Elementary school recess. It should be a great time in a child’s life. Something to look forward to. It helps to break up the long school day. I remember my own boys loving the time to go out and run around and get a mental break during their early school years.
I’m not saying recess was always a bad time for me, because it wasn’t. There was certainly some fun that was had, but also, to be honest, it often gave me a pit in my stomach. Some days were worse than others depending on the activity the masses wanted to do that day. The mental load is so heavy for a child with a disability. There are so many moving parts and things you have to constantly be on top of just to keep it all together. Even at such a young age. It’s a lot.
Each time I would see the hopscotch design drawn on the pavement, I went into an internal panic. Most of these emotions and insecurities were kept inside my young mind, not shared with anyone. I watched as kids hopped along with ease, careful to avoid the dreaded missteps. I couldn’t even begin to hopscotch correctly. I tried of course, because I wanted to do what the other kids were doing. I wasn’t able to stand on one leg or hop. Sometimes, kids would tell me I wasn’t doing it right, to which I wanted to scream, “yes, I know!”
The general running around during recess also left me feeling inadequate and left out. I often gravitated to the swings, where I knew I could participate.
One of the pieces of playground equipment was four metal chickens with seats that were attached to giant springs. Kids would get on and bounce as hard as they could. I always avoided that because number one, it was really difficult for me to even get up on, and two, my muscles were too weak to keep me on if it bounced too hard. Finally, my friends talked me into it and promised to be gentle with their bouncing and helped me climb on. They held true to their promise, and I was having a great time. Until one of the boys, notorious for being the school bully, came up behind me. He decided it would be funny to grab the back of the chicken I was sitting on and bounce it as hard as he could. I was terrified. It only took a couple of bounces before I went flying and landed hard on my back and hit my head on the concrete below.
Pain mixed with humiliation is a terrible combination. I tried my best to not cry because I knew he would only laugh more, but I was really hurt and devastatingly embarrassed. I don’t remember much else, other than he got in trouble. I was carried to the nurse’s office, and I never got on those chickens again. After that, I dreaded recess even more.
A couple of years ago, I was driving by a school where the kids were having recess. What I saw broke my heart. A young girl was parked in her wheelchair under a tree, alone. She sat and watched her peers playing soccer. I started sobbing. I could feel her loneliness. I wished I could have gone to sit beside her, but I knew I couldn’t.
I follow a lot of people with disabilities on social media, and also some parents who have children with disabilities. Recently, a parent posted a video of her young son, who lives with Muscular Dystrophy, as he sat and watched his friends play because his school playground was largely mulch, and his wheelchair couldn’t make it through. It was a plea from his heartbroken mother to the school to help make his playground more inclusive. A few modifications were made, but they weren’t ideal, and certainly didn’t provide the freedom her son should be able to experience during recess. It was a start in the right direction though.
As kids head back to school in a couple of weeks, I want to raise awareness surrounding recess and the heartbreak it can bring to a child with a disability. If you see something that could be changed, let someone know. Our voices matter, and sometimes they do bring about change.
Until next time…
Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, wife, and mom of two boys. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.