I apologize to any Little People who object to the term "dwarf." I would never say "dwarf" in a conversation in the year 2008, and I respect that any group can decide what to call themselves. I only use the term because in context, it is part of this story.
About 25 years ago, I knew a woman whose son was a Little Person, a very smart kid named David. She told me that when David was 11 years old, he was playing in a park. Another kid approached him and asked if he wanted to play. The kid asked David, "How old are you, anyway?"
David replied, "I'm eleven."
The boy said, "You can't be eleven, because I'm eight, and I'm way bigger than you are."
David said, "That's because I'm a dwarf."
The boy mulled this over with furrowed brow, then announced, "Well, I don't believe in dwarfs!" He ran away and David played by himself.
I think of this often when standard classroom teachers struggle against doing something different for the gifted kids in their classrooms--my kids. They think gifted kids can manage on their own; they already have so many advantages; the teacher is already stressed with so many expectations; and they don't want to encourage an elitist attitude among the gifted kids.
I reflect that some teachers "don't believe in giftedness."
The funny thing about David is that whether or not the other boy believed in him, he was still there. He was still a Little Person. He wasn't going to go away, or stop being a Little Person, just because another kid wouldn't validate his existence, or his challenges.
I also reflect, often, that this situation mirrors the reactions of some people in the mid-70s when kids in wheelchairs or with mental challenges were integrated into regular classrooms. I was a high school student then, and I remember feeling mildly shocked that "those kids" were out there with everybody else. We were accustomed to thinking they belonged in their own building somewhere, out of our sight.
Sometimes I ask a recalcitrant classroom teacher, "If you had a child who was sight-impaired, or a child who uses a wheelchair in your classroom, would you refuse to make accommodations because they already have so many advantages, or they can manage on their own, or because you don't want anyone to think you are babying that child?"
When we pretend that gifted kids don't have their own learning needs or challenges, it doesn't change their reality any more than an eight-year-old's "unbelief" changed David's reality. They are still there; they still have a high IQ, and their needs are different, whether we are paying attention to them or not.
I try to encourage classroom teachers not to run away and let gifted kids play alone.
Tags: accommodations, gifted, little, people
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