Luke’s Voice-Standing Up For Those Who Can’t-Part 3

This is Part 3 of a 3 part series.

During the 2023-2024 school year, our son Luke, who is autistic and non-verbal, was abused by an assistant in his special education classroom at Central Elementary School, which is part of the Graves County School District in Kentucky. We later learned that the incident was never reported to DCBS (Child Protective Services). Read Part 1 here. 

During that same school year, Luke was also denied a Free Appropriate Public Education (FAPE). Read Part 2 here. Getting to the bottom of everything that was happening to Luke was difficult, but I did and was ultimately fired for it.

‘Something’s wrong with Luke’

Luke was never a fan of the hallways. The tall ceilings, bright lights, and loud kids everywhere were his least favorite part of the school. Everyone knew when Luke had arrived because the second we came through the door, he made this vocalization that we nicknamed his “siren”. It truly sounded like a siren and he used it communicate that he was anxious or scared. I was used to Luke sirening from the time we reached the school parking lot to the moment we reached his classroom. Leaving school was the same way. He sirened through the hall until we made it outside.

It was about mid-October of the 2023-2024 school year that I noticed a shift in Luke. He started sirening before we even left the house and continued until we reached the exit ramp to the school. Then like clockwork, I would make the right turn toward school and he’d become hysterical. He’d cry, scream, cover his ears and sometimes slap his head or bite his arm.

Around that same time, one of the classroom assistants also told me that Luke had stopped eating during school. The only thing they could get him to eat were some mini Reese’s cups. At first, I wrote it off as an upset tummy or not liking what I packed for him, but he would eat as soon as we were home. This continued until we withdrew him from school that February.

We noticed changes at home too. He started pinching more, was increasingly agitated and had trouble sleeping.  After a couple of weeks of this I said to Ryan, “Something’s wrong with Luke. I don’t know how to help him.” This is the maddening part for parents with non-verbal children. He couldn’t tell us what was wrong or how to help. We talked for hours that night, trying to piece together a timeline. We made a list of all the changes we noticed in him. We both decided that I should to talk to Principal Keri Cornwell about it.

It was October when I voiced my concerns to Principal Cornwell. I went through everything I had observed in Justin Cunningham’s class from excessive screen time for all the kids, to the lack of routines, to my worries about Luke. She listened, took some notes and told me that she would look into it. A month went by, and the classroom was the same. That is, until Cunningham sent out a school-wide email about relocating the class rabbit.

The Beginning of the End

It was mid-November when everything came to a head. Luke’s class had a pet rabbit named Storm. For 2 months, the assistants had complained to Cunningham about Storm irritating their allergies and that the rabbit’s maintenance was too much, given the needs of the kids in the class. I was there for several of these conversations and not once did anyone mention that Luke was treating Storm badly. You can imagine my shock when I opened my Chromebook and saw a school-wide email looking to relocate the rabbit because “I have one who has begun to target Storm when upset.” I immediately texted Cunningham who confirmed that the student in the email was Luke. I felt blind-sided, confused, mortified, and gravely concerned. Not once had anyone even suggested to me that Luke had attacked the class pet. It was uncharacteristic of him anyway; Luke loved animals.

 

 

Longer and more violent? Who was supervising him? Where was the cage? If he had hurt that poor rabbit once, why was he given access again? Why hadn’t anyone told me about this before? A million questions swirled in my head. Pretty soon, the confusion and concern turned to anger. No parent should learn about their child’s behavior through a school-wide email, let alone something as serious as this.

I kept a notebook at school that I used to document my interactions with my students, write down important dates, meeting notes, etc. Something as serious as harming an animal would have been in there. I flipped back through every single page, trying to see if there was a conversation I had forgotten. There was nothing. Trying to make sense of the email, I started writing down a timeline and everything I was told about Luke’s week. I was so upset about the email and that nothing I was told throughout the week matched what Cunningham had texted me, that I went to Principal Cornwell’s office and scheduled an ARC meeting (IEP meeting).

I decided to meet with Cunningham one on one before the IEP meeting. There was still a part of me that felt like all of this was one big miscommunication that could be sorted out. Afterall, we were co-workers too. Calling an IEP meeting felt too formal; I felt like I was overreacting and being a helicopter parent. (If you’re a special needs parent, hold the meeting. You’re not overreacting.) I asked questions about his schedule, his routine, the severity and duration of his negative behaviors, what he believed triggered negative behaviors, how he planned to prevent Luke from hurting the rabbit again, how many times he had been to his general education class–all of the questions I planned to ask at the IEP meeting.

He admitted that the rabbit’s cage was located in the same place as Luke’s calm down area which Cunningham realized was not a good idea. He also said that he had not been consistent with Luke’s schedule or taking Luke to his general education class regularly. He said he was going to do a better job of doing more with Luke. I asked him to start leveling with me about Luke’s day, even if it was rough. He agreed. I felt like the conversation was productive, my concerns had been addressed, and we had a plan for how to support Luke going forward. Cunningham started taking Luke to his first grade class, Storm the bunny was relocated to another classroom, and Luke seemed happier during the day. I cancelled the IEP meeting thinking the issues were resolved.

Visits to Luke’s first grade class lasted from just before Thanksgiving break until Christmas break. When we returned in January, things went back to normal. Luke visited his class 3 times and then stopped. Once again, he was stuck in the classroom all day with a tablet. I would be working with other students and hear him having a meltdown as I passed in the hall. It was getting harder and harder to justify giving other people’s kids everything I had when my own child was suffering.

The Final Straw

Seclusion is a heavily restricted safety measure that is used in public schools as a last resort in emergency situations where a student’s behavior poses an imminent threat of physical harm to themselves or others. Seclusion was more commonly used on the Learning and Behavior Disorder (LBD) side of special ed where I was an assistant, but it was still not a regular occurrence. At Central Elementary, we had a safe room for seclusion. It was about a 5′ by 5′ padded room with a door and two windows located inside a special education classroom.

 

Let’s say a student had physically harmed a teacher and the student was still trying to physically harm staff members transporting the student to the safe room. Halfway to safe room, the student de-escalated and no longer posed an imminent danger of physical harm to self or others. At that moment, seclusion is no longer the appropriate or lawful (see Section 4) place for the student. Instead, the student would go to a less restrictive location like the resource room or the office to continue de-escalating. Seclusion is not a disciplinary tool. It’s not a punishment. It is an emergency safety measure for extreme behavior in progress. Every member of the special ed staff receives mandatory training on restraint and seclusion each year.

When a student is restrained or secluded, the staff members involved have to fill out a three-page report and meet with the Director of Special Ed or a special ed consultant from the board office for a debriefing session. Every detail of the event is reviewed, every decision is questioned, and staff members have to justify why seclusion was the only option for the student. I can say from personal experience that it’s a serious, stressful process that no one takes lightly. Parents are then notified verbally or in writing within 24 hours of the incident, are given the option to request a debriefing meeting and a copy of that report is placed in the student’s records. I tell you all of this to convey the gravity of choosing to place a student in seclusion.

I was meeting with my team in the resource room when we heard Luke in the hall, followed by the door to the safe room opening and then closing. We looked at each other in disbelief–there was no way Cunningham was taking Luke to the safe room. My co-worker went across the hall to check, and sure enough, Luke was in the safe room. I went straight to him and there he was, sitting on the floor of the safe room playing with his counting bears. He was calm and content, not even so much as a whimper came out of his mouth. He wasn’t pinching or biting. Cunningham’s assistant took Luke back to the classroom and Cunningham and I went out to the hall to discuss what happened.

Cunningham told me that Luke was trying to fall asleep on the crash pad but couldn’t because there were extra people in the room who were being loud. Luke became dysregulated and angry and threw a folding camp swing chair. When he tried to throw it again, Cunningham decided to take Luke to the safe room. Cunningham said that Luke let him carry him without incident to the safe room. Cunningham ended the conversation by admitting that he ‘shouldn’t have had the extra people in the room”.

I returned to the resource room and told my team what Cunningham told me. They were as shocked as I was, only I was more livid than shocked. It was a blatant misuse of seclusion. I immediately emailed Director of Special Ed Carmen Robertson and told her that Luke was put in the safe room and that I wanted a copy of the seclusion report as soon as it was available. I got no response. I scribbled down everything Cunningham told me as fast as I could. I texted Principal Cornwell about the incident and requested a meeting. From our text conversation, you can see what happened next.

Enough is Enough

It was February. In six month’s time, Luke had been abused, stuck in a classroom all day with a tablet, publicly used as a scapegoat and then placed in seclusion. He had regressed academically and socially, was struggling with anxiety, sleep disturbances and aggression, and still not eating while he was at school. The thought of Luke spending another 5 years in Cunningham’s class was inconceivable. I advocated as much as I possibly could, but nothing changed. Despite loving my job, resigning and withdrawing Luke from Central Elementary was a no-brainer. When I met with Principal Cornwell at 7:45 that morning, I turned in my two-weeks notice and my letter of intent to homeschool. It was emotional for me and difficult, but she understood.

The Nail in the Coffin

In special education, the parent contact log is used for tracking interactions, ensuring transparency, and maintaining records of discussions about a student’s IEP. Here’s Luke’s preschool parent contact log for reference. I figured that even if Cunningham hadn’t completed a seclusion report, he would have documented that he notified me verbally about the incident. This log can only be accessed from the school side of Infinite Campus, not the parent portal.

When I met with Principal Cornwell to turn in my resignation letter, I mentioned again that I hadn’t received the seclusion report and I asked her for a copy of Luke’s parent contact log from Infinite Campus. She found me later in the day and told me that she couldn’t access it–that Assistant Principal Stephenie Wheeler handled discipline issues and Wheeler wasn’t in the building that day. Having no experience with Infinite Campus, it never occurred to me that Principal Cornwell wasn’t telling me the truth.

I asked again the following day and Principal Cornwell said once again that she was going to try to get it for me when Assistant Principal Wheeler returned to the building later that day. Only this time, a teacher was present and overheard the conversation. The teacher asked what I was looking for, I told her, and she said “I don’t know why Keri [Cornwell] couldn’t get that for you. I can look that up.” She pulled it right up. I took one look at the screen and realized the seclusion incident wasn’t the only thing missing.

• Cunningham hadn’t documented anything in parent contact since Luke started in his class in August 2022.
• Director of Special Education Carmen Robertson hadn’t documented calling me about Luke’s abuse incident in September 2023.
• HR Director Amy Turner hadn’t documented calling me about the investigation findings of Luke’s abuse in September 2023.
• Principal Cornwell hadn’t documented our text conversation about keeping Luke home the day following the abuse incident in September 2023.

I was shocked. There was hardly any documentation from the past two years. Significant conversations about serious events weren’t there, like it never even happened. I found Principal Cornwell in the hall and said “I don’t need your help anymore. I saw the parent contact log and Justin [Cunningham] didn’t document the safe room. He didn’t even document the Becky incident,” (the abuse incident). She said “ok” and we went our separate ways.

I actually thought I was being helpful. I believed that Principal Cornwell “couldn’t” access Luke’s data, and that she would want to know that a teacher had not documented a seclusion or anything else; that a special education file was out of compliance. I was so naïve.

Terminated

About an hour after I talked to Principal Cornwell in the hall, the teacher who had accessed the parent contact log for me stopped me and said “I just met with Keri [Cornwell]. If she asks, I didn’t show you Infinite Campus.” No problem. Without her, I don’t believe I would have ever learned the truth. I had already turned in my two weeks notice. She was a first-year teacher. It was an easy decision for me. Only I never got the chance to talk to Principal Cornwell about it.

I was finishing up my lunch when Principal Cornwell found me and told me that HR Director Amy Turner wanted to meet with me. I crossed the parking lot to the board office where Turner was waiting for me. The meeting was brief and to the point. She asked me if someone had given me access to Infinite Campus or if I had accessed it myself. I told her I accessed it alone. She told me I was suspended with pay pending the outcome of her investigation and that she would walk me back over to Central Elementary to get my belongings and leave.

I started crying. Not only was I feeling the weight of my decision to protect my co-worker, but I also had to figure out what to tell my kids when I got back to school. I decided to sign them out early so that they could leave with me. I reached the front office where my kids were waiting and out the front door we went, with Principal Cornwell pushing a rolling cart of my belongings behind us. The walk to the car felt like forever. I was crying, the kids were asking me questions and Principal Cornwell said nothing. When we reached my car, she handed me the last of my stuff, and the only thing I said to her was “I get it.” She didn’t respond. She turned around and went back into the building. For as difficult as it was, I left with the two things that mattered most to me–my kids and the truth.

The following day, I was called back to HR where Amy Turner told me that I was terminated but would be allowed to resign. She even had my resignation letter typed up and signed by  Superintendent Matt Madding before our meeting. While I appreciated her concern that me being terminated could result in difficulty finding a new job, I also realized that this tactic allowed others who should have been terminated to get jobs in other school districts. I declined. I was not going to perpetuate the practice of what is commonly known as “The Dance of Lemons”.  This has been going on for decades in school systems across the country. You can read more about it from this article that was written over 25 years ago. I was being terminated, so I wanted to call it what it was. Turner asked me if I wanted to go home and take more time to think about it. I said no. If I was fired then I was fired. The exchange was professional and positive given the circumstances. Turner wished me the best, I turned in my badge and my keys and I left.

Done but not over

We received copies of Luke’s student records at the beginning of March 2024, nearly one month after we left. One of the first things we found was the seclusion report. We never did get a copy of the parent contact log I requested. (I talked more about Luke’s records in part 2).

• The third page of the report was missing. Here’s what should have been there.
• The date of the report was wrong (it happened on 2/5/24).
• Cunningham checked the box that the parent was notified of the 5-day timeline to request a debriefing session. I was never notified of a debriefing session.
• The details of the report didn’t match the verbal report Cunningham gave me immediately after the incident.
• Cunningham wrote “he voluntarily went into my arms and allowed me to carry him to the safe room”, which proved improper use of seclusion.

  

Cunningham’s report made me angry, but was also validating. My gut was right. In April 2024, I learned that Cunningham was no longer employed with Graves County Schools.

As for Luke and I, we settled into our new homeschooling routine pretty quickly, but we weren’t done with Central Elementary just yet. I still had 2 kids at school there that I had to drop off and pick up everyday. It wasn’t bad for me. I actually enjoyed seeing my co-workers and some of the kids I worked with. Luke on the other hand really struggled. When I tried to load Luke into the car, he would scream and cry and lock his body so that I couldn’t get him into his car seat. He refused to wear shorts or pants because if he was fully dressed, it indicated to him that he would have to get out of the car at school.

His anxiety was so bad that we had his pediatrician start him on anxiety medication. This helped him and definitely made drop-off and pick-up more manageable, but it wasn’t a cure. Luke refused to wear any of his school clothes, even his favorite Lightning McQueen shirt. He threw away his blue blanket that he used at school. I kept pulling it out of the trash and he’d put it right back. He hid his backpack in the back of the utility closet and wouldn’t let anyone get it out. Anytime we passed Central Elementary, Luke would cry. He was traumatized and it was devastating as his mom to witness.

Despite the challenges, Luke was making a lot of progress at home. We had planned to homeschool Jack after he finished the school year, but not Emmie. One day, she approached us and said that she really wanted to be homeschooled too. She complained about stomach aches every morning that we wrote off as indigestion. It wasn’t until she started homeschooling that we realized it was anxiety. She hasn’t struggled with it since. The 2024-25 school year was our first homeschool year and I am grateful that we were in a position to do that. All three kids are thriving.

For as difficult as this series has been to write, it has been therapeutic to tell the truth about our experience. It is my hope that Luke’s story will give other special needs families the courage to speak out and that the people responsible for what happened to Luke will be held accountable for their actions.

 

To read the rest of the series, click on the links below:

Luke’s Voice: Speaking Up for Those Who Can’t–Part 1 (Abuse)

Luke’s Voice: Speaking Up for Those Who Can’t–Part 2 (Denial of FAPE)