[Source:  Washington Post]

“I wish I got to spend more time with Charlotte,” the teacher told me with a slight frown. “It’s hard for her to make friends when she’s not here very much.”

We were sitting at a child-sized table, perched awkwardly on small blue plastic chairs. It was parent-teacher conference day, and I shivered a little in the unheated classroom.

I smiled at her because I knew she meant well, but I didn’t need a reminder about how valuable inclusion is; everyone from my autistic daughter’s teacher to the principal of her school has waxed poetic to me about its merits for the last two years. They all agree that it’s what is best for her. I’m the only one who seems to notice how painful inclusion actually is.

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