“Once the Safe Families Act came on the scene,” says Belles (the 1997 Adoption and Safe Families Act encouraged adoption of long-term foster kids, and so eased the way for families to adopt supposedly “unadoptable” kids like the Silcocks’), “we started getting more kids. But we have a policy of not fighting for kids.  If someone wants to adopt a child we’re interested in, we bow out. We want to encourage others to adopt disabled kids. We only want to be matched with kids no one else wanted.”

And the matchmaking is nonstop. “We’ve had three calls just this week, and two emails about kids from all over the world,” says Ann. The Silcocks have adopted children from around the country, and from orphanages in Russia. They’ve taken children out of nursing homes, hospitals and abusive homes. And the boys they’ve taken all have disabilities range from cerebral palsy, autism and mental retardation to attachment and emotional disorders, and developmental delays.

And while the couple sees to it that the children get all the help and accommodation they need (nurses, aides and therapists help out at home), their driving goal for the children is full inclusion – that is, that the children live regular lives, learn in mainstream classrooms, participate in regular leisure and recreational activities, and truly live up to their full potential.

“The kids have a legal right to be included and supported in the least restrictive educational environment,” says Ann emphatically. “I don’t want anything extra, anything special for my kids other than appropriate support. A lot of people think their disabled kids should have a one to one aide (an aide that stays by the disabled child’s side to help them in a mainstream classroom.) “I don’t want that. I want my kids to be supported naturally by their peers.”

To Belles that means that her autistic kids will learn what is inappropriate behavior far better from a peer who may react to them than from an adult trying to “teach” them appropriate behavior. It means sending one of her severely retarded sons, whose social skills were very undeveloped, to an acting class, and having him end up in the class play, popular and outgoing. It means letting her hemiplegic (paralyzed on one side) son take karate lessons, or two other paralyzed children take gymnastics.

“I don’t believe in the remediation model,” says Ann. That model says that “we’re going to fix you. You’re Swiss cheese, full of holes, and we’re going to fill all those holes and make you cheddar. But the reality is, Swiss cheese never will be cheddar.”

To the Silcocks, this translates to taking the children for who they are and helping them reach their full potential, without trying to “fix” them.

“I have just seen so many inroads made when I send my kid to karate class, where I can work with him on range of motion, where he sees that everyone stretches and strengthens their muscles before working out, rather than sending him to work on the same things in an isolated setting with a physical therapist,” Ann says.

The proof is in the pudding. The Silcock children are happy and successful. Some have done professional acting. Their most severely handicapped son, a first grader confined to a wheelchair, without speech, and fed by a feeding tube, is invited to class birthday parties. “Kids come to the door and ask him to come out and play. When he was sick in the hospital they came to visit. The kids pick him to be on their team at recess – he has an aide that does the running for him, so they tend to have an advantage when he’s on their team,” Ann says.

It’s not that the Silcocks are unrealistic about their children. They just believe that full inclusion will give their kids the tools they need to have successful lives.

“Jim and I believe in the concept of ‘dignity of risk,’” Ann says. “I’m not afraid of my kids falling down, of them getting stitches, of all the things that happen to typically developing kids.”

“Of course,” says Jim, “we make sure they take precautions like other kids too. Helmets on bikes, things like that.”

The couple’s philosophy boils down to the idea that the kids should decide what their own limits are, not some adult who doesn’t walk around in their skin.

Still, it’s one thing to believe your disabled kids should be fully included, but what does the community and the educational system have to say about that? Ann concedes that it hasn’t been an easy road. But gradually, through the years and through getting to know the Silcock children (and, according to Jim, through dealing with their indomitable mother) the community has what the Silcocks call “moved from tolerance to acceptance.”

“When we first started doing this, I had principals coming up to me and saying, ‘What should I do when parents say they don’t want your kid in the classroom because it will affect their own child’s education?’” says Ann. “I told them, ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ because the truth is, my kids are entitled to an equal education. That’s what IDEA is about. Philosophically, I believe that my children learn best in the company of their typical peers. But over the years the culture has changed. “Ann’s been fighting so long, and making changes in the community,” says Jim. “Now when she goes to ask for something, they usually don’t question it, because she’s on the side of reason.”

Now parents call the school and ask for their children to be in a class with the Silcock children. As their own typical children grow in compassion and caring they realize the mutual benefits. “The community has supported our children and has enjoyed watching our kids grow,” says Ann. “But it’s been a long arduous process to educate the community.”

“You have to decide in the end what’s really important in life,” Ann says. “I want my kids to have friends. I want people to love and support them throughout their lives.”