The Staff Bent Over Backwards to Help.
Today is Dylan’s scheduled AP test for Language and Composition.
Conveniently, if he passes this test with a decent score, it will mean he won’t have to take at least one writing-intensive class in college. Given the fact that Dylan has a lot of trouble with writing, this would be wonderful.
Since he can use it to get college credit, it is the most important test he will take all year, other then the SAT. It’s a huge deal, and we’ve been registered for it for six months. Dylan has been preparing in class for more than a month, writing practice essays and giving it all he’s got.
Unfortunately, Dylan won’t be taking the AP test today.
Why would Dylan miss the most important test of the year?
Well, yesterday, I got an email about all of the many outlawed items – food, backpacks, cell phones, computers – that should not be taken into the AP testing area.
Dylan has used a computer for writing since third grade, so I emailed the teacher in charge: “Will Dylan get a school computer, or should he bring his own laptop?” I asked.
“He will not be provided, nor may he bring a computer to the testing setting,” she emailed back. She pointed out that, while he had extended time, he was not allowed special access to a computer for his writing needs.
I almost vomited.
Dylan is an excellent writer – as long as he’s using a computer. His handwriting hasn’t improved since preschool, though, and he struggles dearly with writing things down. His brain moves way too fast for his hand, so he learned to type in second grade. It’s the only way he can keep up with his own thoughts.
But it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t be allowed to use a computer for his AP test. It wasn’t an issue in his prior AP test, because everything was multiple choice. (Dylan can certainly darken a circle.) But Language and Composition includes a LOT of writing.
This news hit my email inbox at 2:45 yesterday – less than 17 hours before the test. It usually takes a minimum of seven weeks to approve an accommodation.
I freaked out. I emailed everybody. I blathered on about blind people who needed braille being just like Dylan needing a computer. I called Dylan – and Bill – and screamed in their ears. (This was not helpful.) Then I jumped in the car, even though it was well past last period, and headed for the high school, picking up Dylan along the way.
School was closed. But because they are awesome, the staff bent over backwards to help.
Dylan found his case manager, who explained in “Dylan lingo” what had happened – and why she couldn’t fix it. (This helped him, because he had no idea what was going on.)
Meanwhile, the principal called me into a conference room and listened while I whined and squealed. The head of special education came in to meet with us. He was wonderfully calm, and shook my hand.
He talked; I listened.
Then the special education chair went to work – more than an hour after school had closed. He made phone calls, filled out forms, texted and called me, and asked Dylan what he wanted to do.
The gist: Dylan could take the test without the computer accommodation now, or he could wait a week and hope to have the computer accommodation then.
Dylan chose the lesser of two evils, and decided to wait. And the case manager deserves all the credit for our having any choice at all.
So now, we wait.