It is a common classroom: a greet of too many children and too little organization, a teacher hurrying to solve all of the little complications (the chalk smears and crayon spills, the battles over scissors). Lessons are strewn across a blackboard, meant to be copied but not absorbed. And distractions abound — the constant conversations, gossip, homework lamentations. An environment is loud.
It’s also unproductive.
Because a child who suffers from a learning disability cannot offer focus to her studies. She can only become overwhelmed by the sensory strains: the shrieks of her peers, the scent of erasers and bag lunches (left rotting in desks), the constant pace of her instructor. She can’t learn. She can’t even… try.
An unfortunate truth of the education system is that is defined to an excess of students and a lack of patience. The intention is to fill each day with information, hoping to generate the wanted brilliance. But children with even mild disabilities cannot function in this chaos. They instead will fail — leading many teachers to believe that they cannot be taught, are instead hopeless.
This failure is not proof of low intellect, however. It’s merely a reflection of the classroom madness.
All learning difficulties must be countered with structure and silence. Children must be able to devote themselves to their books, overcoming the worries of their disorders. This is impossible, though, when an environment is too wild. The rooms must instead be quiet, with students spaced apart, allowed to work as they need. Distractions should be avoided and all subjects should be scheduled deliberately (without any deviation from this pattern). And the amount of pupils within the area should be tailored to the teacher’s own abilities: be certain she can offer the necessary attention, rather than being unable to even remember her students names. There must be order.
A disability is not to be perpetuated by a classroom. It is instead to be soothed with quiet.




