Today I am not at all depressed. Yes, I'm still on the medications that cause depression, still taking the buggers four times a day - talk about feeding your depression. Even so, I'm not depressed. Haven't been since yesterday at about 11:30. We were driving down to NYC where I'll be presenting for a couple days and Joe was listening to his classical station on satellite radio. As a piece was playing a slowly forming idea was taking shape in my head. I do not have 'flashes' of inspiration, I have slowly growing, slowing forming, images in my mind that then lead to an 'ah ha, I have an idea' statement.
By the time we got to the Delaware Gap, one of the most beautiful areas in the States to drive through, the idea had taken shape. Next, I evaluated it, saw that, with help, it was possible. The cool thing about the idea is that it would sure to be a wonderful surprise, a gift of joy, to someone that I care about. Tee Hee and Giggle Giggle. I love giving gifts, and I really love giving something that means something and matters. I also love the bit of tension from the back of the mind worry, 'what if I got it all wrong.'
We got to the hotel room and I pulled out the notes I made on the road, made a bunch of calls, organized a bunch of stuff I'd need. Next up it was tea with a friend over at the Port Authority - the only accessible area around our hotel. It was there I sprung the idea and asked for big time help. She agreed, kindly, to help me. So maybe, just maybe, I can pull this off.
Through it all I kept imagining my friend getting the surprise and loving the surprise. I kept in check the idea that my friend might go,'What? Really?' That's the tension that gives the joy in getting it right.
And then I noticed, all this focus on the surprise, the gift, my friend ... wham, no more depression. I remember hearing about Mitzvah Therapy ... a Mitzvah is an act of human kindness, an act that has you focus, not on you, on someone else. Well gosh, golly, and gee-willikers, it worked.
Maybe I'll spend the next two weeks trying human kindness as an antidote to antibiotic depression. What's the worst that can happen, people like me better, I like me better, the world is a slightly better place. There's side effects I can understand.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Letter
"I know you've been feeling down these last few days so I thought I'd send you a story about my son,' read the email. I was pleased that my inbox read re: Hey Dave, It's Not Spam. I often worry that I erase emails that are actually for me in my rush to avoid requests for help in distributing 50 million Pounds. The email was from a regular blog reader, a woman without a blog to post stories, and she wanted to cheer me with a story. I love stories and settled back to read. After finishing I asked her if we could talk on the phone. She said, 'Sure'. During our call I got all the details of the story and then asked her if I could write it here. I am writing in her voice, I don't often do that but that's how this came out. She's approved the story. Here's what she told me:
My son is now just 14 years old. He has cerebral palsy and we've been sure from a very young age that he understands that he has a disability and we've answered every question he's ever asked. We've never said, 'You are just like everyone else'. We've never lied to him about his difference. At the same time we've let him know that his disability is just one part of him. That we still expected him to be our son and that there were expectations that came with that role. His brothers still expected him to be their brother and that there were things that he had to do to keep up his end of the bargain. Sure he has a disability, let's not kid about that. Sure his world is different than our other kids, let's not kid about that either. But he's still him and he still has a unique role in our life and in the world.
Over the years there have been frustrations on his part, on our part on the part of our other children. We've never downplayed them or pretended they didn't matter. We've never said to our son, 'Don't feel that way.' We've never said to our other children, 'You shouldn't feel that way.' We figured that we'd all best be honest and real with each other and the situations we find ourselves in. We've been criticized for some of our parenting strategies but as we were, for the most part, a happy family we let the criticism slide.
Here's the point of the story. Our son went for an appointment to talk to someone about his future. Job interests, vocational planning, that kind of thing. One of the questions that he was asked, probably to get at his interests, was 'What do you think you would have done if you didn't have Cerebral Palsy?' My son, we were told, stared blankly at the woman doing the testing and then after a long pause said, 'Nothing?' She was surprised and said, 'Nothing?' He said, 'Yes, because then it wouldn't be me.'
She talked to me later with concern because she thought he had begun to limit himself in some way. I, however, was thrilled. I asked her if she would ask a black kid what he would be if he were white and she was horrified. I told her that the question she had asked my son was equally horrible. She was asking himself to see his disability as a burden, something that he should shuck off if he could. It would be a way of thinking that would have him perpetually, in his mind, as a victim.
Later I asked my son about the interview. Deep in my heart I really wanted to know if he ever wondered, ever asked himself 'that question'. As I spoke to him I think I saw him for the first time. A young man who knows who he is. A young man who wishes to be no one else. A young man that I love with every bit of my heart.
When I told my husband about what happened he wanted to walk straight over to that woman's office and give her a piece of his mind. His son, the one with cerebral palsy, should never be put in the position of apologizing for who he is and wishing he was someone else, he said. "Don't you ever ..." I began asking my husband, and he said, 'When he was little yes, sometimes, but once I really met him, never again.'
***
The email and call did cheer me. In fact, writing the story brightened my whole day. There is much here. Much to think about. Instead listening to me ... I'd like to listen to you. What say you to the mom who told me this story.
My son is now just 14 years old. He has cerebral palsy and we've been sure from a very young age that he understands that he has a disability and we've answered every question he's ever asked. We've never said, 'You are just like everyone else'. We've never lied to him about his difference. At the same time we've let him know that his disability is just one part of him. That we still expected him to be our son and that there were expectations that came with that role. His brothers still expected him to be their brother and that there were things that he had to do to keep up his end of the bargain. Sure he has a disability, let's not kid about that. Sure his world is different than our other kids, let's not kid about that either. But he's still him and he still has a unique role in our life and in the world.
Over the years there have been frustrations on his part, on our part on the part of our other children. We've never downplayed them or pretended they didn't matter. We've never said to our son, 'Don't feel that way.' We've never said to our other children, 'You shouldn't feel that way.' We figured that we'd all best be honest and real with each other and the situations we find ourselves in. We've been criticized for some of our parenting strategies but as we were, for the most part, a happy family we let the criticism slide.
Here's the point of the story. Our son went for an appointment to talk to someone about his future. Job interests, vocational planning, that kind of thing. One of the questions that he was asked, probably to get at his interests, was 'What do you think you would have done if you didn't have Cerebral Palsy?' My son, we were told, stared blankly at the woman doing the testing and then after a long pause said, 'Nothing?' She was surprised and said, 'Nothing?' He said, 'Yes, because then it wouldn't be me.'
She talked to me later with concern because she thought he had begun to limit himself in some way. I, however, was thrilled. I asked her if she would ask a black kid what he would be if he were white and she was horrified. I told her that the question she had asked my son was equally horrible. She was asking himself to see his disability as a burden, something that he should shuck off if he could. It would be a way of thinking that would have him perpetually, in his mind, as a victim.
Later I asked my son about the interview. Deep in my heart I really wanted to know if he ever wondered, ever asked himself 'that question'. As I spoke to him I think I saw him for the first time. A young man who knows who he is. A young man who wishes to be no one else. A young man that I love with every bit of my heart.
When I told my husband about what happened he wanted to walk straight over to that woman's office and give her a piece of his mind. His son, the one with cerebral palsy, should never be put in the position of apologizing for who he is and wishing he was someone else, he said. "Don't you ever ..." I began asking my husband, and he said, 'When he was little yes, sometimes, but once I really met him, never again.'
***
The email and call did cheer me. In fact, writing the story brightened my whole day. There is much here. Much to think about. Instead listening to me ... I'd like to listen to you. What say you to the mom who told me this story.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Summer School
How quickly it flies by. I've already finished teaching the four day Behaviour Summer School classes! Next week I start the four day Sexuality Classes and when they're done the eighth annual Summer School classes will be done. Every summer seems to go faster than the summer before.
All those years ago I went to York Simcoe Behaviour Management Services with the idea of offering Summer School. The idea was to bring together just enough students to cover costs and run the classes from 9:30 to 2:30. This would mean a small group of people would have the opportunity to learn AND relax at the same time. They'd be given the opportunity within the reduced hours to think and reflect rather than rush and race. We all thought it would be a hard sell and for the first couple of years it was. After that, it kind of took off. Agencies reported that they're staff came back renewed and revitalized. Cool.
I was chatting before class a couple days ago with two students who had arrived early for the class. They each said that they had found themselves doing some real self evaluation in light of what they had learned. In that they found themselves motivated to change but, oddly, didn't feel like they'd been put through an emotional grinder. They couldn't have pleased me more. People need to realize that 'self evaluation' isn't the same as being 'self critical'.
I begin to think that people fear reflection because of a fear of painful realization. I'm not sure where the idea came from that reflection and realization are always and necessarily painful. Some of the realizations I've had are joyous, some are funny, some are embarrassing, very few have caused me real pain and regret. I'd love it if those of us who work with people spent more time in insightful self evaluation. We are, after all, half of each interaction we have. We are, after all, given tremendous power in the lives of others. We should be REQUIRED to sit down and face ourselves at a regular basis.
So, the conversation pleased me.
Then I got home and there was an email waiting for me from one of the students who thanked me for the class and for what she had learned both professionally and personally. I remembered her easily. She was a woman with a quick wit and a ready smile. Both Joe and I had joked with her and, as such, she lodged into memory. I was touched that she bothered to write and bothered to say thanks. Tells me much about what she brought into the class and what hopes I had for what she took out of the class.
So, the email pleased me.
Soon we'll be planning the 9th annual summer school, deciding where it's going to be, deciding the dates of the class. My summer would not be the same without these classes. I like them because I learn through teaching, I get inspired through listening.
Reciprocity - ain't it great.
Reflection - ain't it grand.
All those years ago I went to York Simcoe Behaviour Management Services with the idea of offering Summer School. The idea was to bring together just enough students to cover costs and run the classes from 9:30 to 2:30. This would mean a small group of people would have the opportunity to learn AND relax at the same time. They'd be given the opportunity within the reduced hours to think and reflect rather than rush and race. We all thought it would be a hard sell and for the first couple of years it was. After that, it kind of took off. Agencies reported that they're staff came back renewed and revitalized. Cool.
I was chatting before class a couple days ago with two students who had arrived early for the class. They each said that they had found themselves doing some real self evaluation in light of what they had learned. In that they found themselves motivated to change but, oddly, didn't feel like they'd been put through an emotional grinder. They couldn't have pleased me more. People need to realize that 'self evaluation' isn't the same as being 'self critical'.
I begin to think that people fear reflection because of a fear of painful realization. I'm not sure where the idea came from that reflection and realization are always and necessarily painful. Some of the realizations I've had are joyous, some are funny, some are embarrassing, very few have caused me real pain and regret. I'd love it if those of us who work with people spent more time in insightful self evaluation. We are, after all, half of each interaction we have. We are, after all, given tremendous power in the lives of others. We should be REQUIRED to sit down and face ourselves at a regular basis.
So, the conversation pleased me.
Then I got home and there was an email waiting for me from one of the students who thanked me for the class and for what she had learned both professionally and personally. I remembered her easily. She was a woman with a quick wit and a ready smile. Both Joe and I had joked with her and, as such, she lodged into memory. I was touched that she bothered to write and bothered to say thanks. Tells me much about what she brought into the class and what hopes I had for what she took out of the class.
So, the email pleased me.
Soon we'll be planning the 9th annual summer school, deciding where it's going to be, deciding the dates of the class. My summer would not be the same without these classes. I like them because I learn through teaching, I get inspired through listening.
Reciprocity - ain't it great.
Reflection - ain't it grand.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Calling Dr. Ruby
Ruby was really excited.
Her dad had called her to the phone to chat with me after he and I had finished talking. She came giggling onto the phone. 'HI, DAVY,' she said being the only person in the world who has ever called me 'Davy'. I said, 'Hi, Ruby!' I asked her what she was doing and she said that she and her dad were going to go out with her Princess bike to ride with her friends.
'Do you have anything planned for the weekend,' I asked knowing she, her sister and her mom were going away for a few days.
'Yes,' she said excitedly.
'What,' I asked breathlessly.
'I'm going to ride my bike with my friends and then I'm going to sleep, then I'm going to ride my bike with my friends and then I'm going to sleep, then I'm going to ride my bike with my friends and then I'm going to sleep ...' At this point she handed the phone over to her dad and he came on the phone laughing. We both agreed that in essence she'd caught life.
'Do stuff. Sleep. Do stuff. Sleep.'
The difference is, at nearly four, she finds the routine exciting and comforting all at the same time. She eagerly looks forward to doing what she does in the day and then resting up to do it again the next day.
After we'd hung up, Joe and I began to talk over the next several days. We have a long stretch in front of us with lots of things to do, lots to be accomplished. On top of that I'm still dealing with medication related depression.
But that call helped in it's wee way.
Cause I still get to ...
Do stuff. Sleep. Do stuff. Sleep.
There is excitement there. There is security there.
I need wisdom from a nearly four year old every now and then.
Friday, July 16, 2010
A Side Order of Effects
Probably because I've been fat my whole life, I don't have a lot of problems carrying the weight of responsibilities that come with living my life. I'm OK with being an adult, OK with having expectations, OK with doing what my hands were created to do. Really. I am.
But the last few days have been so difficult for me. I've felt tired and resentful, angry and moody ... flat out depressed. I'm someone prone to depression, know the warning signs of it's approach and have strategies to pull myself back from the edge. As a result, I'm seldom actually depressed. This time, though, it caught me completely unawares. No triggers were noticed therefore no strategies were used. Hmmmm. I began to wonder if the antecedents to depression were changing as I got older.
I did some serious and sober second thought. In the midst of this bleakness and darkness, I could find none. I've never been debilitated by depression. I still go to work, I still give lectures, I still do what I'm supposed to do - I just hope that people don't pick up on the fact that my eyes are a darker shade of green.
Yesterday I went to the doctor to review what's going on. I'm fighting a minor infection and have been on anti-biotics (pre-prescribed and available whenever an infection sprouts up) for 10 days or so. These happen, less and less often thankfully, and though they annoy me - they aren't (or haven't been) the 'snap' that sends the avalanche on it's way.
At the end of the visit with the doctor, Joe and I went home and he went over to pick up some more anti-biotics. When he got home he said, 'The pharmacist told me something interesting.' I looked at him listlessly. He continued, 'Did you know that one of the side effects of this medication is depression?'
I perked up, shucking off listlessness, and asked, 'Say that again.'
Joe threw the bombshell again.
Oh.
So that's it.
Now that I know that I'm chemically depressed not actually depressed, I'm somehow better. I know that it will go away when the pills are done - the sun will shine again.
So if you note a bit of a 'down turn' in my posts, a bit of bleakness sneaking in, just shake your head and realize that this ...
0 this is my brain.
O( is my brain on drugs.
But the last few days have been so difficult for me. I've felt tired and resentful, angry and moody ... flat out depressed. I'm someone prone to depression, know the warning signs of it's approach and have strategies to pull myself back from the edge. As a result, I'm seldom actually depressed. This time, though, it caught me completely unawares. No triggers were noticed therefore no strategies were used. Hmmmm. I began to wonder if the antecedents to depression were changing as I got older.
I did some serious and sober second thought. In the midst of this bleakness and darkness, I could find none. I've never been debilitated by depression. I still go to work, I still give lectures, I still do what I'm supposed to do - I just hope that people don't pick up on the fact that my eyes are a darker shade of green.
Yesterday I went to the doctor to review what's going on. I'm fighting a minor infection and have been on anti-biotics (pre-prescribed and available whenever an infection sprouts up) for 10 days or so. These happen, less and less often thankfully, and though they annoy me - they aren't (or haven't been) the 'snap' that sends the avalanche on it's way.
At the end of the visit with the doctor, Joe and I went home and he went over to pick up some more anti-biotics. When he got home he said, 'The pharmacist told me something interesting.' I looked at him listlessly. He continued, 'Did you know that one of the side effects of this medication is depression?'
I perked up, shucking off listlessness, and asked, 'Say that again.'
Joe threw the bombshell again.
Oh.
So that's it.
Now that I know that I'm chemically depressed not actually depressed, I'm somehow better. I know that it will go away when the pills are done - the sun will shine again.
So if you note a bit of a 'down turn' in my posts, a bit of bleakness sneaking in, just shake your head and realize that this ...
0 this is my brain.
O( is my brain on drugs.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Linda's Smile
She really frustrated me.
The 'artistic' wannabe me.
I was working in an ADP years and years ago. Linda was a woman with Down Syndrome who needed a fair bit of support. She was a short, squat woman, who always wore bright summer dresses. I remember finding her face remarkable. She was what was then considered to be elderly for someone with Down Syndrome and her face had developed fine crepe paper wrinkles. I loved looking at her when she was engrossed in a task. She focused and her face became a study in concentration, in involvement in life. She looked serious and wise.
I had seen some photographs taken of people with disabilities in a book that I'd purchased and I thought that I'd like to have a 'forever record' of Linda's face. I'm not a photographer, didn't own a camera then and don't know where ours is now. But I determined I'd get a good shot of Linda.
Around this time a huge study was going on regarding Down Syndrome and Alzheimer's. A big bus pulled up beside the ADP and Linda was hustled out for testing. I sat with her as she took the test. It was clearly a test of memory and as much as I willed, with all my might, for Linda to pass the test, it was clear that she struggled to remember what was where, which went with what. Her face, showed disappointment, she knew that the test meant something even though she was told it didn't. That face, I wanted to have a picture of that face.
A camera was purchased and I took it with me to work. I snuck it in knowing that many of those there had orders that pictures could not be taken. I didn't want to publish the picture, I didn't want anything but a reminder. I didn't ask for permission of anyone but Linda. When I asked her if I could take her picture, she looked up and me and said, 'You want a picture of me?' There was astonishment in her voice as if she never imagined for a minute that someone would want a picture of her. I told her I did want a picture of her.
I don't have a single shot of her now. Even though I took a roll of film, I didn't develop them. It was so frustrating. I couldn't get a shot of her concentrating. As soon as the camera went to my eye, she looked at it and smiled. Though Linda had no teeth to speak of, her smile was charming. I didn't want charming. I didn't want another picture of someone with Down Syndrome smiling. I wanted a picture of someone engrossed in life, in learning, in living. Linda would not oblige. She smiled and smiled and smiled some more. She had this uncanny knack of knowing when I lifted the camera and she'd sit up and smile, broadly.
I asked Linda to try and not smile. She said, 'You smile for the camera.'
Linda came to my mind yesterday. I wasn't feeling great. My sense of self seemed under attack - by no one but me. Even so, when I got on the bus to come home and the driver said 'how was your day'. I smiled.
When greeted in the lobby of the building I live in, I smiled.
When chatting with someone on the Internet I :)ed.
Because Linda was right, 'You smile for the camera.'
The 'artistic' wannabe me.
I was working in an ADP years and years ago. Linda was a woman with Down Syndrome who needed a fair bit of support. She was a short, squat woman, who always wore bright summer dresses. I remember finding her face remarkable. She was what was then considered to be elderly for someone with Down Syndrome and her face had developed fine crepe paper wrinkles. I loved looking at her when she was engrossed in a task. She focused and her face became a study in concentration, in involvement in life. She looked serious and wise.
I had seen some photographs taken of people with disabilities in a book that I'd purchased and I thought that I'd like to have a 'forever record' of Linda's face. I'm not a photographer, didn't own a camera then and don't know where ours is now. But I determined I'd get a good shot of Linda.
Around this time a huge study was going on regarding Down Syndrome and Alzheimer's. A big bus pulled up beside the ADP and Linda was hustled out for testing. I sat with her as she took the test. It was clearly a test of memory and as much as I willed, with all my might, for Linda to pass the test, it was clear that she struggled to remember what was where, which went with what. Her face, showed disappointment, she knew that the test meant something even though she was told it didn't. That face, I wanted to have a picture of that face.
A camera was purchased and I took it with me to work. I snuck it in knowing that many of those there had orders that pictures could not be taken. I didn't want to publish the picture, I didn't want anything but a reminder. I didn't ask for permission of anyone but Linda. When I asked her if I could take her picture, she looked up and me and said, 'You want a picture of me?' There was astonishment in her voice as if she never imagined for a minute that someone would want a picture of her. I told her I did want a picture of her.
I don't have a single shot of her now. Even though I took a roll of film, I didn't develop them. It was so frustrating. I couldn't get a shot of her concentrating. As soon as the camera went to my eye, she looked at it and smiled. Though Linda had no teeth to speak of, her smile was charming. I didn't want charming. I didn't want another picture of someone with Down Syndrome smiling. I wanted a picture of someone engrossed in life, in learning, in living. Linda would not oblige. She smiled and smiled and smiled some more. She had this uncanny knack of knowing when I lifted the camera and she'd sit up and smile, broadly.
I asked Linda to try and not smile. She said, 'You smile for the camera.'
Linda came to my mind yesterday. I wasn't feeling great. My sense of self seemed under attack - by no one but me. Even so, when I got on the bus to come home and the driver said 'how was your day'. I smiled.
When greeted in the lobby of the building I live in, I smiled.
When chatting with someone on the Internet I :)ed.
Because Linda was right, 'You smile for the camera.'
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Suspended
It stole my peace from me.
A quiet dread.
A growing fear.
A gnawing anxiety.
I keep changing the locks, but insecurity always has a key. Over last weekend, I had a growing dread. I began to feel moments of panic. I began to question my abilities. In my mind's eye, I stood and watched hope for my future die.
I couldn't talk about it.
It would sound silly.
I couldn't brush it away.
It stuck like a burr to my sense of self.
I couldn't think of a single strategy.
Except to endure in silence.
I woke in the morning having slept but not rested. I knew that I had to face my concern, I had to go on as if it was any other day.
'Are you alright?'
A question asked in caring made me angry.
It meant that my act had been seen through.
It meant that my weakness had been discovered.
'I'm fine, now leave me alone.'
My shoulders tightened.
My stomach clenched.
And I waited for the axe to fall.
This moment, long in coming, had been presaged. 'Who do you think you are?' 'When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.' 'Ugly is one thing, stupid is another.' This moment, a moment of discovery. Wounds given in daylight, fester in darkness. And it was here. And ...
Nothing happened.
Nothing at all.
And I learned again.
Fear is a liar.
Why don't I remember that?
Ever?
A quiet dread.
A growing fear.
A gnawing anxiety.
I keep changing the locks, but insecurity always has a key. Over last weekend, I had a growing dread. I began to feel moments of panic. I began to question my abilities. In my mind's eye, I stood and watched hope for my future die.
I couldn't talk about it.
It would sound silly.
I couldn't brush it away.
It stuck like a burr to my sense of self.
I couldn't think of a single strategy.
Except to endure in silence.
I woke in the morning having slept but not rested. I knew that I had to face my concern, I had to go on as if it was any other day.
'Are you alright?'
A question asked in caring made me angry.
It meant that my act had been seen through.
It meant that my weakness had been discovered.
'I'm fine, now leave me alone.'
My shoulders tightened.
My stomach clenched.
And I waited for the axe to fall.
This moment, long in coming, had been presaged. 'Who do you think you are?' 'When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.' 'Ugly is one thing, stupid is another.' This moment, a moment of discovery. Wounds given in daylight, fester in darkness. And it was here. And ...
Nothing happened.
Nothing at all.
And I learned again.
Fear is a liar.
Why don't I remember that?
Ever?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Please Stop
Falsely attributing qualities or behaviours based on an unrelated fact or feature about a person annoys me. (It took me a long time to write that sentence.) It really does. Perhaps it even fits into the 'pet peeve' category. Let me give an example:
I was at church listening to a sermon on 'non-violent protest' that was given, at least partly, because of the violent outbursts in Toronto during the G20 summit. The sermon was well thought out and well preached. The minister took care with her research and made global connections to what had happened here locally. I enjoyed it. I learned from it.
Afterwards in the church hall, I relaxed with a cup of green tea. The minister, after having shook the hands of those departing the front of the church, came to the hall for more of the 'meet and greet' that is the stuff of her job. When she came to me, I introduced myself as I am not a regular member of that church. I told her I liked her sermon and her face looked like what I imagine my face looks like when given a similar compliment.
Then I launched into a 'Show and Tell' pulling out the 'Words Hit' cards, both the LGBT and regular version of the card. I explained about the issue of the 'R' word and how we were working to eradicate the word. She said all the right things about the word, explained how it was that she came to be of the opinion that the word is the social equivalent of other hateful words used to target other minorities.
Then she said, 'I can't imagine that any intelligent person still uses that word.' I bristled but said nothing. After all, in this moment I was the preacher and I wanted the message to get across to her. She asked for the cards and I gave her some of each. She thanked me and was on her way.
Why did I bristle?
I don't like it when people attribute to 'intelligence' attributes of kindness and fair play and compassion and grace and good will. It's just eugenics in soft colours. It's assuming that those gifted with intelligence are better, purer, citizens and therefore, unspoken, is the message that the dumber you are, the coarser you are. There is a belief that those with less intelligence are those who are less likely to be citizens and more likely to be criminals.
The fact that someone doesn't use language that hurts doesn't make them intelligent, it makes them kind. The fact that someone doesn't seek out to hurt those who are vulnerable doesn't make them smart, it makes them moral. The fact that someone considers the feelings of others doesn't make them clever, it makes them compassionate. It's about action, 'I do' is more important than 'IQ'
So stop it.
Some of the nastiest people I've ever met have been full of intelligence. Some of the most devious, the most dishonest, the most vile people I've ever met had lots of letters after their name. Intelligence IS NOT THE SAME as moral. It can be, maybe often is, but there isn't a direct correlation.
I didn't say anything then, because it would have turned the discussion in a direction I didn't want to go ... and besides, I have a blog where I can rant.
I was at church listening to a sermon on 'non-violent protest' that was given, at least partly, because of the violent outbursts in Toronto during the G20 summit. The sermon was well thought out and well preached. The minister took care with her research and made global connections to what had happened here locally. I enjoyed it. I learned from it.
Afterwards in the church hall, I relaxed with a cup of green tea. The minister, after having shook the hands of those departing the front of the church, came to the hall for more of the 'meet and greet' that is the stuff of her job. When she came to me, I introduced myself as I am not a regular member of that church. I told her I liked her sermon and her face looked like what I imagine my face looks like when given a similar compliment.
Then I launched into a 'Show and Tell' pulling out the 'Words Hit' cards, both the LGBT and regular version of the card. I explained about the issue of the 'R' word and how we were working to eradicate the word. She said all the right things about the word, explained how it was that she came to be of the opinion that the word is the social equivalent of other hateful words used to target other minorities.
Then she said, 'I can't imagine that any intelligent person still uses that word.' I bristled but said nothing. After all, in this moment I was the preacher and I wanted the message to get across to her. She asked for the cards and I gave her some of each. She thanked me and was on her way.
Why did I bristle?
I don't like it when people attribute to 'intelligence' attributes of kindness and fair play and compassion and grace and good will. It's just eugenics in soft colours. It's assuming that those gifted with intelligence are better, purer, citizens and therefore, unspoken, is the message that the dumber you are, the coarser you are. There is a belief that those with less intelligence are those who are less likely to be citizens and more likely to be criminals.
The fact that someone doesn't use language that hurts doesn't make them intelligent, it makes them kind. The fact that someone doesn't seek out to hurt those who are vulnerable doesn't make them smart, it makes them moral. The fact that someone considers the feelings of others doesn't make them clever, it makes them compassionate. It's about action, 'I do' is more important than 'IQ'
So stop it.
Some of the nastiest people I've ever met have been full of intelligence. Some of the most devious, the most dishonest, the most vile people I've ever met had lots of letters after their name. Intelligence IS NOT THE SAME as moral. It can be, maybe often is, but there isn't a direct correlation.
I didn't say anything then, because it would have turned the discussion in a direction I didn't want to go ... and besides, I have a blog where I can rant.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Down Syndrome, Off The Clock
They make, if not the best, a very serviceable eggplant parmigiana. We don't go there often, but when we do, we each always get lunch from the same vendors. As they are at the start of the food court, we grab a table right at the entrance. It's perfect for people watching, eavesdropping and is almost always the source for amusement. The parmigiana comes from the vendor right at the start of the court, Joe gets soup from the vendor next door but one. I grabbed a table just two in, with a chair removed, there is enough room for me to pull in and be out of the way.
We'd just sat down for lunch when we both heard that pronunciation of the word, 'Mother' that communicates so much. 'Muhhhhh-therrrrrr'. I glanced up and saw a frustrated and harried woman, carrying packages from the Bay and her son, a young man with Down Syndrome who was in his pre-teens.
Of course, I listened.
(Realize that I would have listened irregardless of the boy's Down Syndrome. I would have listened if it was a couple having a spat, if it was a businessman mumbling to himself, if it was someone having an animated conversation on a cell phone. That's what I do.)
So, aside, aside, I listened.
It seems that the mother wanted to go with him to get his food and then have him go with her to get her food, then they would eat together. Son, thought this was silly. Why doesn't she get hers, he get his, then they meet for lunch. She did an admirable job of keeping herself calm. I did an admirable job of just listening, not judging. Who knew what kind of experiences she'd had that led to this arrangement? They had been standing arguing and just before she moved again towards the court he said something that had a profound impact on me as a listener and she as a mother.
'Trouble is you think I have Down Syndrome all the time and I don't,' he said with real frustration.
She stopped again, 'What?'
'I only have Down Syndrome sometimes, when I'm learning something new or if the words are real hard. I don't have Down Syndrome the rest of the time when I'm doing what I know how to do.'
'And you don't have Down Syndrome now?' she asked.
'No, I know how to get my lunch, I buy my lunch at school all the time. I don't have someone with me all the time you know.' he was frustrated, he didn't even realize he'd said something of real importance, to me and to his mother.
'So,' she continued looking at him hard, 'you don't feel like you have Down Syndrome all the time.'
'No, most times I don't even think about it,' he said.
She said, her tiredness seemed to be gone, 'Go ahead, we'll find a table after we've got our food.'
They disappeared from view.
Joe and I looked at each other. I said to him, 'That kid should teach classes to parents of kids with Down Syndrome.'
On our way home, chatting about just stuff, I realized that at that moment I didn't feel disabled, it wasn't part of my consciousness. I knew that everyone saw me in my wheelchair but what they saw, what they thought, didn't impact what I felt. I'm only disabled sometimes, when things are out of my reach, when aisles are too narrow, when a curb blocks my way. The rest of the time I'm just - me.
We'd just sat down for lunch when we both heard that pronunciation of the word, 'Mother' that communicates so much. 'Muhhhhh-therrrrrr'. I glanced up and saw a frustrated and harried woman, carrying packages from the Bay and her son, a young man with Down Syndrome who was in his pre-teens.
Of course, I listened.
(Realize that I would have listened irregardless of the boy's Down Syndrome. I would have listened if it was a couple having a spat, if it was a businessman mumbling to himself, if it was someone having an animated conversation on a cell phone. That's what I do.)
So, aside, aside, I listened.
It seems that the mother wanted to go with him to get his food and then have him go with her to get her food, then they would eat together. Son, thought this was silly. Why doesn't she get hers, he get his, then they meet for lunch. She did an admirable job of keeping herself calm. I did an admirable job of just listening, not judging. Who knew what kind of experiences she'd had that led to this arrangement? They had been standing arguing and just before she moved again towards the court he said something that had a profound impact on me as a listener and she as a mother.
'Trouble is you think I have Down Syndrome all the time and I don't,' he said with real frustration.
She stopped again, 'What?'
'I only have Down Syndrome sometimes, when I'm learning something new or if the words are real hard. I don't have Down Syndrome the rest of the time when I'm doing what I know how to do.'
'And you don't have Down Syndrome now?' she asked.
'No, I know how to get my lunch, I buy my lunch at school all the time. I don't have someone with me all the time you know.' he was frustrated, he didn't even realize he'd said something of real importance, to me and to his mother.
'So,' she continued looking at him hard, 'you don't feel like you have Down Syndrome all the time.'
'No, most times I don't even think about it,' he said.
She said, her tiredness seemed to be gone, 'Go ahead, we'll find a table after we've got our food.'
They disappeared from view.
Joe and I looked at each other. I said to him, 'That kid should teach classes to parents of kids with Down Syndrome.'
On our way home, chatting about just stuff, I realized that at that moment I didn't feel disabled, it wasn't part of my consciousness. I knew that everyone saw me in my wheelchair but what they saw, what they thought, didn't impact what I felt. I'm only disabled sometimes, when things are out of my reach, when aisles are too narrow, when a curb blocks my way. The rest of the time I'm just - me.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
huh?
It was a bizarre argument.
Truly, completely bizarre.
We went to gas up the car, Joe always gets out even though there is a gas jockey there to pump it for him. They chatted and I heard part of the conversation. The jockey was asking Joe what it was like to be retired. Joe assured him that he was at least ten years from retirement. Then he jokingly added that he'd bought a lottery ticket and that would speed up the retirement process right quick.
Then, as he always does, Joe said, 'So if I win the millions, what kind of car do you want me to buy you.'
The young man said, 'I don't want a car, I want a house.'
Joe said, 'I'm not gonna buy you a house!' and laughed.
The young man said, 'What are you going on about buying me a car, I'm saving for a house.'
Joe said, 'OK, no car.'
The guy, after a pause, said, 'What about the house.'
Joe said, 'I'm not promising a house.'
The guy, 'But I don't want a car.
And on and on it went.
Really.
What the guy didn't realize, probably, was that if Joe had won the millions he would have bought him the car. Now, he gets nothing.
When Joe got in the car I said, 'Did I hear that right.'
He was still annoyed, 'Sometimes I just don't understand people.' Then he shook his head and I knew that we were never talking about this again.
Truly, completely bizarre.
We went to gas up the car, Joe always gets out even though there is a gas jockey there to pump it for him. They chatted and I heard part of the conversation. The jockey was asking Joe what it was like to be retired. Joe assured him that he was at least ten years from retirement. Then he jokingly added that he'd bought a lottery ticket and that would speed up the retirement process right quick.
Then, as he always does, Joe said, 'So if I win the millions, what kind of car do you want me to buy you.'
The young man said, 'I don't want a car, I want a house.'
Joe said, 'I'm not gonna buy you a house!' and laughed.
The young man said, 'What are you going on about buying me a car, I'm saving for a house.'
Joe said, 'OK, no car.'
The guy, after a pause, said, 'What about the house.'
Joe said, 'I'm not promising a house.'
The guy, 'But I don't want a car.
And on and on it went.
Really.
What the guy didn't realize, probably, was that if Joe had won the millions he would have bought him the car. Now, he gets nothing.
When Joe got in the car I said, 'Did I hear that right.'
He was still annoyed, 'Sometimes I just don't understand people.' Then he shook his head and I knew that we were never talking about this again.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Responsibilities Never Get Old
Joe and I were reviewing the next couple of weeks. I don't ever want to know what I'm doing months from now, that's Joe's worry, but I like to have a clear picture of the upcoming days. Joe was telling me about how we pick up a rental car next Wednesday and then keep it for a week and a half. Seems we do Summer School next week up in Peterborough and then on the weekend drive down to New York City were I am training some staff and then we hop in the car and drive back to Peterborogh and then, finally, go home.
We reviewed what I remembered about the topics chosen in New York City and what we need for handouts and equipment. Summer school next week and the week after would also have to be fully co-ordinated as we won't have time to get things done in between all the travel. Joe was driving so I made notes and by the time we got home we both knew what was coming and what was expected.
I got up into the apartment and spent an hour doing emails from work, reading reports and programmes and answering questions. Joe took the car back to Avis and then picked up some spinach on the way home. In amongst the other stuff, we'd planned to have veggie steak Caesar salad for supper.
Joe set right in to frying up the steak strips and I asked him a couple of questions while finishing off the email. By the time supper was done, so were we. We could relax and watch television without worry that something was undone, some part of the next two weeks unplanned.
Joe seemed a bit quiet so I asked him what he was thinking. He said, 'I thought we were supposed to be getting older, I thought you were supposed to be disabled. Aren't we supposed to be slowing down and getting doddery?'
I knew what he meant, sometimes it seems like we keep on doing what we've done since we were young men. 'That's coming,' I said. 'But the pace hasn't really changed,' he said.
'Joe,' I said, 'It's Friday evening. End of a work week. We are in our housecoats at 4:30 and we'll be in bed by 8:00. We haven't closed a bar in years. Last time we stayed up until 10 we paid for it for two days. If it wasn't for the news, we wouldn't listen to the radio. To us, Lady GaGa sounds like the name for an amateur porn star.'
Joe smiled and said, 'You've got a point there.'
We reviewed what I remembered about the topics chosen in New York City and what we need for handouts and equipment. Summer school next week and the week after would also have to be fully co-ordinated as we won't have time to get things done in between all the travel. Joe was driving so I made notes and by the time we got home we both knew what was coming and what was expected.
I got up into the apartment and spent an hour doing emails from work, reading reports and programmes and answering questions. Joe took the car back to Avis and then picked up some spinach on the way home. In amongst the other stuff, we'd planned to have veggie steak Caesar salad for supper.
Joe set right in to frying up the steak strips and I asked him a couple of questions while finishing off the email. By the time supper was done, so were we. We could relax and watch television without worry that something was undone, some part of the next two weeks unplanned.
Joe seemed a bit quiet so I asked him what he was thinking. He said, 'I thought we were supposed to be getting older, I thought you were supposed to be disabled. Aren't we supposed to be slowing down and getting doddery?'
I knew what he meant, sometimes it seems like we keep on doing what we've done since we were young men. 'That's coming,' I said. 'But the pace hasn't really changed,' he said.
'Joe,' I said, 'It's Friday evening. End of a work week. We are in our housecoats at 4:30 and we'll be in bed by 8:00. We haven't closed a bar in years. Last time we stayed up until 10 we paid for it for two days. If it wasn't for the news, we wouldn't listen to the radio. To us, Lady GaGa sounds like the name for an amateur porn star.'
Joe smiled and said, 'You've got a point there.'
Friday, July 09, 2010
Canadian Tire
There's something about mechanics.
Something very cool.
A couple of years ago when in Ireland for the Down Syndrome Association I lost the rubber off of my wheelchair. We pulled into a garage near the hotel and the mechanic and rough guy with black tattooed around his fingernails quickly and easily put the rubber back on the wheels. He waved away payment and sent us on our way. His manner was brusque but his action kind. I put that memory away in my head.
My power wheelchair, Henry, has a design problem. The big tires, the one's that need air, has the 'air filly thingy' in such a position that it's impossible to get at. To fill the tires we have to go over to Canadian Tire on Yonge street. Go downstairs in the store, outside into the parking lot and then drive down a deeply sloped road and turn into the garage. I've now been twice.
Both times we've had a mechanic who, almost without speaking, grabs the air and then fills the low tire. Both times the mechanic insists on balancing the two tires and then sends us on the way, without payment, without even wanting thanks. Again, gruff guys, kind spirits.
I think that what makes them cool, or at least cool in my eyes, is that they are helping me and not taking payment - not out of pity, but out of a sense of 'it's the right thing to do'. There is a huge difference between those two things.
It's taken me a long time to figure out why I was never bothered by their refusal of payment and their dismissive way with my thanks. When I realized that the source of their actions was 'values' rather than 'pity' ... I understood something very new and for me, very deep.
So if you see me in the chair realize that I'm riding on Canadian Tires.
Something very cool.
A couple of years ago when in Ireland for the Down Syndrome Association I lost the rubber off of my wheelchair. We pulled into a garage near the hotel and the mechanic and rough guy with black tattooed around his fingernails quickly and easily put the rubber back on the wheels. He waved away payment and sent us on our way. His manner was brusque but his action kind. I put that memory away in my head.
My power wheelchair, Henry, has a design problem. The big tires, the one's that need air, has the 'air filly thingy' in such a position that it's impossible to get at. To fill the tires we have to go over to Canadian Tire on Yonge street. Go downstairs in the store, outside into the parking lot and then drive down a deeply sloped road and turn into the garage. I've now been twice.
Both times we've had a mechanic who, almost without speaking, grabs the air and then fills the low tire. Both times the mechanic insists on balancing the two tires and then sends us on the way, without payment, without even wanting thanks. Again, gruff guys, kind spirits.
I think that what makes them cool, or at least cool in my eyes, is that they are helping me and not taking payment - not out of pity, but out of a sense of 'it's the right thing to do'. There is a huge difference between those two things.
It's taken me a long time to figure out why I was never bothered by their refusal of payment and their dismissive way with my thanks. When I realized that the source of their actions was 'values' rather than 'pity' ... I understood something very new and for me, very deep.
So if you see me in the chair realize that I'm riding on Canadian Tires.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Disability Blog Carnival: Spawn of
I mentioned a while back that I had missed some posts that had been submitted to Rolling Around in My Head for the Disability Blog Carnival. I need to say, firstly, that all the people missed were quite nice and understanding about my error: whew!! I had never done one and was overwhelmed by the submissions. I'm doing it again in December and promise to be more careful but do not promise to be error free. I'm glad I'm not perfect, it would be too much pressure for me.
The theme as you remember was Pride. I wanted people to send in posts that they were proud of and, funnily enough, Pride is the topic of the first up for DBC:Spawn. Steph writes about Pride. If pride goes before the fall, we've all tripped.
I couldn't believe it when Amanda wrote to say I missed her post. I've met Amanda and we got along wonderfully. I hated the idea that my carelessness may have hurt her. Her piece is about something I think about and talk about a lot. The idea that other's think that people with disabilities enjoy life's richness less and miss out on much. This rich post is about life's richness.
In the original DBC:Pride I wrote about voice and even now as I type I can see, in my mind, the wooden letters that form the word 'VOICE' that sit on my window sill at work. Hand2mouth writes (or is it speaks) about VOICE.
The last of the missed was caught almost immediately. When Lene let me know I'd missed her the original blog had only been up a couple of hours. I felt terrible. Here's a woman who has won 'best disability blog in Canada' and I've missed her post. I put it up right away, but still, people who had visited by then would have missed her submission, so I'll let you visit her again.
As I said, I'm doing the Disability Blog Carnival again in December. I've not come up with a theme yet but will give you all a lot of notice. Though I made mistakes putting this together, I like how it was all handled with grace and good humour. I believe that everyone understood that my intentions (those damn things) were good but my organization, poor. If only comment and discussion could always be so kind and forgiving.
Enjoy reading: DBC:Spawn
The theme as you remember was Pride. I wanted people to send in posts that they were proud of and, funnily enough, Pride is the topic of the first up for DBC:Spawn. Steph writes about Pride. If pride goes before the fall, we've all tripped.
I couldn't believe it when Amanda wrote to say I missed her post. I've met Amanda and we got along wonderfully. I hated the idea that my carelessness may have hurt her. Her piece is about something I think about and talk about a lot. The idea that other's think that people with disabilities enjoy life's richness less and miss out on much. This rich post is about life's richness.
In the original DBC:Pride I wrote about voice and even now as I type I can see, in my mind, the wooden letters that form the word 'VOICE' that sit on my window sill at work. Hand2mouth writes (or is it speaks) about VOICE.
The last of the missed was caught almost immediately. When Lene let me know I'd missed her the original blog had only been up a couple of hours. I felt terrible. Here's a woman who has won 'best disability blog in Canada' and I've missed her post. I put it up right away, but still, people who had visited by then would have missed her submission, so I'll let you visit her again.
As I said, I'm doing the Disability Blog Carnival again in December. I've not come up with a theme yet but will give you all a lot of notice. Though I made mistakes putting this together, I like how it was all handled with grace and good humour. I believe that everyone understood that my intentions (those damn things) were good but my organization, poor. If only comment and discussion could always be so kind and forgiving.
Enjoy reading: DBC:Spawn
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Comrades In Arms - Not Legs
He pisses me off and I want to lash out at him. He's, in an unkind description, a leg-less beggar, who panhandles a few blocks south of here. I see him often because we go by where he begs to go to the theatre. For some reason that has nothing to do with me or my behaviour, he has decided to target me for 'abuse' or 'teasing' whenever I go by. Every single time.
He calls out 'Fat Boy' or 'Big Ass' or 'Lump of Lard' whenever I go pass. I look on as if I do not hear his taunts and simply go on. I've instructed Joe to do the same. So we simply impassively go by him letting him know that he has no effect on either of us.
But he does.
He pisses me off.
I'm going to get killed for admitting to this but sometimes I think to myself, 'Bloody cripple'. Isn't that horrible. Self hating language that doesn't feel like self hate, it feels like 'other' hate. And yet 'other' hate is something I fight against. I don't like using that language and I castigate myself for even thinking it. I subject myself to hours of self evaluation because of what I thought but did not say - knowing that he will never bother to think about what he actually did say. Sheesh.
I want to feel a commonality with others who have disabilities a 'you and me against the world' kind of sentiment. Like today a guy got on the WheelTrans bus on his way to a hospital for some treatment. He talked with me and said, 'They don't care about us they just wish we were dead so we wouldn't use up their fucking tax dollars.' He blustered on about this and that and was fairly course in his speech and manner, but cool, he got the 'us-ness' of it and though I thought his views a tad extreme, I did understand where he was coming from. I liked his automatic assumption that I would have had enough experience that he could talk to me as a comrade.
But this guy, the one with no legs and cruel manner.
We ain't comrades.
In fact, I kinda hate him.
Ouch.
He calls out 'Fat Boy' or 'Big Ass' or 'Lump of Lard' whenever I go pass. I look on as if I do not hear his taunts and simply go on. I've instructed Joe to do the same. So we simply impassively go by him letting him know that he has no effect on either of us.
But he does.
He pisses me off.
I'm going to get killed for admitting to this but sometimes I think to myself, 'Bloody cripple'. Isn't that horrible. Self hating language that doesn't feel like self hate, it feels like 'other' hate. And yet 'other' hate is something I fight against. I don't like using that language and I castigate myself for even thinking it. I subject myself to hours of self evaluation because of what I thought but did not say - knowing that he will never bother to think about what he actually did say. Sheesh.
I want to feel a commonality with others who have disabilities a 'you and me against the world' kind of sentiment. Like today a guy got on the WheelTrans bus on his way to a hospital for some treatment. He talked with me and said, 'They don't care about us they just wish we were dead so we wouldn't use up their fucking tax dollars.' He blustered on about this and that and was fairly course in his speech and manner, but cool, he got the 'us-ness' of it and though I thought his views a tad extreme, I did understand where he was coming from. I liked his automatic assumption that I would have had enough experience that he could talk to me as a comrade.
But this guy, the one with no legs and cruel manner.
We ain't comrades.
In fact, I kinda hate him.
Ouch.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
A Huge Compliment
Ruby had finished her breakfast first and was beginning to get tired of us adults actually chewing our food. I knew that she loved riding around on my chair so I offered her a spin through the lobby of the hotel. She climbed up on my stomach, the softest seat in the house, and off we went. I put my arm around her so that she was safely and firmly seated. She wasn't going to get hurt on my watch.
The hotel was full of people in town for the various celebrations, primarily Pride. A woman watched us swoop by. She had that lovely smile that adults get when watching children have fun, part whimsy, part envy, all pleased. On one of our pass-bys, she said, 'It looks like she's quite secure in your arm.' I said, 'Whatever else, I want her to be safe.'
Then something wonderful happened. The woman said, quite seriously, 'You've spent your whole life making sure people are safe haven't you.' I came to a sudden halt and said, 'Pardon me?' She said, 'I know who you are, I know what you do.' Then she talked about the effect that some of my work had had on her and on the field.
I drove away and Ruby said, 'That was a nice lady ...' there hung a pause in the air. 'And ...' I said. She said, 'You should never talk to strangers.'
I gave her a hug and said 'That's right kiddo, that's right.'
Afterwards, whenever I thought of our brief meeting, our little conversation, I got tears in my eyes. I figure if that's how I'll be remembered. I'm really OK with that.
Really.
The hotel was full of people in town for the various celebrations, primarily Pride. A woman watched us swoop by. She had that lovely smile that adults get when watching children have fun, part whimsy, part envy, all pleased. On one of our pass-bys, she said, 'It looks like she's quite secure in your arm.' I said, 'Whatever else, I want her to be safe.'
Then something wonderful happened. The woman said, quite seriously, 'You've spent your whole life making sure people are safe haven't you.' I came to a sudden halt and said, 'Pardon me?' She said, 'I know who you are, I know what you do.' Then she talked about the effect that some of my work had had on her and on the field.
I drove away and Ruby said, 'That was a nice lady ...' there hung a pause in the air. 'And ...' I said. She said, 'You should never talk to strangers.'
I gave her a hug and said 'That's right kiddo, that's right.'
Afterwards, whenever I thought of our brief meeting, our little conversation, I got tears in my eyes. I figure if that's how I'll be remembered. I'm really OK with that.
Really.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Marching For Respect
I haven't worked so hard for a very long time. Vita was part of the Pride parade but we had determined that we wouldn't just 'be' in the parade, we wanted to 'work' the parade. As the parade is, in part, a celebration of diversity. We thought we'd come with a message. We had some 'Words Hit' cards printed up with a message:
Our goal was to get as many as we could into the hands of those watching the parade. There were millions of people watching. We had to wait for nearly two hours to start marching, so I went up and down the line and found as many marching groups as I could that I thought really could use the cards, teachers federations, summer camps for kids, disability transport services, the works. I approached them, told them who Vita was and what our message was and handed out the cards.
They were wildly well received. One teachers group I spoke to got all excited about them and asked for a bunch for their school. One teacher said that she hated the 'R' word and taught her kids that it's mean. The kids used the excuse that 'everyone says it' and 'it's just a habit'. She taught them that if they start saying 're ...' to catch themselves and change the ending to 'diculous'. The kids thought that was 'fun' and she's elimiated it from her classroom.
Then the march happened. It was wonderful to see Vita members and staff walking down the street passing out thousands of cards. It was also wonderful to see people taking a second and reading what the cards had to say. Tessa, our neighbour, came along and allowed us to use her scooter to carry the cards. She said at one point she looked up and saw that on both sides of the street that there were at least a hundred people reading the cards. 'Some people stopped using that word today,' she said, 'and the others will use it, now, with growing discomfort.'
We also had some of those plastic bracelets made up. They were in a bright shade of lime green and they had a message imprinted on them, 'Words Hit'. On the other side was our email address 'vitacls.org'. We managed to get a special button on the site that will take you to information about the cards. There you will find 3 facts about the word and 5 things you can do to raise awareness about what it means and why we shouldn't use it. Again, people put the bracelets on right away. Hopefully they will go home, look at it and go and investigate.
So we worked, and laughed, and waved, and had a wonderfully good time. Vita's mission is summed up simply, 'providing safety, practicing respect, promoting community'. For the whole march, we accomplished mission. How good does that feel!
When it was all over we gathered and gave Luke Lynn a huge cheer for coming forward and suggesting the idea and then, once supported, took on setting up an LGBT group in the organization and making things happen so that the day was possible. Then we gave a cheer for Vita for making a safe place for 'all'. Then, tired and hot, we all went our separate ways.
I'd had enough and wanted home and air conditioning. We came up Yonge street, after the parade had passed by and then I noticed something. We had handed out thousands of cards. Though the street was covered in garbage (who brings up these people) there wasn't one, not one, card laying on the ground. They'd obviously been tucked away in peoples pockets, purses and wallets. And maybe, just maybe, in a conscience or two.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Pride Marches On
A Transcription by Tessa Armstrong (thanks Tess) of the YouTube video
Today is Gay Pride Day in Toronto. It’s celebrated a week later than everywhere else in the world because the G8 came to Toronto and Pride got stuck in a taxi on the way from the airport. Nonetheless, today is Gay Pride Day and I found it very interesting to listen to the news to hear several spokespeople tell us that Gay Pride is a celebration now, no longer a protest because civil liberties have been won for gay people in Canada. I found this quite surprising as I serve a minority of people with disabilities whose sexuality is still very much held captive by their care providers.
I thought immediately of three people that I met over the course of my career. The first is a guy whose name was Sean, and Sean when he was 16 years old was dealing with his sexuality. And he sat down with a staff member, and he told that staff member that he thought maybe he was homosexual, that maybe he was gay. That staff member had a violent reaction and beat him within an inch of his life. He was hospitalized and shortly thereafter there were claims that he had made a pass at the staff, and that he was sexually out of control. He ended up in a treatment facility, being treated as a rapist.
And I thought of Helen. And Helen was a woman with an intellectual disability who was very, very, very much in love with one of her female staff. Now Helen didn’t know what to do with this, so she simply came out. She told that female staff, and as it happened that female staff was a closeted lesbian. And because of her fear of her own job, and because of her fear that maybe she had done something to solicit this interest from Helen, she just tore a strip off Helen and she told Helen that she was dirty and that she was disgusting and that what she was suggesting was just unthinkable and ungodly. And Helen, a kindly woman with Down Syndrome was destroyed, just destroyed by this attack.
And then I thought about Mark. Mark was a man with an intellectual disability who I met, who one day when we were talking, and I was talking quite blithely about things like love and relationships, told me quite seriously that love is wrong because people hurt you for it. And then he told me the story of falling in love with a man with a disability when he lived in the institution. They carried on a secret affair for a number of months in the institution and he described how he hid in stairwells with his boyfriend and they engaged in sexual, loving behavior beyond the prying eyes of staff and others. And one day somebody must have noticed them going to the stairwell, because they reported that he and his boyfriend had met, as they typically did in the stairwell. And the staff pounced upon them and they were pulled apart and he saw his boyfriend being carried down a hallway and out of the ward and he never saw him again. He himself was placed into time-out for two days. Two days of solitary confinement. And when he came out, he tried to find out what happened to his boyfriend and no one would speak to him.
Now these all happened a number of years ago, and I would suggest that there has been advances made in certain organizations that recognize that people with disabilities have a right to adulthood and to sexuality. But I would say that many organizations throughout the world still forbid sexuality to people with disabilities and still forbid people with disabilities to be sexual, let alone homosexual.
Today I am going to be marching in the parade with my organization, Vita Community Living Services. And it’s, I think one of the very first organizations to march in the Gay Pride Parade, and with us will be a number of people with disabilities. And it is just such a signature moment in my life, to be celebrating this moment of pride and solidarity with others with disabilities. Different disabilities than mine, but disabilities that have lead to confinement, not only of body but also of heart.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
The Bird And A Favour
Before beginning today's post, I have a favour to ask you. Joe was mucking about on the computer and came across this contest where you are supposed to nominate a person who has made a difference or is making a difference in Canada. He decided to nominate me as a surprise. He worked so hard on it that he even managed to put a picture up. This is big news as he has never been able to even email a picture before. He proudly showed me. I was touched. Then when we looked further, you can't vote unless you have a facebook account. We don't have a facebook account. So there sits my nomination without a single vote. The nomination happened right at the end of the contest so there's no way we can win but I'd like to have a couple votes. So if you have the time and the inclination, could you drop by the contest and vote for me, I'd appreciate it. Now grovelling done. Today's post.
Update! So many people went to vote that I just won for the day and am now one of the 33 finalists. I can't say how thrilled I am that so many of you zipped over and voted! Thanks. Now:
The Bird
We were driving through Barrie on the way to have tea with friends. As we were turning into the Chapters parking lot, Joe stopped and waved a woman in a big SUV to go ahead and pass in front of us and make her turn. Joe, sometimes to my supreme annoyance, is one of the most polite drivers on the road. He almost always lets someone wanting to make a turn, go ahead, someone wanting to cross the road, cross the road. I know it holds us up for only seconds but as human nature is human nature, it sometimes really peeves me.
For some reason the woman didn't want to take his offer and she waved him to go ahead and make the turn, which he then could not do because a car was coming our way. She did not see the car coming so she began waving frantically for us to make the turn. I tried to point that a car was coming and then her face contorted and she began to scream at us, I know she was swearing. This really pissed me off because it all began with Joe being nice and how she was a screaming banshee.
In the second I had to make a decision, I decided to let her know what I thought of her behaviour and I flipped the bird at her. Her eyes shot fire. I'm convinced that her husband routinely suffers from singed eyebrows, cause the fire shot straight through the glass. A break in traffic was coming so Joe turned a bit waiting for the opportunity to get out of the situation. With the turn my wheelchair in the back seat came into view.
She noticed the wheelchair and it was like a slap shot her back into her seat. Her face changed and she calmed immediately and, while I'm no Sue Thomas, I could read the words, 'I'm sorry' on her lips. Now I was really mad. Good, God, can't we have just a decent traffic scream!?! Much as I hate to admit it I was hating the drama while loving the release of temper that the situation allowed. Now pity has to enter into it? Like you can't be mad at a person just because they are a wheelchair user? Just because they have a disability?
What is that about?
I want normal interactions in routine situations. Even when that's being shrieked at in traffic. I want to go ahead and confront a traffic jerk by being a traffic jerk. My wheelchair does not exempt me from situations of temper or annoyance, at least that's what I hope.
So when you need to, scream at me.
Does that all make sense?
Update! So many people went to vote that I just won for the day and am now one of the 33 finalists. I can't say how thrilled I am that so many of you zipped over and voted! Thanks. Now:
The Bird
We were driving through Barrie on the way to have tea with friends. As we were turning into the Chapters parking lot, Joe stopped and waved a woman in a big SUV to go ahead and pass in front of us and make her turn. Joe, sometimes to my supreme annoyance, is one of the most polite drivers on the road. He almost always lets someone wanting to make a turn, go ahead, someone wanting to cross the road, cross the road. I know it holds us up for only seconds but as human nature is human nature, it sometimes really peeves me.
For some reason the woman didn't want to take his offer and she waved him to go ahead and make the turn, which he then could not do because a car was coming our way. She did not see the car coming so she began waving frantically for us to make the turn. I tried to point that a car was coming and then her face contorted and she began to scream at us, I know she was swearing. This really pissed me off because it all began with Joe being nice and how she was a screaming banshee.
In the second I had to make a decision, I decided to let her know what I thought of her behaviour and I flipped the bird at her. Her eyes shot fire. I'm convinced that her husband routinely suffers from singed eyebrows, cause the fire shot straight through the glass. A break in traffic was coming so Joe turned a bit waiting for the opportunity to get out of the situation. With the turn my wheelchair in the back seat came into view.
She noticed the wheelchair and it was like a slap shot her back into her seat. Her face changed and she calmed immediately and, while I'm no Sue Thomas, I could read the words, 'I'm sorry' on her lips. Now I was really mad. Good, God, can't we have just a decent traffic scream!?! Much as I hate to admit it I was hating the drama while loving the release of temper that the situation allowed. Now pity has to enter into it? Like you can't be mad at a person just because they are a wheelchair user? Just because they have a disability?
What is that about?
I want normal interactions in routine situations. Even when that's being shrieked at in traffic. I want to go ahead and confront a traffic jerk by being a traffic jerk. My wheelchair does not exempt me from situations of temper or annoyance, at least that's what I hope.
So when you need to, scream at me.
Does that all make sense?
Friday, July 02, 2010
Bringing Balance
Is it irony or coincidence?
I never know.
On the day that I wrote the post about the elderly man being dropped off at the wrong terminal at the airport, I opened my email at work and read a wonderful note from Elizabeth Perry, a Vita staff. The email was about an act of kindness she witnessed as performed by a WheelTrans driver. Here, take a look at what she wrote:
Hi everyone,
I wanted to take an opportunity to recognize some kindness I witnessed today.
A Wheel-trans driver just came to pick up one of our members (a bit late, but understandable). While loading the member onto the bus, this driver took the opportunity to have a conversation with our member (she didn’t even realize that I was there). This member has a profound disability, he’s also blind and can’t answer back verbally. She spoke to him with kindness throughout the loading procedure, reassuring him he was going home, letting him know what she was doing and she was joking around with him. This driver has a huge heart and smile and made sure that no matter how stressed she was feeling due to traffic, she didn’t let that ruin someone else’s day.
Too often people with disabilities are passed off and are not seen as “normal human beings” that have emotions and feelings.
It’s a wonderful thing to see it when someone takes time out of their day to talk to members, be friendly, maintain professionalism and make someone smile with such a simple act of kindness. One of my co-workers has an email tag that says “Never let an opportunity to pass a kind word be missed”. She’s right on the ball with that, and I thought I’d share the kindness.
This was a perfect yin to the yang of the other article. (Did I get that right? What with being unsure of the irony of all this, I don't want two bloopers in one post.) It serves as a reminder that an organization cannot be judged by one person or one interaction. As a matter of fact, I don't want to be judged based on one interaction - and resent when that happens.
I believe that WheelTrans provides mostly exceptional service and I have seen more positive interactions than negative. This note from a wonderful staff wanting to report something wonderful that she'd seen reminded me to be careful about portraying individuals or organizations as 'thoughtless'. An action may be thoughtless, a person, an organization, may not be.
I think it is important to bring notice to situations where mistakes happen. It's the only way that growth can occur. But it's also important to bring praise to an organization when things are done well, exceptionally well. I've asked Elizabeth to write to WheelTrans customer service and she was glad to do so.
So here's to remembering to be balanced in our approach and to provide praise along with the criticism.
Here's to you WheelTrans driver!
Nice job.
You represent your organization and your team of drivers well.
I never know.
On the day that I wrote the post about the elderly man being dropped off at the wrong terminal at the airport, I opened my email at work and read a wonderful note from Elizabeth Perry, a Vita staff. The email was about an act of kindness she witnessed as performed by a WheelTrans driver. Here, take a look at what she wrote:
Hi everyone,
I wanted to take an opportunity to recognize some kindness I witnessed today.
A Wheel-trans driver just came to pick up one of our members (a bit late, but understandable). While loading the member onto the bus, this driver took the opportunity to have a conversation with our member (she didn’t even realize that I was there). This member has a profound disability, he’s also blind and can’t answer back verbally. She spoke to him with kindness throughout the loading procedure, reassuring him he was going home, letting him know what she was doing and she was joking around with him. This driver has a huge heart and smile and made sure that no matter how stressed she was feeling due to traffic, she didn’t let that ruin someone else’s day.
Too often people with disabilities are passed off and are not seen as “normal human beings” that have emotions and feelings.
It’s a wonderful thing to see it when someone takes time out of their day to talk to members, be friendly, maintain professionalism and make someone smile with such a simple act of kindness. One of my co-workers has an email tag that says “Never let an opportunity to pass a kind word be missed”. She’s right on the ball with that, and I thought I’d share the kindness.
This was a perfect yin to the yang of the other article. (Did I get that right? What with being unsure of the irony of all this, I don't want two bloopers in one post.) It serves as a reminder that an organization cannot be judged by one person or one interaction. As a matter of fact, I don't want to be judged based on one interaction - and resent when that happens.
I believe that WheelTrans provides mostly exceptional service and I have seen more positive interactions than negative. This note from a wonderful staff wanting to report something wonderful that she'd seen reminded me to be careful about portraying individuals or organizations as 'thoughtless'. An action may be thoughtless, a person, an organization, may not be.
I think it is important to bring notice to situations where mistakes happen. It's the only way that growth can occur. But it's also important to bring praise to an organization when things are done well, exceptionally well. I've asked Elizabeth to write to WheelTrans customer service and she was glad to do so.
So here's to remembering to be balanced in our approach and to provide praise along with the criticism.
Here's to you WheelTrans driver!
Nice job.
You represent your organization and your team of drivers well.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Here, Here, For Canada
I am ridiculously proud of being Canadian.
I absolutely love my country.
Typically, as a Canadian, I can't tell you what makes Canada, Canada or Canadians, Canadian. I just know we are.
I remember, once, asking my Dad about the Second World War. I asked him why he went to war, he paused only briefly, and then simply said, 'For Canada.'
I remember, once, when traveling overseas between second and third year of University, wearing the Canadian flag on my backpack and having people say things like, 'you're lucky to be a Canadian'.
I remember, once, when doing a keynote at an international conference it was announced that I was the first Canadian to ever open the conference and I felt my heart beat with incredible pride.
I remember, once, talking to a new Canadian who was bursting with pride due to her new membership in the Canadian Club - and I was reminded to take my citizenship more seriously.
I remember, once, when the band struck up 'Oh Canada' none of the people around me were very sure of the words, but we all loved the song, and that seemed oddly right to me.
I remember, once, going to the war museum and seeing evidence of what my dad did, what tens of thousands did, 'For Canada'.
We are an imperfect country striving for perfection.
We are a country of shy patriots.
We are the country that my dad quietly loves.
And today is our birthday.
Happy Birthday Canada.
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