In our town, we have a couple of thoroughfares that are heavily used. These 4 lane roads with 35 mph posted speeds (but everyone goes 40 or even 45) are in mostly commercial/business areas although there is some multi family housing in the area. As you can imagine, crossing the street as a pedestrian might be challenging at best, darn near impossible at worst. Until our city installed pedestrian crossings. These are a new addition, I think we have 5 or 6 of them now. They have greatly improved pedestrian safety. But not everyone is pleased with them as they slow the progress of the traffic.
Yesterday as I was driving home from work, I was stopped at one of the pedestrian crossings with a car next to me also waiting. As I watched the person crossing the street, I recognized him as a Special Olympics participant. He has basketball practice at the same time as The Boy. He always says hi to The Boy and me when we see him. Clearly there is some Adult DD housing somewhere in the area as more often than not I recognize the people crossing the street as Special Olympics participants.
This particular person, we'll call him Troy, has some ambulatory issues. So he moves a little slower than the average Joe. (Whoever wanted to be average anyway) As he was making his way in front of the car beside me, the driver honked and made gestures for Troy to hurry along. And my heart broke just a little. I tried to hide it as I smiled and waved at Troy, hoping he would think I was the one that honked. He smiled and waved back, yelling "Hi (The Boy's) mom". But I don't think he was fooled. Not for a minute. And my heart broke a little bit more.
In that instance what I saw was my boy in 15 or 20 years. I see him doing his best to maneuver his way through this world that simply was not made for him. I see him taking care of himself, following the rules, happy with his life and in his world. I see him proudly walking back home from the nearby store with a snack paid for with his own earnings. And then I see some jack@$$ being impatient and unkind. Yelling at "the retard" to hurry up. Honestly, I go from a broken heart to my blood boiling in about 0.6 seconds.
Sometime I want to yell from the rooftops "What is wrong with people?!?!" And I don't mean the ones with developmental disabilities. I mean all the people who are so impatient and unkind. The ones who think those extra 10 or 20 seconds affected their life. Really? What did it actually cost you to wait? Most likely nothing. But I can tell you what it cost the Troy's of the world when you treat them that way.
It costs them their dignity. It costs them their self respect. It costs them their confidence. It costs them their ability to go out into this world which is just as much theirs as it is yours. It eventually costs them the ability to work, socialize, live even semi independently. Because if every time you venture out into the world you are treated like you don't belong, like you aren't good enough; well eventually you believe it. And then you quit trying.
How hard is it to just be kind. Patience doesn't cost a thing. But it can sure make another person's life a whole lot more manageable, and dare I say, even better.
As Ellen says when she ends her show every day "Be kind to one another." Please.
My Side of Typical
Showing posts with label belonging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label belonging. Show all posts
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Thursday, October 2, 2014
An Open Letter to Our Amazing Neighborhood School
To our amazing neighborhood school family:
After much discussion and deliberation, we have made the very difficult decision to move Bambam to another school with a dedicated special education classroom. As most of you know, Bambam has varied and complicated special needs. We have high hopes that his many needs will be sucsessfully met in his new school. But that didn't make this decision an easy one.
This decision was difficult for many reasons; not the least of which was the thought of leaving this amazing school. You have been his school family for 3 years. During that time he has been accepted, included, respected, and loved by teachers, administrators, support staff, students and parents alike. I cannot imagine a more positive, inclusive environment in any school anywhere.
The student population has been wonderful. Bambam has not been simply tolerated; after all, who really has a goal of being tolerated? He was accepted. His classmates included him when they could, helped him when he needed it, celebrated his accomplishments, watched out for him, and most importantly became his friends. Bambam talks about each and every one of them all the time.
Some students have been in class with Bambam for 3 years, some for 2, some for 1. Some just passed him in the hallway or saw him in the cafeteria or on the playground. It didn't seem to matter. It appears they all know who he is. When we are in town or at the pool inevitably a child will come up and talk to Bambam. I sometimes do not know or recognize them. But they quickly tell me they go to school with him. Kids from kindergarten to 5th grade, they all seem genuinely happy to see him. The world could learn a few things from our little neighborhood school.
And so it is with a heavy heart that we are now closing this chapter and starting a new one. Please know that we could never thank you enough for all each of you have done for Bambam. I only hope that you too have gained something from the experience of knowing our sweet boy.
And, instead of saying goodbye, we will say that we hope to see you around town.
After much discussion and deliberation, we have made the very difficult decision to move Bambam to another school with a dedicated special education classroom. As most of you know, Bambam has varied and complicated special needs. We have high hopes that his many needs will be sucsessfully met in his new school. But that didn't make this decision an easy one.
This decision was difficult for many reasons; not the least of which was the thought of leaving this amazing school. You have been his school family for 3 years. During that time he has been accepted, included, respected, and loved by teachers, administrators, support staff, students and parents alike. I cannot imagine a more positive, inclusive environment in any school anywhere.
The student population has been wonderful. Bambam has not been simply tolerated; after all, who really has a goal of being tolerated? He was accepted. His classmates included him when they could, helped him when he needed it, celebrated his accomplishments, watched out for him, and most importantly became his friends. Bambam talks about each and every one of them all the time.
Some students have been in class with Bambam for 3 years, some for 2, some for 1. Some just passed him in the hallway or saw him in the cafeteria or on the playground. It didn't seem to matter. It appears they all know who he is. When we are in town or at the pool inevitably a child will come up and talk to Bambam. I sometimes do not know or recognize them. But they quickly tell me they go to school with him. Kids from kindergarten to 5th grade, they all seem genuinely happy to see him. The world could learn a few things from our little neighborhood school.
And so it is with a heavy heart that we are now closing this chapter and starting a new one. Please know that we could never thank you enough for all each of you have done for Bambam. I only hope that you too have gained something from the experience of knowing our sweet boy.
And, instead of saying goodbye, we will say that we hope to see you around town.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Community
I sat with another parent at Special Olympics basketball practice last night and had a nice visit. I've sat with them before, but we don't know each other well and the conversation has always been of the "acquaintance" variety. You know what I mean, how are you, how are your kids, do you have fun plans for the weekend, that sort of thing.
But last night, it became more than that. It became community. A gathering of those with similar stories, sharing and supporting each other. His daughter, a 10 year old with Downs, is a 5th grader at Bambam's school. The kids know each other well and really enjoy each other's company. They spend time together every day at school in the LRC (Learning Resource Center). All the way to SO basketball, Bambam gleefully repeats "M will be there. M is on her way. I will play with M." As soon as the last one arrives at basketball, they run to each other and hug. They clearly are friends.
But as for us parents, we seem to have kept a small distance. At least until last night. When we began to share stories that only special needs parents have. You know, those of the "pick up your 8 year old who is melting down in the middle of the furniture store and run for the door" sort of variety. The "I yelled at the janitor who made a comment about my kids behavior" kind of stories. The "if the school stops me at pick up one more time to tell me about another behavior mishap I will loose it" kind. The "yes, my 10 year old is still wearing a life vest in the pool, you staring is not making it any easier" sort of thing. The kind that special needs parents experience almost every damn day.
That's not to say that those moments don't occur when raising typical kids. I know they do. I'm raising (or have almost raised) 2 of those also. But its different. It just is. And unless you are raising a special needs child, its hard to really understand how different it is.
I have great support. Friends, family on both sides, therapists and teachers who are so much more than that. And, I have my sister who is always, ALWAYS there for me. Any time of the day or night she is just a text or phone call away. She will do what ever she can to help me at any time. I know this. I feel this all the way to my bones. She truly loves me and would do anything for me. And I love her to eternity for this.
But still, as much as she wants to and tries to, she really does not get it. Yes, she always listens as long as I need her to, she never judges, she is always supportive and positive. She sympathizes, and empathizes, and truly tries and wants to understand. I know she does. But how can she? She has never walked a path anywhere near similar to this one. How can she know what its like to have the responsibility of raising a special needs child 24/7. The answer is that she can't. There is no shame or fault in that. That is just the way it is. She does as much for me as she humanly can and I am so grateful and in debt to her for it.
But community, the gathering of those with similar stories, that is what I need sometimes. I cannot go down this road without it. Someone who with just one look can say I get it. I really get it. I've been there. No explanations or excuses needed. In fact, you may not even need to finish the sentence or thought, they could do it for you. They know it, experience it, live it. And I feel myself exhale, relax, feel like I'm coming home.
But last night, it became more than that. It became community. A gathering of those with similar stories, sharing and supporting each other. His daughter, a 10 year old with Downs, is a 5th grader at Bambam's school. The kids know each other well and really enjoy each other's company. They spend time together every day at school in the LRC (Learning Resource Center). All the way to SO basketball, Bambam gleefully repeats "M will be there. M is on her way. I will play with M." As soon as the last one arrives at basketball, they run to each other and hug. They clearly are friends.
But as for us parents, we seem to have kept a small distance. At least until last night. When we began to share stories that only special needs parents have. You know, those of the "pick up your 8 year old who is melting down in the middle of the furniture store and run for the door" sort of variety. The "I yelled at the janitor who made a comment about my kids behavior" kind of stories. The "if the school stops me at pick up one more time to tell me about another behavior mishap I will loose it" kind. The "yes, my 10 year old is still wearing a life vest in the pool, you staring is not making it any easier" sort of thing. The kind that special needs parents experience almost every damn day.
That's not to say that those moments don't occur when raising typical kids. I know they do. I'm raising (or have almost raised) 2 of those also. But its different. It just is. And unless you are raising a special needs child, its hard to really understand how different it is.
I have great support. Friends, family on both sides, therapists and teachers who are so much more than that. And, I have my sister who is always, ALWAYS there for me. Any time of the day or night she is just a text or phone call away. She will do what ever she can to help me at any time. I know this. I feel this all the way to my bones. She truly loves me and would do anything for me. And I love her to eternity for this.
But still, as much as she wants to and tries to, she really does not get it. Yes, she always listens as long as I need her to, she never judges, she is always supportive and positive. She sympathizes, and empathizes, and truly tries and wants to understand. I know she does. But how can she? She has never walked a path anywhere near similar to this one. How can she know what its like to have the responsibility of raising a special needs child 24/7. The answer is that she can't. There is no shame or fault in that. That is just the way it is. She does as much for me as she humanly can and I am so grateful and in debt to her for it.
But community, the gathering of those with similar stories, that is what I need sometimes. I cannot go down this road without it. Someone who with just one look can say I get it. I really get it. I've been there. No explanations or excuses needed. In fact, you may not even need to finish the sentence or thought, they could do it for you. They know it, experience it, live it. And I feel myself exhale, relax, feel like I'm coming home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)