This is just a little post.
It might not mean a lot to you, but it means a lot to me.
Joe and I had gone shopping to Toys R Us in Dedham. We were looking for those beads that everyone seemed to have when I was a child. The kind where one pops into another and you could form necklaces and bracelets or simply make long strings of mulit-coloured beads. Ruby is coming to Toronto this week to see the ballet 'Sleeping Beauty' and we wanted her to make her own jewellery for the event.
We don't regularly go to the big toy stores, choosing to shop at our local independent store. So we entered and were immediately overwhelmed by the size and the range of stuff. Right inside the door was a customer service desk. A young fellow was working there so I just pulled over to ask directions. Yes, you read that right, I have no difficulty asking for directions. Two reason for this, one, I don't know how to get everywhere I want to go and two, I don't know how to do everything - directions, that's just an easy decision.
The fellow told us that he didn't know of those kinds of beads, other than giant ones for little, little, kids. Then he suggested we go to an aisle fourteen or fifteen rows up. Then he said, I'll have one of our staff meet you there and show you what we've got. I thanked him and started to drive away. I was thinking that I could somehow work this into a blog and find out if any of you knew where to get them when I heard a distinct click and knew he was about to make an announcement over the store speakers.
I flashed to all the times, before the cell phone, when I've received phone calls in restaurants or in other public places, I always ask the hapless message giver - 'And just how did they describe me?' This leads to bluster and it's not fair that I do it, but I do. His voice came on the speaker clearly. 'Great, I thought, the first time I'm able to clearly understand the speaker system and it's going to be a description of me.'
'Could someone meet two gentlemen, one wearing a brown shirt, the other with a dark coat, they are heading to the 'totally me' section.'
That was it.
No wheelchair.
No weight.
Now, I'm not ashamed of either of those things. Really, I know this sounds as if I am. I just get tired of being reduced to those to things, in peoples minds and in people's vocabulary. It was just a really nice moment. A moment when fear gave way to realization. Yes, there are really nice people in the world with social skills, with social discretion and with vocabulary.
Nice.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Monday, March 05, 2012
OK OK
Dash it all!
I don't like, and have written about it here before, those 'disability awareness' exercises where people titillate themselves by rolling around in a wheelchair and then get up saying, missing the point entirely, "I could never cope with that." Well people do cope - so shut up. Sorry, but those 'games' annoy me and they seem to be more about people discovering things about their character and their courage than about disability and my life. But I've had a few people beg me for an alternative, an idea, many saying, correctly that I shouldn't criticize without coming up with options.
So I have.
It begins now ..
Try to look at my writing, now, this paragraph, with illumination. Writing is awkward but you can follow what I am saying. Do you worry about my inability to click my laptop buttons such that words flow smoothly? I annoy 'moi' and probably you by doing what I am now doing. But as I do it, it smooths out, I hit buttons quickly now. My mind works hard, HARD. But I finish what I start.
It ends now ...
I am exhausted. That took time. That took energy. That took determination. That took creativity. I was constantly thinking, constantly looking for ways to do what I wanted to to and say, even though not clearly, what I wanted to say. I set myself a lipogram which, if you clicked, you'd see, is a form of constrained writing. That paragraph above was written without using the letter 'e'. It was really hard to do, but it was doable. To me, setting people about the task of writing a story about their dog, their cat, their friend, their child, without using the letter 'e' would give some idea about the mental gymnastics involved in disability. Disability isn't about not having a cut curb ... well it is but it isn't ... it's about figuring out what to do about the fact that there isn't a cut curb. Coming up with options, coming up with ideas. constantly thinking, constantly evaluating what might or might not work.
I see this too with people who have intellectual disabilities when they get stuck on something. Trying desperately to figure out what to do, how to act, what comes next. Disability isn't a passive experience, it's an active one. It's trying to interact with a world that isn't easily accessible. I am more often mentally exhausted by the experience of disability than I am physically exhausted. Even in days that go well, those days have gone well because I've thought, and planned, and developed secondary plans, and reviewed options upon options upon options. It's tiring.
It's a bit similar to typing words into a string for you to sit and look at and say 'I got it!' (that was a lipogram)
Whew, I don't want to do that often.
No, it's not glamorous like riding around in a wheelchair laughing, fully knowing that you can get up at any time. No, it's not like pouring water into a glass wearing a blindfold. No, it's not showy. But it does get the point across. I tried this out on someone the other day who wanted to know why someone he worked with was always happy in the morning and always tired and a bit grumpy in the evening. There was nothing medically wrong. The fellow I was talking to made like the person was being willfully difficult in the evenings. I suggested that maybe, by the end of the day, he was just tired, really, really, tired. This self same staff gave up after trying for five minutes to write a sentence without 'e' ... he looked at me and said, 'this is really hard work'. I suggested that the fellow he supported worked hard like that all day every day. I suggested maybe developing an evening routine that was enjoyable, full of things the fellow chose to do - that he'd choose things that were comforting and less challenging than his day had been. It worked. Everyone is happier.
So there, happy?
I know, just know, that others with disabilities may not like this. Well, I don't really either, whatever happened to empathy? But I tried to find something that might have meaning without being demeaning.
I don't like, and have written about it here before, those 'disability awareness' exercises where people titillate themselves by rolling around in a wheelchair and then get up saying, missing the point entirely, "I could never cope with that." Well people do cope - so shut up. Sorry, but those 'games' annoy me and they seem to be more about people discovering things about their character and their courage than about disability and my life. But I've had a few people beg me for an alternative, an idea, many saying, correctly that I shouldn't criticize without coming up with options.
So I have.
It begins now ..
Try to look at my writing, now, this paragraph, with illumination. Writing is awkward but you can follow what I am saying. Do you worry about my inability to click my laptop buttons such that words flow smoothly? I annoy 'moi' and probably you by doing what I am now doing. But as I do it, it smooths out, I hit buttons quickly now. My mind works hard, HARD. But I finish what I start.
It ends now ...
I am exhausted. That took time. That took energy. That took determination. That took creativity. I was constantly thinking, constantly looking for ways to do what I wanted to to and say, even though not clearly, what I wanted to say. I set myself a lipogram which, if you clicked, you'd see, is a form of constrained writing. That paragraph above was written without using the letter 'e'. It was really hard to do, but it was doable. To me, setting people about the task of writing a story about their dog, their cat, their friend, their child, without using the letter 'e' would give some idea about the mental gymnastics involved in disability. Disability isn't about not having a cut curb ... well it is but it isn't ... it's about figuring out what to do about the fact that there isn't a cut curb. Coming up with options, coming up with ideas. constantly thinking, constantly evaluating what might or might not work.
I see this too with people who have intellectual disabilities when they get stuck on something. Trying desperately to figure out what to do, how to act, what comes next. Disability isn't a passive experience, it's an active one. It's trying to interact with a world that isn't easily accessible. I am more often mentally exhausted by the experience of disability than I am physically exhausted. Even in days that go well, those days have gone well because I've thought, and planned, and developed secondary plans, and reviewed options upon options upon options. It's tiring.
It's a bit similar to typing words into a string for you to sit and look at and say 'I got it!' (that was a lipogram)
Whew, I don't want to do that often.
No, it's not glamorous like riding around in a wheelchair laughing, fully knowing that you can get up at any time. No, it's not like pouring water into a glass wearing a blindfold. No, it's not showy. But it does get the point across. I tried this out on someone the other day who wanted to know why someone he worked with was always happy in the morning and always tired and a bit grumpy in the evening. There was nothing medically wrong. The fellow I was talking to made like the person was being willfully difficult in the evenings. I suggested that maybe, by the end of the day, he was just tired, really, really, tired. This self same staff gave up after trying for five minutes to write a sentence without 'e' ... he looked at me and said, 'this is really hard work'. I suggested that the fellow he supported worked hard like that all day every day. I suggested maybe developing an evening routine that was enjoyable, full of things the fellow chose to do - that he'd choose things that were comforting and less challenging than his day had been. It worked. Everyone is happier.
So there, happy?
I know, just know, that others with disabilities may not like this. Well, I don't really either, whatever happened to empathy? But I tried to find something that might have meaning without being demeaning.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Helen Keller and Peter Fagan
(Description of the video: Various photographs of Helen Keller are interspersed with clips from television programmes showing her at a variety of events. The are interspersed with text telling the story of Helen Keller's rise to popularity and of her meeting with Peter Fagan when Annie Sullivan was away recuperating. Much of the rest of the story can be found in my earlier post and in the post that follows.)
A long while back I wrote a post about Helen Keller documenting the love story that is, oddly, still never told. Helen fell in love with a fellow named Peter Fagan - a love that she referred to throughout her life - a love which was denied to her by time, by circumstance and by greed. I will never think of Annie Sullivan in any way but as a person who abused her position and abused her trust. The story of Helen Keller's love tells of the attitudes that society held, and holds, towards sexuality and disability. And of the story of the abuse of a person's life and will by someone who profits by providing assistance.
In writing that post I asked, even the famed Penny Richards who writes often and well of disability history, if anyone had a picture of Peter Fagan. I wanted to see the man who could see Helen Keller. I wanted to have a sense of the man who walked with, talked with, and fell in love with Helen the woman - not Helen the commodity. Over time I gave up the search.
But I have the heart of a shopper. That means when I want something, I'll look until I find it. I might give up for a bit, but then I'll try again, and again, and again. I'm the same with something like this. Yesterday morning, up and on the computer early, while Joe slept, I began the search again. And I found this short YouTube clip. In it is a blurry photo of Peter Fagan. I was so pleased to see it and to see the story here.
That success sent me searching, I found the transcript of a film, The Real Helen Keller, about Helen's life (I think the YouTube clip was based on that film) where Ann Fagan Ginger is interviewed about her father's relationship with Helen and why he did not show up on the day that they were to meet. If you click on the link and want to go to that part of the script just hit 'Control F' and search the name 'Fagan' and it will take you right there. It reports, from one of Helen's relatives, that Annie Sullivan called the Keller's to inform them that she had seen the two kissing and that they must be separated.
Another site, Roaring Girl has stills from the film including this one:
(description of photo: Blurry image of Peter Fagan standing in a forest. He is wearing a loose fitting suit with a narrow tie and a white shirt. He holds his hands together making him look slightly nervous in getting his piture taken. His hair is parted on the left, it is dark. His features are hard to see but he looks fairly young.)
(Peter's daughter Ann Fagan Ginger is given as the source for the photograph.)
I was so pleased to see the short YouTube film and to subsequently find this photograph and evidence that Peter went on to marry and have children. I wonder what his life would have been, what her life would have been had love been enough to win the day. Though her heart was broken, I'm so glad to know that Helen's face had been touched lovingly and that she had been kissed - by someone who loved her.
I believe that Helen's story goes far beyond what we know in 'The Miracle Worker' ... we all know of the pump that pumps water, but we need to also know about the heart that pumps passion. I don't know who did this video, they use a pseudonym, but I thank them for it. I sat in the dark, hearing Joe breathing softly as he slept, knowing that there were those who would have, if they could have, denied me this. A more hateful crime I cannot imagine.
Saturday, March 03, 2012
Blog Business: Book Club
Just a gentle reminder than on March 16th we'll be having the 'Rolling Around In My Head Disability Book Club' and the book we've settled on is The Secret Scripture. I thought this book was an amazing read. You can participate in a couple of ways, both predicated on reading the book. One is to write a review yourself and link here in the comment section ( this year I'm going to put the links up into the blog as they come in ) or do a mini review in the comment section itself.
I'm going to host the book club three times a year and have already picked the next novel, but I'll tell you about it after we've got this one up and done.
Today's post follows.
I'm going to host the book club three times a year and have already picked the next novel, but I'll tell you about it after we've got this one up and done.
Today's post follows.
Changing One Thing
I love my readers. I also like making connections when I travel. I especially love when the two overlap so there is kind of a connection. That's happened several times. I come here and see comments from people who's faces I can picture who's voices I have heard. So between those who know me from real contact to those who I know from blog land - it's like I've got all these people out there sending me stuff I'd never normally see. I feel 'up to date' because I'm kept 'up to date'.
Kris sent me this link that I really, really, encourage you to go see today. It's a short documentary, running under ten minutes, wherein people with intellectual disabilities answer the question: 'If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?' I loved it and was inspired by it. I'm thrilled that Kris sent it to me. I was enriched by watching it, I hope you are too.
Friday, March 02, 2012
A Noisy Morning
In 'Dave-land,' where I live, civility is important. Perhaps because I grew up in a small town, perhaps because, even in a city, I've lived in small neighbourhoods or perhaps it's just my temperament, whatever the cause, I say 'good morning.' Even though, here in my apartment building, my morning cheery greeting isn't always met with, um, warmth, I say it anyways. It cost me nothing to greet someone, so I do.
On my morning WheelTrans runs to work, I sometimes see the same person several times in a row, sometimes never again. But, regardless, I always say hello to others on the bus. Most return my greeting, some quickly pulling out phones, others stuffing in ear phones - nine polite ways of saying, 'I don't want to talk'. Well, typically, I don't either. A greeting is just a greeting, it isn't a proposal of marriage. This brings me to what happened today.
Several people I ride with have significant disabilities. They ride in silence. Their silence seems to call out silence in others. Many drivers, though wonderfully not all, simply quietly lock them into place without much in the way of chatter. Most simply don't seem to know what to say. Other riders, more able riders, often greet me and eyes skip over the place where another sits, ungreeted.
I've made my own mistakes along the way with those who trade in silences. Now, I simply greet each person, and let it go. As I said, I'm not suggesting any form of social intercourse, it's just a greeting. One woman who I've ridden with often, is dropped off at a day programme for people with intellectual disabilities. I learned her name some months ago and now greet her, using her name, as I do with others whose name I now know. Her mother always looks at me with sincere gratitude every time I speak to her daughter. Her non spoken thank you, seems to compound her daughter's silence, and it breaks my heart.
Today something wonderful happened. As regular readers know, I've been on the road for quite a while, so it's been over a month since I've ridden the bus. I knew as soon as we pulled on to the street that we were going to her house, to pick her up. I said to her, pleased to see her, 'Good Morning,' and I called her by name. This time something different happened. She looked straight at me, her eyes burning. I saw her look, the intensity, then my eye was caught by the tiniest of movements. Her finger, one finger, was waving. I broke into a grin. Her eyes relaxed, then smiled.
Her mother stood as witness. I teared up and told her that it was good to see her too. Her mom put her hand on my shoulder on the way out and said, 'As you can see, when she speaks, she speaks.' I agreed. That may have been both the quietest and the noisiest greeting I've ever received.
A gracious good morning to you all, if it ain't out of keeping with the situation!
On my morning WheelTrans runs to work, I sometimes see the same person several times in a row, sometimes never again. But, regardless, I always say hello to others on the bus. Most return my greeting, some quickly pulling out phones, others stuffing in ear phones - nine polite ways of saying, 'I don't want to talk'. Well, typically, I don't either. A greeting is just a greeting, it isn't a proposal of marriage. This brings me to what happened today.
Several people I ride with have significant disabilities. They ride in silence. Their silence seems to call out silence in others. Many drivers, though wonderfully not all, simply quietly lock them into place without much in the way of chatter. Most simply don't seem to know what to say. Other riders, more able riders, often greet me and eyes skip over the place where another sits, ungreeted.
I've made my own mistakes along the way with those who trade in silences. Now, I simply greet each person, and let it go. As I said, I'm not suggesting any form of social intercourse, it's just a greeting. One woman who I've ridden with often, is dropped off at a day programme for people with intellectual disabilities. I learned her name some months ago and now greet her, using her name, as I do with others whose name I now know. Her mother always looks at me with sincere gratitude every time I speak to her daughter. Her non spoken thank you, seems to compound her daughter's silence, and it breaks my heart.
Today something wonderful happened. As regular readers know, I've been on the road for quite a while, so it's been over a month since I've ridden the bus. I knew as soon as we pulled on to the street that we were going to her house, to pick her up. I said to her, pleased to see her, 'Good Morning,' and I called her by name. This time something different happened. She looked straight at me, her eyes burning. I saw her look, the intensity, then my eye was caught by the tiniest of movements. Her finger, one finger, was waving. I broke into a grin. Her eyes relaxed, then smiled.
Her mother stood as witness. I teared up and told her that it was good to see her too. Her mom put her hand on my shoulder on the way out and said, 'As you can see, when she speaks, she speaks.' I agreed. That may have been both the quietest and the noisiest greeting I've ever received.
A gracious good morning to you all, if it ain't out of keeping with the situation!
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Commenting on a Comment
I don't normally do this but I've decided that I need to discuss something here. A couple of days ago someone, anonymously, left a comment regarding my post about arriving in Thunder Bay to discover that the room we'd carefully booked, the accessible room, had been given to another traveler and we were left stranded. Here's what the comment said:
"OMG they made a mistake and booked your room! This happens all the time, and you found a room across the street, how about a little stiff upper lip and stoicism for gods sake. you really are the center of your universe, take off your victim T-Shirt for one day please..."Should we name the hotel, i will let you decide"? Sure, why not, you spend 90% of your time finding fault why not go all the way?"
Now, though people forget, I'm as human as everyone else and just as capable of being stung by words. Word's Hit ... I know that. That particular post drew some ire from some readers - my expression of anger particularly and my choice of words even more particularly. I knew that was going to be the case when I wrote it. I had decided to publish it because the post expressed exactly how I was feeling in that moment. I thought it was honest, and I thought that an honest expression of a moment in the life of myself as a person with a disability had some value.
After reading that comment and reacting, as one might imagine I reacted, I wondered if the comment reflected how many people see the complaints and the anger of those of us with disabilities. Are we just whiny babies who want things our way all the time? Are we people who should feel more gratitude and express less annoyance? Are we, or more specifically, am I, just a complainer?
I did some research, looking up the various stereotypes of people with disabilities. I wondered who we (I) are (am) expected to be. There are, of course, many, and often contradicting, stereotypes. One that kept popping up was the 'gentle soul' someone who 'bears life's difficulties with grace' someone 'never speaking a complaining word' someone with 'wisdom in their eyes and knowledge in their silences'. OK, that's simply not me. It's also not many of the people I know, disabled or not.
Interestingly I hear lovely things said about people with disabilities all the time. Particularly people with intellectual disabilities ... that great mass of 'all loving' 'constantly smling' group of 'forever children.' Something very much at odds with the reality of the lives of the people I know and have the privilege to serve. I read this often in blogs by parents or blogs by those who have siblings with disabilities. I always cringe a little inside when I read these because I know that though someone with Down Syndrome might have a happy demeanour they also have the capacity to be angry and frustrated and upset. The first time I heard someone with Down Syndrome tell a staff to 'F' off ... I discovered it was possible to applaud while dropping over in a dead faint.
We are completely and fully human.
Not a drop of saintly blood in any of us.
So I looked back at the criticism and decided that I actually have a stiff upper lip and a fair degree of stoicism ... just not all the time and not in every circumstance. I don't think the Brits would have had an empire if they didn't also have a backbone and a voice and the skill to know when to make displeasure known. I know for sure that I don't have a 'victim t-shirt', I checked my closet and then realized that they didn't come in my size.
I also checked over the history of this blog, in it I have congratulated various companies and various organizations for what they've done and how they do it. I ended the year by naming the best experiences I've had as a disabled traveller. The positive blogs about businesses and services far outweigh the negative ones. And the negative ones are about 'discrimination' or 'lack of concern' which I believe are fair game. The person making the comment may think that all we did was have to drive across the street. Well, that's not quite true, we had to go to several hotels before finding the one that happened to be across the street. All we went to were full - oh they had rooms, but they didn't have accessible rooms. A non disabled traveller would have stayed in a different room in the same hotel, we had to wander, calling hotels as we went, to find somewhere, both worried that we'd be stuck in the cold. I think, therefore, that anger was appropriate, that the expression of anger was legitimate and if ever there was a time for the 'f' word, that would be it.
So, here's the deal, fair readers. I am not going to censor my life here. I will occasionally be angry and occasionally, only very occasionally, swear and curse in my blog. It happens, I'm human, it's real. And yes, sometimes I will sound like a whiny baby - and I'll bet all of you will have to admit to those moments yourself. And yes, sometimes I'll present like I'm a victim - but then, sometimes I am! Yes, and sometimes I only think I am.
So comments make me think. I wondered at the anger behind the comment. I wondered at the reason for the assaultive nature with which the writer expressed those thoughts. I wondered if maybe they should take off the bully T shirt and develop a softer heart to go along with that stiff lip.
"OMG they made a mistake and booked your room! This happens all the time, and you found a room across the street, how about a little stiff upper lip and stoicism for gods sake. you really are the center of your universe, take off your victim T-Shirt for one day please..."Should we name the hotel, i will let you decide"? Sure, why not, you spend 90% of your time finding fault why not go all the way?"
Now, though people forget, I'm as human as everyone else and just as capable of being stung by words. Word's Hit ... I know that. That particular post drew some ire from some readers - my expression of anger particularly and my choice of words even more particularly. I knew that was going to be the case when I wrote it. I had decided to publish it because the post expressed exactly how I was feeling in that moment. I thought it was honest, and I thought that an honest expression of a moment in the life of myself as a person with a disability had some value.
After reading that comment and reacting, as one might imagine I reacted, I wondered if the comment reflected how many people see the complaints and the anger of those of us with disabilities. Are we just whiny babies who want things our way all the time? Are we people who should feel more gratitude and express less annoyance? Are we, or more specifically, am I, just a complainer?
I did some research, looking up the various stereotypes of people with disabilities. I wondered who we (I) are (am) expected to be. There are, of course, many, and often contradicting, stereotypes. One that kept popping up was the 'gentle soul' someone who 'bears life's difficulties with grace' someone 'never speaking a complaining word' someone with 'wisdom in their eyes and knowledge in their silences'. OK, that's simply not me. It's also not many of the people I know, disabled or not.
Interestingly I hear lovely things said about people with disabilities all the time. Particularly people with intellectual disabilities ... that great mass of 'all loving' 'constantly smling' group of 'forever children.' Something very much at odds with the reality of the lives of the people I know and have the privilege to serve. I read this often in blogs by parents or blogs by those who have siblings with disabilities. I always cringe a little inside when I read these because I know that though someone with Down Syndrome might have a happy demeanour they also have the capacity to be angry and frustrated and upset. The first time I heard someone with Down Syndrome tell a staff to 'F' off ... I discovered it was possible to applaud while dropping over in a dead faint.
We are completely and fully human.
Not a drop of saintly blood in any of us.
So I looked back at the criticism and decided that I actually have a stiff upper lip and a fair degree of stoicism ... just not all the time and not in every circumstance. I don't think the Brits would have had an empire if they didn't also have a backbone and a voice and the skill to know when to make displeasure known. I know for sure that I don't have a 'victim t-shirt', I checked my closet and then realized that they didn't come in my size.
I also checked over the history of this blog, in it I have congratulated various companies and various organizations for what they've done and how they do it. I ended the year by naming the best experiences I've had as a disabled traveller. The positive blogs about businesses and services far outweigh the negative ones. And the negative ones are about 'discrimination' or 'lack of concern' which I believe are fair game. The person making the comment may think that all we did was have to drive across the street. Well, that's not quite true, we had to go to several hotels before finding the one that happened to be across the street. All we went to were full - oh they had rooms, but they didn't have accessible rooms. A non disabled traveller would have stayed in a different room in the same hotel, we had to wander, calling hotels as we went, to find somewhere, both worried that we'd be stuck in the cold. I think, therefore, that anger was appropriate, that the expression of anger was legitimate and if ever there was a time for the 'f' word, that would be it.
So, here's the deal, fair readers. I am not going to censor my life here. I will occasionally be angry and occasionally, only very occasionally, swear and curse in my blog. It happens, I'm human, it's real. And yes, sometimes I will sound like a whiny baby - and I'll bet all of you will have to admit to those moments yourself. And yes, sometimes I'll present like I'm a victim - but then, sometimes I am! Yes, and sometimes I only think I am.
So comments make me think. I wondered at the anger behind the comment. I wondered at the reason for the assaultive nature with which the writer expressed those thoughts. I wondered if maybe they should take off the bully T shirt and develop a softer heart to go along with that stiff lip.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Hammers
Yesterday was a pretty emotional day for me but I kept it together for most of the day. I mean, realize, that I was witnessing something pretty huge. After the first day of training, about training and about the curriculum, yesterday was about the various teams coming together to practice and then get up in front of us all and teach. People with disabilities are not immune to the nerves. You could feel tension crackling in the air as they gathered together in various parts of the hotel to practice and to giggle away nerves.
At one point I was rolling by a group and one of the teachers (a person with and intellectual disability) was saying to one of the helpers (a staff person), 'OK, if I forget the lines what I want you to do is to whisper the words to me.' He was fully in control and defining what kind of help he may need. She was listening and simply setting it up so that she could follow his instructions, his lead. All over the room that was happening. The teachers were outlining what they might need in the way of assistance.
They had seen that when Joe and I teach this together, we each have separate jobs. I am primarily the teacher, but I need Joe's assistance to remind me when I've missed something, to keep me on track, to make sure I notice who's hand is up and who is needing assistance. He plays a vital role, it's not as showy as mine, but it's a vital role. The helper is there for that reason - to make sure the teacher can focus on teaching without the worry of having to remember everything or to see everything.
So, that all took us up to lunch. Everyone ate with anticipation for what was coming next. They were going to have the experience of getting up and teaching the group. They knew, by then, that everyone wanted everyone to succeed. Of all the worries they had, they didn't have to worry about being negatively judged. We had managed that rare thing: a safe place for all to be in. In a day an a half we had transformed into something remarkable.
Then, we began.
I sat there and fought tears for nearly a full hour. I've been teaching this for years. I've been teaching staff to do this, but for the first time every, the words I'd written, the role plays I had imagined, were being set up and run by people with disabilities. I saw those who had a natural sense of humour bring the room into laughter. I saw those who had a wonderfully gentle touch when it came to engaging the group. I saw people holding on to the instruction manual and carefully getting the words out. I saw people on the edge of new creation.
We all create ourselves over the yeas, don't you agree? Time and circumstances are like little tiny chisels taken to our selves and our souls. Every now and then, though, something happens, something so big that even you hear the crack - know why they call it a broken heart, well, I'm sure it's because someone once actually heard theirs crack open. Well, I heard, the room heard, crack after crack as the situation, the circumstance, took hammer to self-doubt and as it fell away there shone confidence and there shone self assurance and, heaven be praised, there shone pride.
I witnessed change. Two days ago I realized that we were embarking on a new era in how we served people. Yesterday I saw something different. I saw the personal change that would lead us to system change. Yesterday I saw something powerful. I saw people taking hold of their own destiny. Yesterday I saw something moving. People with disabilities with a desire to teach people with disabilities about strength and about power and about pride.
Yesterday was quite the day.
As had been the day before.
I even heard, far back in the corner of my soul, a small, a tiny, hammer working away at a part of my soul and I know that is some way, as a result of that, I am about to be changed.
At one point I was rolling by a group and one of the teachers (a person with and intellectual disability) was saying to one of the helpers (a staff person), 'OK, if I forget the lines what I want you to do is to whisper the words to me.' He was fully in control and defining what kind of help he may need. She was listening and simply setting it up so that she could follow his instructions, his lead. All over the room that was happening. The teachers were outlining what they might need in the way of assistance.
They had seen that when Joe and I teach this together, we each have separate jobs. I am primarily the teacher, but I need Joe's assistance to remind me when I've missed something, to keep me on track, to make sure I notice who's hand is up and who is needing assistance. He plays a vital role, it's not as showy as mine, but it's a vital role. The helper is there for that reason - to make sure the teacher can focus on teaching without the worry of having to remember everything or to see everything.
So, that all took us up to lunch. Everyone ate with anticipation for what was coming next. They were going to have the experience of getting up and teaching the group. They knew, by then, that everyone wanted everyone to succeed. Of all the worries they had, they didn't have to worry about being negatively judged. We had managed that rare thing: a safe place for all to be in. In a day an a half we had transformed into something remarkable.
Then, we began.
I sat there and fought tears for nearly a full hour. I've been teaching this for years. I've been teaching staff to do this, but for the first time every, the words I'd written, the role plays I had imagined, were being set up and run by people with disabilities. I saw those who had a natural sense of humour bring the room into laughter. I saw those who had a wonderfully gentle touch when it came to engaging the group. I saw people holding on to the instruction manual and carefully getting the words out. I saw people on the edge of new creation.
We all create ourselves over the yeas, don't you agree? Time and circumstances are like little tiny chisels taken to our selves and our souls. Every now and then, though, something happens, something so big that even you hear the crack - know why they call it a broken heart, well, I'm sure it's because someone once actually heard theirs crack open. Well, I heard, the room heard, crack after crack as the situation, the circumstance, took hammer to self-doubt and as it fell away there shone confidence and there shone self assurance and, heaven be praised, there shone pride.
I witnessed change. Two days ago I realized that we were embarking on a new era in how we served people. Yesterday I saw something different. I saw the personal change that would lead us to system change. Yesterday I saw something powerful. I saw people taking hold of their own destiny. Yesterday I saw something moving. People with disabilities with a desire to teach people with disabilities about strength and about power and about pride.
Yesterday was quite the day.
As had been the day before.
I even heard, far back in the corner of my soul, a small, a tiny, hammer working away at a part of my soul and I know that is some way, as a result of that, I am about to be changed.
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