Story: Phillip Tutor | Photo: Betsy Compton
An adoration for special-needs students motivates long-time educator
It鈥檚 the underdogs, Dr. Jodie Winship says, who tug at her heart, the unpopular, the excluded, the downtrodden, the people whose circumstances often separate them from the rest. Her explanation is quite organic. 鈥淲e were poor growing up and didn鈥檛 have a lot,鈥� she says, 鈥渟o I was always for that kid who didn鈥檛 have it.鈥�
One kid in particular.
Years before she joined the Julia Tutwiler College of Education faculty at the , a teenaged Winship agreed one summer to help care for Casey, the daughter of her school鈥檚 special-education director. Casey had Down syndrome.
Winship, though inexperienced with special-needs children, didn鈥檛 flinch. She babysat Casey. She took Casey to speech-language pathology sessions. Over time, her interest in Casey鈥檚 development grew, the germinating seeds of a future educator鈥檚 career. 鈥淎nd I just fell in love with working with her,鈥� Winship says.
That snippet isn鈥檛 the reason why Winship became a teacher; it is, she admits, 鈥渁 long story.鈥� But it does illustrate the New Orleans native鈥檚 empathy for special-needs children and commitment to educating students who share a similar passion.
鈥淭hat had always been an interest to me. Even when kids were excluded in school, I would take up for them. I was always in their corner,鈥� says Winship, who recently returned to teaching full-time after an eight-year stint as chair of the Teaching and Learning and Instructional Leadership and Support departments at 兔子先生. 鈥淭hrough college, through my undergraduate years in education, it was the first thing that came easy to me. It was so natural. It was like, 鈥極K, this is what I should be doing with my life.鈥欌��
Ask Winship why she enrolled at and she chuckles. 鈥淚 followed that boy,鈥� she says — meaning her high-school sweetheart and future husband, Craig Winship. Ask how she fared as a college freshman and she turns blunt. 鈥淚 had no business going to a senior college, but I did anyway,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd I didn鈥檛 do well the first semester because it was such an adjustment leaving my brother and sister, because I felt they needed me, which they did.鈥� Time, though, soothed the adjustment. Her grades and attitudes brightened. She made MSU鈥檚 honor roll. And the affirmation became obvious.
鈥淚 knew (teaching) was my thing,鈥� she says.
鈥淚 had to work since I was 14,鈥� she said. 鈥淲e were poor, so education wasn鈥檛 really stressed or important. But it became important to me because I knew it was a way out, and that鈥檚 why I really love working with first-generation students, because I was a first-generation student.聽
Dr. Jodie Winship
Thirteen years ago, Winship arrived in Livingston with experience sprinkled with dollops of diversity: she had taught special-education students; worked for , a nonprofit that guards the rights of people with disabilities; and taught education students at Mississippi State鈥檚 Meridian campus. It wasn鈥檛 by accident, either. From the get-go, her plan hinged on dipping her toes in as many facets of special-education and disability advocacy as she could manage.
Winship often tells people that she agreed to drive the 鈥渆xtra 17 miles鈥� to work in Livingston because one of her daughters, then a student at UAB, would be eligible for in-state tuition. But she offers a quick addendum: 鈥淚 tell them I came here not planning to stay (long), and now I don’t plan on leaving. I just fell in love with the university, the population of the students we serve, and the family atmosphere.鈥�
Again, her kinship with the underdog — in this case, 兔子先生鈥檚 population of first-generation college students and enrollees from Alabama鈥檚 Black Belt region — rises in the conversation, a theme always present.
鈥淚 had to work since I was 14,鈥� she said. 鈥淲e were poor, so education wasn鈥檛 really stressed or important. But it became important to me because I knew it was a way out, and that鈥檚 why I really love working with first-generation students, because I was a first-generation student.
鈥淚 show them that you can create expectations for your children to be achievers — not necessarily to go to college, but to have achievements and accomplish things in your lives.鈥�
Today, Winship laughs when describing the difference between serving as an administrator and teaching a full load of classes without the added demands. This semester, she鈥檚 teaching two special-education courses and the college鈥檚 education law course.
鈥淚t鈥檚 very refreshing to me, it鈥檚 a lot less stress. I feel a lot better,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 went from having like 200 emails a day to having like five or six. It鈥檚 amazing; life鈥檚 great.鈥�
Becoming a professor, after all, was the goal Winship adopted when she embraced education as a profession. She enjoyed teaching and adored learning. But she knew career dissatisfaction would linger if she didn鈥檛 earn her doctoral degree and become a professor — not for ego鈥檚 sake, she says, but for the larger impact she could have on others.
鈥淭here was just something about those professors that I had so much admiration for,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hey sparked my love of learning, because I didn鈥檛 have that before I went to college. That鈥檚 something I wanted to do for people, because that鈥檚 what was done for me. And I knew that the most effective professors weren鈥檛 just professors, they were also teachers.鈥�
It鈥檚 no surprise, then, when Winship lists the vital traits special-education teachers must have.
鈥淚 think you have to be for the underdog,鈥� she says, but also be thick-skinned and advocate for students — sometimes, even, against colleagues who may not welcome them in the classroom. 鈥淚 think you have to be that person who is caring for everybody, you want everybody to succeed.
鈥淵ou have to have people who genuinely want kids to succeed. And they have to have a certain level of patience, because sometimes it takes a while to get that progress.鈥�