Teaching has changed from 1976 to today… (note – all the names used here are pseudonyms)
A vantage point shaped by time and experience
I began training for teaching at a time when Special Education was just becoming a defined career field. Because of my age and the length of my career, I am uniquely positioned to observe changes in education over the past fifty years.
I graduated from high school in the same year that Public Law 94‑142 was enacted. Throughout high school, I volunteered in Special Education settings, and in 1976, I completed an internship designed to expose future educators to the range of disabilities recognized at the time. Schools within a 175‑mile radius were surveyed. Only one student qualified under the diagnostic guidelines for autism.
He was six years old; I will call him Austin. I remember him clearly. He was classically cute. I worked with him daily in art for several weeks. He was deeply fixated on the zoo and seemed to believe that we were together there. He was frustrated with me for not buying peanuts to feed an elephant I could not see. At the time, we might have labeled him as having schizophrenia or a multiple personality disorder. It felt as though he lived in an alternative reality that I could not access.
Draco: a story that re-framed the diagnosis
Draco (pseudonym) early years, more recently…
In the 1990s, while teaching in a Sunday School setting, I encountered what we now call autism on the spectrum. I actually had two such students in that small class. One of them I will call Draco.
Draco was three or four years old when he entered my multi‑age classroom for students with developmental differences. Shortly after he arrived, I attended specialized training to help manage his behaviors appropriately—primarily to ensure that my own responses remained regulated.
During that training, I learned that autism had been redefined. We were given updated characteristics and practical strategies. Draco’s team suggested a specific phrasing: if I wanted him to stop an activity, I was to say, “This is off limits for Draco.” To my amazement, he complied immediately and consistently.
Draco was the oldest child of a single mother. I suspect his early years were exceptionally challenging. We certainly had our moments. I vividly remember a fire alarm during which I had to carry him outside while he kicked, flailed, and screamed. A bystander—unfamiliar with us—assumed I was abducting him and attempted to intervene. Another church leader quickly clarified the situation so I could continue getting him to safety, where he was to meet his mother.
Even once outside, he was still melting down. I managed to redirect him by pointing out the constellation for which he was named—a dragon in the night sky. His curiosity held long enough for his mother to find us.
What homeschooling looks like when significant needs are present
Over time, Draco’s mother and I became friends. I occasionally babysat for him, including one weekend so she could attend a retreat with other single mothers. That experience gave me a more intimate understanding of what life with a child like Draco was really like.
At the time, I was homeschooling my own daughter. When Draco stayed with us, we included him in our homeschool days. It was far from easy, yet he did remarkably well in that setting. The structure helped him, and we worked intentionally on drawing out spoken language.
A mother’s persistence—and real progress
In my estimation, Draco’s mother is a hero.
She pursued multiple therapies and consulted physicians. She implemented a highly restrictive diet—initially limited to garlic and onions—and then reintroduced foods slowly to identify sensitivities. She exhausted every resource she could find.
Years later, after I had lost touch with the family, I encountered Draco again—this time in middle school. I watched him walk down a hallway and then outside to a nearby park with a group of typically developing peers. He moved and interacted like any other student. When he saw me, he stopped, greeted me, and made clear, emotionally connected eye contact.
Later still, a mutual friend told me that he had graduated from the local high school where my daughter had taken classes. He was headed to college. “You would not believe it’s the same kid,” she said.
The transformation—from a barely verbal preschooler who relied on scripted language to a flexible, socially engaged young adult—was extraordinary. I often wish I could find his mother again and ask her to document precisely what she did in terms of diet, therapy, and medical intervention.
Returning to public schools: a subtle increase
When my daughter transitioned out of homeschooling, I returned to public education as a substitute teacher. During those years, I began noticing a gradual increase in students on the spectrum.
I discovered early on that I genuinely enjoy working with autistic students. Between 2004 and 2012, I taught nearly everything imaginable—swim classes, advanced math, science, history, preschool Special Education through Special Ed with students to age 21 years—and held multiple long‑term Special Education assignments. I worked with students across disability categories and loved the work. The increase in spectrum students felt gradual, almost imperceptible at the time.
Private school years: a clearer shift
I later accepted a full‑time position at our church school, overseeing what many would call a resource room or student support services. Historically, this program served students with mild learning differences. I worked with small groups ranging from second grade through high school seniors and coordinated classroom accommodations.
When I began, I served 35 students. By 2019, that number had grown to 72. Over time, there was a noticeable shift toward a higher proportion of students on the autism spectrum. We also received admission requests for students with needs that exceeded what I could support within my role’s constraints.
Autism numbers that are difficult to ignore
In 2019, I returned to public education and encountered a striking number of students identified as being on the spectrum.
I taught in a self‑contained classroom serving students with significant cognitive impairments and complex medical needs, including seizure disorders, brain tumors, feeding tubes, and tracheotomies. In our program, five teachers served approximately 45 students. Of those, an estimated 20–25 were autistic.
Across the broader school population, a full‑time speech‑language pathologist taught social development classes to nearly 75 students annually—students who could manage the general education curriculum academically but required targeted social coaching.
The school enrolled between 2,000 and 2,500 students. Roughly 15% received Special Education services. The student body represented more than 58 nations, with more students speaking Spanish as a first language than English—a profile typical of the Portland metro area.
Our proximity to OHSU also matters. Families sometimes relocate here for advanced medical care. One student in my class had moved from Iran because his medical condition would likely have been fatal there. He was eighteen when I last saw him—and he, too, carried an autism diagnosis.
Where we are now
Last year, I taught an elementary self‑contained classroom for autistic students and children with significant social‑emotional challenges. Few had functional spoken language. The class served students in grades K–5 and enrolled nine students.
I was told this was one of three such classrooms in the district—and that all three were expected to double in size the following year. I am not sure I am willing to substitute in classrooms that large with needs so significant.
A closing reflection
A Closing Reflection
Over the course of my career, I have witnessed a profound increase in autism in our schools and communities. This is not simply a shift in awareness or labeling.
I do not claim certainty about its causes. I do believe the question deserves humility, serious investigation, and prayer. I talked with the Children’s Health Defense Network recently. If you would like to see that interview, it is linked below. I do want to make one caveat – the teachers with whom I have worked in East County Portland are almost without exception highly trained, committed and really amazing teachers. My husband and I felt like in the interview I made them look bad. I would not want that impression, but I also feel like homeschooling is a better place for almost every learner, and particularly those for whom autism makes behaviors challenging to manage.
If you are raising an autistic child and feel unsure about next steps, I may be able to offer perspective drawn from decades of experience.
Contact:
971‑515‑9760
homeschoolspecialed.pm@gmail.com