Learning the Wonders of Inclusion : Education: What’s normal? What’s a disability? A program that puts handicapped children in regular classes blurs the boundary, to the delight of all.

Blair Brown was born with severe brain damage. She is legally blind, has cerebral palsy and sometimes has seizures.

No one knew how well she could recover from the damage to her speech and vision.

For four years, Blair went to special education classes with other severely disabled children.

Now 7, Blair is in a program called Full Inclusion, which the Fullerton School District started in the fall of 1991 at the urging of Blair’s parents, Sharla and Peter Brown, and other parents.

The program places severely disabled children in regular classes, instead of segregating them from the rest of the school.

The change has dramatically improved Blair’s condition and that of 35 other disabled children in the program, according to students, teachers and parents.

The districtwide program has also educated children about diversity and taught them compassion, teachers and parent say.

“Blair has grown more in a year and a half than she did in four years of special education,” Sharla Brown said.

Earlier this week, Blair sat in the front row of Masako Matsuo’s first-grade class and listened with other children to a book about clouds. When a bell rang, Blair yelled: “It’s lunchtime!” and went outside to eat with her friends.

“She likes it here,” said Brian Allan, 7, who played with Blair on the jungle gym during recess at Laguna Road School. “She’s just sort of learning how to speak.”

Full Inclusion has caused district officials and teachers to question the definitions of regular and disabled children, officials said.

“What does it mean to be disabled?” asked Karin Lynch, who administers the district’s special education programs and helped set up Full Inclusion. “I don’t know what that means.”

Blair used to rip up books. Now she looks through them and asks questions, turning the pages methodically.

“Every day, we learn that there may be more there than we give (Blair) credit for,” Matsuo said. “I think the more the expectations are raised, the more she will do.”

Blair does not talk very much, but she adds smiles and other forms of nonverbal communication that her classmates are adept at understanding.

She has even picked up slang words from other children. She says “Duh!” when someone asks her an obvious question. Her mother has heard her say “Not!”--an expression made popular by the movie “Wayne’s World.”

“If you’re mad, she comes over and hugs you,” Brian said.

Another classmate, Paul Kim, 7, explained that on his first day of school, Blair had tripped and fallen on him. He was angry, he said, and Blair did not apologize. Finally Matsuo explained to Paul that Blair did not see him, and told him to accept her hug in apology.

After that incident, Matsuo said, Paul took a great interest in Blair.

“He’s become like a reporter,” Matsuo said. “Every day after school is out, he says to (Blair’s mother): ‘She had a good day today.’ ”

Most disabled students are integrated with regular classes only when judged capable, Lynch said. They might spend most of the day with other disabled students, but then take a gym class or a music class with the rest of the students, she said.

There are about 90 children in the district with severe disabilities who are not in the Full Inclusion program. The decision to join the program, Lynch said, rests with the parents.

Full Inclusion has no admission criteria. Parents who have children with severe disabilities may simply have them placed in regular classes.

Debbie Williamson, a Full Inclusion case worker, taught special education classes for 13 years. She once had Blair as a student.

Williamson said Blair now has better role models and is challenged to improve her speech. “The environment is much more stimulating,” she said.

“I would not go back and teach special day classes,” Williamson said. “There is just no comparison.”

Sharla Brown said she sees improvements even in Blair’s vision. “When you jump in the middle of 90 kindergartners, you either use your vision or you get run over,” she said.

Matsuo said students in her class have learned about diversity from being with Blair. When the class studied Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil rights struggle, students spoke of Blair’s difference and her need to be treated equally.

Elizabeth Fields, whose 6-year-old son, Nicholas, is autistic, is another advocate of Full Inclusion. “It teaches kids that you can be friends with people who are different, which this whole society could use a dose of,” she said.

Nicholas started kindergarten this year at Laguna Road. He had taken special education classes, starting at the age of 3, before joining Full Inclusion.

“This is a kid who used to scream when it was time to go to school,” his mother said. “Now he takes my hand on the weekends and he asks to go to school.”

Blair has an adult aide, Susan Dascenzi, who adapts Matsuo’s morning lessons for her. Many afternoons, speech and movement therapists take her out of the class to work with her.

Blair’s classmates recognize her disabilities, but do not make an issue of them.

“Blair, look what I got,” said Anthony Delgado, 7, as he showed her a crucifix on a string around his neck. He held it close to Blair’s face so she could see.

The children try to teach Blair responsibility. Kelly McCabe, 8, played with Blair on the jungle gym. When the bell sounded at the end of recess, Blair was slow to leave the playground, where a photographer had been taking her picture.

“Come on, Blair,” Kelly said, and walked toward class. Blair began to follow her.

“She’s learning how to come along and do what other kids do,” Kelly said.

Blair’s father agreed, saying: “Blair’s learned to hang out, like a kid.”