CLASSROOM STANDOFF

Saturday, Dec. 29, 2007 | 7:30 a.m.

Fourteen-year-old, shaggy haired rock 'n' roll aficionado Jacob Rangen hasn't been to school in nearly two years.

He's not skipping classes. He's not running away. He's not dealing crack on the corner.

He's at home with his Xbox, computer, large-print books and family.

If life were a video game, the teen would be playing without a controller. He is, and has been since birth, close to legally blind, seeing only close objects, huge fonts and, at all times, as if he's staring out the narrow end of a traffic cone.

He also has Asperger's syndrome, a mild form of autism. If that bad hand weren't enough, he also suffers about 20 seizures per day, the result of getting booted in the skull by another student in elementary school.

Despite the litany of things wrong with him, Rangen comes across as perfectly normal, cracking O.J. Simpson jokes and making fun of men in ties. He wears a dark military hat pulled down over his eyes, which are also covered by John Lennon-like sunglasses.

Though it is clear he is partly blind, the other afflictions his mother says he has, the Asperger's and the seizures - the ones she says entitle him to at-home tutoring paid for by the Clark County School District - are less evident.

So for two years, he has been in the middle of a fight between his mother, Caroline Rangen, and the School District over the extent of his disabilities and the sort of services the district owes him and his family.

Lost, perhaps, in all this is what Jacob Rangen wants.

"I got to go to school to get a job," he said. At first the lengthy break was fun. What kid wouldn't want to eliminate school from his life? Then, after about a month, staying home became boring.

He doesn't miss the classes, although history's "cool," as much as the hanging out with pals. "You miss talking to friends and stuff," he said. "That's what I miss. Because who likes math?"

A Clark County School District report from April 2006, the last time he attended classes, says Rangen was not eligible for special education under visual impairment or autism standards. His individual education program (IEP), which tracks a student's needs, notes that he needs visual aids, such as larger-print copies of texts.

But it also says Rangen can do just fine in a regular classroom.

His mother disagrees, strongly.

She says the combination of partial blindness, Asperger's and the seizures creates the need for special instruction. Already teachers have been notified to call the office if he is five minutes late. He also gets extra time and alternative formats for tests, and he is supposed to get enlarged copies of worksheets.

And there's more: special seating, snacks, avoidance of crossword puzzles and word searches, and even teachers forgiving uncompleted minor assignments without penalty if he misses class, as he did about 20 days per year until he was pulled for good.

But Rangen and his mother say he wasn't given many of those aids. They also claimed Rangen was neglected and verbally abused.

That topic is nothing new to Caroline Rangen, who works as a special education aide in the School District. In 2004 she started speaking out about alleged classroom abuse of autistic students by school employees. Now she wants the district to provide homebound services, essentially sending teachers to the Rangens' northwest Las Vegas home to give lessons.

This school year 254 students received such services in their homes and 330 more received services at hospitals or treatment centers. The length of time that students get homebound services varies case by case and the district could not provide an average, said Richard Adler, the program's coordinator.

But district officials said the program is not intended for special needs students such as Rangen, but rather is meant for the student who breaks his leg and is laid up for a few weeks or for kids undergoing medical treatments. The district also could not provide a cost, Adler said. Caroline Rangen says it's about $60,000 annually per student.

Jacob Rangen has been denied homebound services five times.

"There's no such program as they are looking for," said Edward Goldman, associate superintendent. That means, just because parents do not like how their child is being educated in a public school, the district is not obligated to send teachers to their home.

Caroline Rangen, however, says her son cannot handle a full day of school. The extra pressure from school two years ago sent him into a tailspin. "He was talking about suicide," she said.

This year, the district filed truancy charges against Caroline Rangen. A series of court dates - and threats of jailing the 41-year-old mother of three - followed, until the case was dismissed.

Now an administrative hearing is being held, in which an arbitrator will decide whether homebound status can be granted two years after the child last regularly attended classes. A decision is expected early next month.

Either way, Rangen plans to pursue the case to federal court if necessary. She sees the denials as a systematic attempt to deny her child his right to an education.

"I want my son educated. I will not have him home-schooled. It's their responsibility to provide an education. I just want him to have what everybody else has. I'm just being told he can't have it.

"I want him to be able to be on his own. I want him to be able to have a family. I want him to be able to provide for his family."

She's not sure how much she's spent fighting the system. She never added it all up but figures it would be at least enough for a new car. It's like a Lifetime TV movie, she said.

Today Jacob Rangen is learning at home. His parents teach him, some family friends stop by to give lessons, he's learning to play guitar and is taking braille lessons from a volunteer group.

Recently, his mother paid $1,500 to get him started in a home-school program.

The district cannot comment on individual students. But it's clear that many in the district administration know about Rangen's situation.

"It's unfortunate he's stuck in the middle," Goldman said.

During a recent Bonanza High football game Rangen was reunited with some old friends, ones who don't live in the neighborhood. Many thought he had moved to another school. That was a fun night - until he misplaced his cane and couldn't cross Charleston Boulevard. He had to call home for a ride.

Rangen just wishes things could be simple. He doesn't like asking for help and views anyone he hasn't known for years with suspicion.

But despite having ample reason for feeling otherwise, Rangen says life is good. Now he is simply eager to get on with it.

"It's just like, hurry up," he said. "It's been two years."

Sun reporter Emily Richmond contributed to this story.