The least of these

Old Village School serves the most severely multiply impaired children of western Wayne county. That’s a nice way of saying that OVS takes the kids that no other school is equipped to handle. For reasons of physical, emotional, and/or mental impairment, these kids are the bottom of the barrel.

Or, as their teachers and therapists would say, the cream.

Sitting around my table are the principal and six of the staff, all of whom have in some way been a part of granddaughter Keren’s life. We’ve served a meal that engenders conversation and interaction but they would have mingled well in any setting.

The first to arrive was Keren’s teacher for her first two years, a slender middled-aged woman with sharp features. She comes a little early to the door and says, “I’m early, but I just wanted to see everyone.” Everyone is the Dreamer and Engineer, their two little girls, the Driver, and her son. And us, the grandparents. This teacher ensconces herself in the middle of the chaos of small children and toys and parents and immediately engages. We learn quickly that she lost a son many years ago and that loss sent her back to teaching kids who other parents may lose.

Soon the whole group have arrived, talking, laughing, hugging us all, playing with the little ones and reading them books, asking questions about family pictures. We’ve invited them to honor their service and to say thank you for their hard work but they come eager to honor and enjoy Keren’s family. “She was our little star, you know,” one says. “She lit up the room.”

At the table we hear stories. “Our kids” is a common phrase, as if somehow they own the children they serve. These are teachers who change diapers on big children and clean up all sorts of messes. But that’s just the job, not the focus. Their focus is on learning and emotional health and making every day a joy.

“You know,” one woman says, “so many of our kids can’t talk but they have a depth of empathy that amazes me. If I’m down or not feeling well, I find a little hand slipping onto my arm or around my neck. There aren’t words, but I know that child senses my pain and, out of their own pain, they are handing me a piece of love.”

We ask them for Keren stories. The physical therapist talks about loving the squeals she’d get when she worked with Keren. Another woman remembers the white furry coat and red hai rbows. A third talks about lights and music and beating drums in time with the symphony. A fourth remembers Keren’s delight in the big dog that comes to visit the classes.
For a relatively small school, OVS gets the top of the line in entertainment – Redwing hockey stars, Chinese gymnasts, a Christmas party each year from a local Lions club that rivals Santa’s workshop.

One woman tells how a little boy with severe needs of his own pulled them into a circle the day after Keren’s death. He insisted that he needed to lead a “memorial service” for Keren, and set about to preside as priest and comforter for the class and the teachers. “And we were comforted,” she says, “and overwhelmed at his perception of what we all needed that day.”

The principal sits at the end of the table as proud of his teachers as a dad would be of his kids. “I walk the halls and pop in and out of every class,” he says. “These teachers do an amazing job and we’ve got happy kids.” He’s got happy teachers too who know their value is noted.

More than anything else, they pour love on the Dreamer and the Engineer in gallon doses. They ask concerned questions and listen to answers. They dish out hugs like there was no end to the parade. They invite us all to school over and over.

“Come and spend a day. Come and see my classroom. Come and we’ll give you a tour of everything.”

At evening’s end they linger in the entryway, savoring each other and the company of those who have some understanding of the children they teach. When they finally all straggle out the door we step back, spent. In setting out to say thank you, we have been richly rewarded by teachers who give far more than they get.

In the great economy of education in Michigan, OVS will not win awards for advanced placement, or Math Olympics, or the top soccer team. But if awards are to be given out, they should go to the teachers and therapists and aides who serve the least of these, the children who cannot take care of themselves.

They would say it’s only right. “Their kids” love them back unconditionally. It makes it worth getting up in the morning.


"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these… you did for me.'”
Matthew 24:40