They were so needy." Nevertheless, she felt an affinity for them. As a left-hander, growing up in New Bedford, Massachusetts, she remembered her own awkwardness and self-consciousness. She also remembered how important it was to have someone believe in her. Girls didn't have many organized sports in those days, so the boys' coach let her play on the baseball team -- as long as she hid her hair under a baseball cap. She loved sports and always knew she wanted to teach P.E. After she graduated from high school, she trained as a nurse in order to work her way through school. She came west to U.C. Berkeley, crewed on the rowing team, and worked part-time as a nurse and at a tennis club.
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The actions were simple, but for her students they were as complex as square-dancing calls.
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She expected to become a regular P.E. teacher, but those jobs were scarce at the time. To improve her prospects, Paré specialized in adaptive P.E. After finishing at Berkeley, she entered a master's program at nearby St . Mary's College. An internship there gave her a first taste of teaching, and it was a mouthful. She interned at a special school for aphasic children, who have an extremely poor sense of direction, coordination, and timing. They literally trip over themselves. Paré taught the fourth- and fifth-graders to mentally plan a footstep and then take it, plan a turn and then make it.
The actions seemed so simple -- yet Paré knew that, for her students, they were as complex as square-dancing calls. Together they practiced, and progress was astounding. By spring, the students had advanced so far that they were playing softball, something the school staff had never imagined possible. "They called me the miracle worker," Paré says. "That was the beginning for me."
Soon after, Paré went to work for the Richmond School District, where she has been for 19 years. She believes no child is beyond reach, but there are lots of things about teaching that she never learned in school. At Christmas, for example, she gave her students rocks. Sound like the old lump of coal? No, these were special rocks -- rocks that had a message for each child. "One boy said, 'My rock told me it loved me.' Another said, 'Be patient and listen.' An autistic boy put his rock to his ear and said, 'It's strong.' Kids need so much love and attention. I didn't learn how to teach this way in college. I learned by doing."
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There's only one disability that has stymied Paré: apathy.
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Paré has learned over the years that every child can expand his or her movements. Joey, a severely retarded 11-year-old, cannot walk, talk, feed himself, or use the bathroom. Yet in Paré's hands, he blossoms. She puts him in the swimming pool with floats, and there he splashes with his arms and kicks his legs, giggling with joy. When other children are playing catch with a beach ball, a peer assistant helps Joey catch the ball and throw it back. "No matter how minor Joey's movements may seem, that's a big success for him."
There's only one disability that has stymied Paré: apathy. She can't teach anyone who doesn't want to learn. Happily, she doesn't come across too many kids who can remain unmoved by her enthusiasm and her love.
"My kids are my blessing," says Paré. "After every day of work, I feel brand new."
Catherine Hedgecock is a freelance writer and editor in Berkeley, California. She has written for USA Today, Knight Ridder newspapers, GNN, and other publications. She has won first place investigative reporting awards from California Newspaper Publishers Association, Gannett newspapers, and Best of the West. Ms. Hedgecock is currently writing a mystery novel.
© 1997 Catherine Hedgecock, all rights reserved.
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