I recently heard a sermon presented by Ian Stitt of the Neighboring Place in Denver. He said that the mission of the Neighboring Place, a coffee shop and gathering place for those who are houseless, is to be God’s living room. Most towns and cities offer God’s kitchen, a place for food, or God’s bedroom, a place to sleep. But there are a few places offering God’s living room. He went on to talk about living rooms as a place where memories are made.
As I listened, I realized that if I were to list the places where most of my memories were made, it would be kitchens, outdoors, and living rooms. But rarely are the most special memories in my living room. Instead, they were in places where I was invited, welcomed, and with others.
Our public school classrooms are often the third room for students. They are welcomed in at a young age with their name on the door and a desk or a hook. At an older age, with a roster and expectations of engagement. Special education rooms are third rooms as well. For many of the students in a special education setting, this is the only place where they feel a true sense of belonging. This is not because the general education teachers don’t welcome them. It is because the peers in the room have more in common.
The students in a special education classroom, particularly the settings where a student is likely to spend most of their day or instructional time, are composed of students who all struggle in similar ways. Communication, academics, behavior, or emotional regulation become the descriptors of the program. Inside the program are students who are bracing themselves each day to try again at the things the adults are demanding, and yet, seem too difficult or out of reach too often. It is no wonder that these classrooms become the “safe space” for the students. They don’t have to explain themselves if they have an emotional outburst or didn’t say “hello.” Everyone knows why.
I believe this feeling of commonality, shared experiences, and familiarity is part of why inclusion is such a challenge.
If I think about who I choose to spend my time with outside of work, it is most often with people with whom I share interests, hobbies, and values. No, we are not all clones believing in one single outlook, but we do share a faith, background, interests, strengths, and struggles. For example, I love to read. My friends are also readers. We talk about books, make plans to visit new bookstores, and watch movie versions of the books we read. We talk about a lot of other things, but the conversations about books link us. You can see this as trends like Book-Tok and book influencers grow in success. Another example is fitness. Those who like to run, walk, hike, lift weights, on hit the yoga mat tend to have friends who also run, walk, lift weights, and do a down dog regularly.
This is the key to belonging—inclusion.
We need to focus less on location and more on the strengths, interests, hobbies, and skills that students share. When we shift from seeing the student as the “one with the disability” to “one of the rambunctious boys” or “a social, chatty student” or “one of the quiet observers,” we find that all students belong in the classroom. It becomes a living room of conversations, laughter, and memories rather than a study in ethics and evidence-based practices.
Instead of a general education classroom and a special education classroom, we have a third room—the classroom for all students.
