I was at cub scout daycamp tonight getting information on how camp will be run this week, and one of my scouts' mom, who is my friend, mentioned to me that her son is going to be mainstreamed this year in school. I burst out with joy, and then I started to cry. I am so happy and so proud of Zane, he's a great person and I love to have him over to play with Guy. Guy loves him too, and I am just so thrilled that the school - who often does not go out on a limb for a kid - made a decision to do this without the insistance of the parent. Zane will do well, and I am now probably going to spend more time in school to watch him succeed.
Zane is austistic. I love talking to him and he has a wonderful brother and a little sister who thinks my daughter is the be-all end-all in life. And the parents are really nice too.
The mom is the person who gave me a little "feet" pin a few months ago at the tax day protest. It is an exact replica of a baby's feet at 10 weeks old in the womb. I wear it all the time and even though they have gone through the laundry a few times, they are holding up great. The feet mean a lot to me, probably a tangible symbol of my feelings toward pro choice options. It is hard to look at the feet and say it's okay, it really is.
I saw those feet once, when Chloe was 10 weeks old and I had an internal sonogram. An internal sonogram means they essentially took a bat with a camera in it, and stuck it where the sun don't shine. But I saw, and I realized that they are people way before we realize it. And it makes it very difficult to think about what happens to them sometimes.
I say this because Zane is a kid I would have chosen to have if I were his mother. He's different, but he is fun and sweet and smart. He is a child I would be proud of. I just love him and his family and I am so glad he is progressing.
This is what life is all about. It doesn't get better than moments like today. I have the best husband in the world, wonderful children, and have surrounded myself with incredible people who care for their children. It's a wonderful life.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Better Off Dead
The title of one of my favorite movies now seems to be an ironic punch line to my feelings about life.
I am coming to terms with the comments and feelings of people I know and love concerning the right to life and where that line lies. I guess this has come to mind again this week because I have had a few chats with a very Catholic guy I knew in high school. We didn't even come close to discussing that topic, we just talked about everyday things. But he was someone who seemed to hold himself to the higher standard, and I admired him for that despite the fact that I did not see the need to even go to church.
What disturbs me is a comment by an old friend last year. She's a dear friend from college, and she has always been pro-choice. We both were. She asked me to be her bus leader partner on one pro choice march on Washington, and I did it happily. She got a degree in speech pathology, I believe, and she started working for the school system placing kids exiting special education in jobs in their communities. I thought it was a noble job. I still do.
But last Fall, she expressed deep concern that Sarah Palin intentionally had a Downs Syndrome baby. She essentially said she worked with so many special needs kids who were miserable that they would have been better off had they never been born. I was really freaked out by that. It pretty much defined my entire ululating wail throughout the entire election. Sarah Palin's choice to keep her child should not have become a political issue, yet it did. And I admire her for her choice. Not because I would have made that same choice, today I would make it but 10 or 15 years ago, I don't know that I would have handled the choice very well.
But it is a really a harsh thing to say that a kid is better off dead when you are trying to help them. I know and work with children who are autistic, downs, selective mutism, airborn food allergies, and just plain screwed up that my friend might classify as better off dead. She might have classified me that way when I was a senior in high school. It scares me, because I take such joy in many children that I cannot imagine making such a harsh judgement. My cousin had a downs baby about 20 years ago, and she was not prepared before birth, they didn't know. She flipped and wanted to put the baby up for adoption. But within a few days, she realized this was her child and she was going to take responsibility and raise her, and love her. And that is exactly what she did. My cousin has raised a very happy, funny, energetic girl who may face some rejection from the idiot population, but the world is a better place now due to my cousin and her daughter. A friend from high school chose to have her son after she found out he was Downs. It is sad that so many people shake their heads and say that kind of child would be better off dead when they don't have a clue to the joys of real parenthood.
I talked a mom I am friends with into letting her son, who is autistic, into my cub scout den. It took a year, they tried another pack first but eventually he ended up in my den. This is a boy I have known for 3 or 4 years, and he is such a doll. He is smart, and attentive, and creative, and my son loves him. So do I. He deserves to be treated as well as any other boy in my den (I have 10, and those in the know realize that is a huge den). He deserves the chance to learn knife safety, play games, and even help younger boys without prejudiced adults and children blocking his way. And with the fiercely viscious Mary behind, he will do just that. He's going to daycamp, last summer they put him in a lower unit because he was austistic. This year he is mine and with my boys because I think he can do it all. And he can, his parents know it and I do too.
Please, please, never write anyone off. Back in High School, I don't think my Catholic friend wrote me off, as serious and judgemental as he was. He left a small bit of room for reasoning. He was a smart guy. No one is better off dead. I am sure people said it about me once, special needs or just plain misguided. I know it's hard to work with teens who are wretched and "wish" they were dead, but many teens are like that, not just special needs kids. Don't write them off. Give them a chance, and teach your children to do the same. You might easily find a place in heaven on Earth if you do.
I am coming to terms with the comments and feelings of people I know and love concerning the right to life and where that line lies. I guess this has come to mind again this week because I have had a few chats with a very Catholic guy I knew in high school. We didn't even come close to discussing that topic, we just talked about everyday things. But he was someone who seemed to hold himself to the higher standard, and I admired him for that despite the fact that I did not see the need to even go to church.
What disturbs me is a comment by an old friend last year. She's a dear friend from college, and she has always been pro-choice. We both were. She asked me to be her bus leader partner on one pro choice march on Washington, and I did it happily. She got a degree in speech pathology, I believe, and she started working for the school system placing kids exiting special education in jobs in their communities. I thought it was a noble job. I still do.
But last Fall, she expressed deep concern that Sarah Palin intentionally had a Downs Syndrome baby. She essentially said she worked with so many special needs kids who were miserable that they would have been better off had they never been born. I was really freaked out by that. It pretty much defined my entire ululating wail throughout the entire election. Sarah Palin's choice to keep her child should not have become a political issue, yet it did. And I admire her for her choice. Not because I would have made that same choice, today I would make it but 10 or 15 years ago, I don't know that I would have handled the choice very well.
But it is a really a harsh thing to say that a kid is better off dead when you are trying to help them. I know and work with children who are autistic, downs, selective mutism, airborn food allergies, and just plain screwed up that my friend might classify as better off dead. She might have classified me that way when I was a senior in high school. It scares me, because I take such joy in many children that I cannot imagine making such a harsh judgement. My cousin had a downs baby about 20 years ago, and she was not prepared before birth, they didn't know. She flipped and wanted to put the baby up for adoption. But within a few days, she realized this was her child and she was going to take responsibility and raise her, and love her. And that is exactly what she did. My cousin has raised a very happy, funny, energetic girl who may face some rejection from the idiot population, but the world is a better place now due to my cousin and her daughter. A friend from high school chose to have her son after she found out he was Downs. It is sad that so many people shake their heads and say that kind of child would be better off dead when they don't have a clue to the joys of real parenthood.
I talked a mom I am friends with into letting her son, who is autistic, into my cub scout den. It took a year, they tried another pack first but eventually he ended up in my den. This is a boy I have known for 3 or 4 years, and he is such a doll. He is smart, and attentive, and creative, and my son loves him. So do I. He deserves to be treated as well as any other boy in my den (I have 10, and those in the know realize that is a huge den). He deserves the chance to learn knife safety, play games, and even help younger boys without prejudiced adults and children blocking his way. And with the fiercely viscious Mary behind, he will do just that. He's going to daycamp, last summer they put him in a lower unit because he was austistic. This year he is mine and with my boys because I think he can do it all. And he can, his parents know it and I do too.
Please, please, never write anyone off. Back in High School, I don't think my Catholic friend wrote me off, as serious and judgemental as he was. He left a small bit of room for reasoning. He was a smart guy. No one is better off dead. I am sure people said it about me once, special needs or just plain misguided. I know it's hard to work with teens who are wretched and "wish" they were dead, but many teens are like that, not just special needs kids. Don't write them off. Give them a chance, and teach your children to do the same. You might easily find a place in heaven on Earth if you do.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Uncle Paul
I just got an email from my uncle tonight informing me that my couse Kelley is graduating from high school. Thanks to the internet, he was able to attach a sample of Kelley's poetry and writings to impress the recipients. The biggest problem is, for an 18 year old girl, she is damn good. For me, that's a great problem to have.
For me, the greatest tradgedy is that I do not know my younger cousins the way I should. I grew up going to my grandparent's house at least once a week with the rest of the family. My dad was one of 8 kids and one of the oldest, so the older group of cousins was realy tight. I felt I had an incredible family life growing up, in spite of the fact that my parents did not come to my softball games, my cheerleading, those kinds of things.
I realized at some point that I have no concept of who my younger cousins are. I never saw them enough and I never had an adult to teach me how to interact with such young kids. I know how now that I've had children. Evidentally I know how to interact with them really well as lots of friends and acquaitances children flock to me as though I was Mother Goose. But I feel like a failure in the cousins department because I truly do not know my younger cousins to this day.
Yes, I live on the West Coast. But even when I lived on the East Coast I did not see nor interact with them. I had a great relationship with all of my ex's nieces and nephews, it was actually painful to not see them and still shocks me because they are so grown up and I have no clue.
At any rate, my Uncle Paul, who is a great guy and has overcome more mountains than anyone I know, deserves to have a niece, a goddaughter, who knows his girls and pays attention to them. I have neglected them and I am not so sure how one can make up for that these days.
Any suggestions are more than welcome.
For me, the greatest tradgedy is that I do not know my younger cousins the way I should. I grew up going to my grandparent's house at least once a week with the rest of the family. My dad was one of 8 kids and one of the oldest, so the older group of cousins was realy tight. I felt I had an incredible family life growing up, in spite of the fact that my parents did not come to my softball games, my cheerleading, those kinds of things.
I realized at some point that I have no concept of who my younger cousins are. I never saw them enough and I never had an adult to teach me how to interact with such young kids. I know how now that I've had children. Evidentally I know how to interact with them really well as lots of friends and acquaitances children flock to me as though I was Mother Goose. But I feel like a failure in the cousins department because I truly do not know my younger cousins to this day.
Yes, I live on the West Coast. But even when I lived on the East Coast I did not see nor interact with them. I had a great relationship with all of my ex's nieces and nephews, it was actually painful to not see them and still shocks me because they are so grown up and I have no clue.
At any rate, my Uncle Paul, who is a great guy and has overcome more mountains than anyone I know, deserves to have a niece, a goddaughter, who knows his girls and pays attention to them. I have neglected them and I am not so sure how one can make up for that these days.
Any suggestions are more than welcome.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I Wanna Be Sedated....or maybe I already am...
I was driving home from the Seattle Sleep Disorders Clinic tonight and suddenly was overcome with the desire to hear I Wanna Be Sedated. I switched radio stations at least 500 times while dangerously leaning over in a drunk-sleeping tilted sort of way to continue the search. But alas, it did not happen. The closest I got was Paradise City by Guns n Roses about a block from home. I would have been happier with Welcome to the Jungle, but it was good enough.
Why, you ask, was I coming home from the sleep center BEFORE I got to sleep? Well, there's a really good explanation for that. I blame it on Deryck Fritz. You see, my sister Cathy has been SCREAMING at me online, every post I made, to write a book. She eventually shortened it to BOOK!. And yet, I felt the negative response. Other people have expressed great joy in my twisted mind and oddball adventures in life. Yet still, I did not want to write. Frankly, I still don't. Not for me. But today Deryck, a college friend, sucker punched me big time. He said that if I couldn't write for my own dreams, that I needed to write for my friend's dreams. How unfair is that!!!!! VERY. But he knew exactly how to guilt me into picking up my blog writing and thinking about the future.
College held perhaps the most productive and hilarious years of my life. I discovered that I could have friends who truly enjoyed my "interesting person" magnet and my ability to wander into every odd corner imaginable. I realized - thanks to the demands of my department Chair, that I have plenty of talent and no true selfish desire to use it. I went to college in New York City, and it was the finest place on Earth for me. No frats (I am sorry, you are not a fraternity if you do not have a house in my book - just my book, you can have your own book so get over it). There was one dormitory with 400 kids and many were from other countries. Having adopted the Puerto Rican lifestyle when my stepfather taught me the true meaning of joy (FOOD), I spent many hours sneaking up on students in the kitchen (yes, in NYC you get to cook your own food, or we did at the time!) and learning about that particular person's food. It was so entertaining and interesting, and I always got a few bones thrown my way to eat! Sometimes LOTS of them! I beleive the only negative attitude I might have shown was when a cockroach appeared in my life. I would immediately scream throughout the dorms, "WHO IS FROM THE BRONX?" and someone would run out and say "ME!" and I would hand them a newspaper and ask them to go kill the roach. You know what? They ALWAYS killed it (even if they whacked me with the newspaper first). I love the Bronx. And I love anyone who grew up there!
So, back to whatever the heck I was talking about. Hmmm...Bronx, cockroaches, food, college! I was talking about college. I entered Pace thinking I could never survive one semester there, and I probably didn't realize how wrong I was until I graduated. Each semester, after finishing all my exams and handing in all my papers ON TIME (a first for me, teachers in HS always let me hand them in up to a month late), I would go out to the local deli with Brenda (my roommate for those who don't know) and get two big big cans of Foster's beer. Then we would drink them through a straw. That's two each, not one. Small Foster's cans never taste as good as the big ones. It was a quiet celebration and recognition of another freaking awesome few months.
So, needless to say, Deryck, who travels all over the world for the UN to help other people have fair democratic elections, skewered me with wanting me to at least give it a go for the troops from Pace. How cruel of him. He somehow knows that my life blossomed due to the entire experience at Pace. And he knows I owe Pace, NYC, and my long list of friends from college at least a true effort.
I told Deryck that I would think about all this tonight at the sleep center. And I got my little bag packed, with a snack and caffeine free diet coke, a good book, jammies and a bottle of water. I drove up to Seattle and got there early, so I decided to sit in the empty sleep clinic. Sitting there, enjoying that I was going to have a night of reading with no interuptions and no thoughts of writing, a guy came in and asked me if I was there for the sleep clinic. I said yes, although I pointed out I was 30 minutes early and he could wait to check me in. This guy was super smart. He asked my name, I gave it to him. And he said he did not have me listed for that night.
So.....instead of freaking out, I went up to the counter, reluctantly put away my book, and got out my papers. I said, "OH, you're right. I am supposed to be here in 2 weeks!" He was so happy. And I drove home. It occured to me that somehow this was not working to my advantage. I gave up my narcolepsy meds for 2 weeks, thus driving my poor sweet husband insane, and now I will have to go another 2 weeks. Then I thought about not reading my book and figured it was a sign that I need to at the very least start my blog again.
So here it is. From your buddy who at times is so intelligent, and at times is the Village Idiot. But either way, I am having a ball!
Why, you ask, was I coming home from the sleep center BEFORE I got to sleep? Well, there's a really good explanation for that. I blame it on Deryck Fritz. You see, my sister Cathy has been SCREAMING at me online, every post I made, to write a book. She eventually shortened it to BOOK!. And yet, I felt the negative response. Other people have expressed great joy in my twisted mind and oddball adventures in life. Yet still, I did not want to write. Frankly, I still don't. Not for me. But today Deryck, a college friend, sucker punched me big time. He said that if I couldn't write for my own dreams, that I needed to write for my friend's dreams. How unfair is that!!!!! VERY. But he knew exactly how to guilt me into picking up my blog writing and thinking about the future.
College held perhaps the most productive and hilarious years of my life. I discovered that I could have friends who truly enjoyed my "interesting person" magnet and my ability to wander into every odd corner imaginable. I realized - thanks to the demands of my department Chair, that I have plenty of talent and no true selfish desire to use it. I went to college in New York City, and it was the finest place on Earth for me. No frats (I am sorry, you are not a fraternity if you do not have a house in my book - just my book, you can have your own book so get over it). There was one dormitory with 400 kids and many were from other countries. Having adopted the Puerto Rican lifestyle when my stepfather taught me the true meaning of joy (FOOD), I spent many hours sneaking up on students in the kitchen (yes, in NYC you get to cook your own food, or we did at the time!) and learning about that particular person's food. It was so entertaining and interesting, and I always got a few bones thrown my way to eat! Sometimes LOTS of them! I beleive the only negative attitude I might have shown was when a cockroach appeared in my life. I would immediately scream throughout the dorms, "WHO IS FROM THE BRONX?" and someone would run out and say "ME!" and I would hand them a newspaper and ask them to go kill the roach. You know what? They ALWAYS killed it (even if they whacked me with the newspaper first). I love the Bronx. And I love anyone who grew up there!
So, back to whatever the heck I was talking about. Hmmm...Bronx, cockroaches, food, college! I was talking about college. I entered Pace thinking I could never survive one semester there, and I probably didn't realize how wrong I was until I graduated. Each semester, after finishing all my exams and handing in all my papers ON TIME (a first for me, teachers in HS always let me hand them in up to a month late), I would go out to the local deli with Brenda (my roommate for those who don't know) and get two big big cans of Foster's beer. Then we would drink them through a straw. That's two each, not one. Small Foster's cans never taste as good as the big ones. It was a quiet celebration and recognition of another freaking awesome few months.
So, needless to say, Deryck, who travels all over the world for the UN to help other people have fair democratic elections, skewered me with wanting me to at least give it a go for the troops from Pace. How cruel of him. He somehow knows that my life blossomed due to the entire experience at Pace. And he knows I owe Pace, NYC, and my long list of friends from college at least a true effort.
I told Deryck that I would think about all this tonight at the sleep center. And I got my little bag packed, with a snack and caffeine free diet coke, a good book, jammies and a bottle of water. I drove up to Seattle and got there early, so I decided to sit in the empty sleep clinic. Sitting there, enjoying that I was going to have a night of reading with no interuptions and no thoughts of writing, a guy came in and asked me if I was there for the sleep clinic. I said yes, although I pointed out I was 30 minutes early and he could wait to check me in. This guy was super smart. He asked my name, I gave it to him. And he said he did not have me listed for that night.
So.....instead of freaking out, I went up to the counter, reluctantly put away my book, and got out my papers. I said, "OH, you're right. I am supposed to be here in 2 weeks!" He was so happy. And I drove home. It occured to me that somehow this was not working to my advantage. I gave up my narcolepsy meds for 2 weeks, thus driving my poor sweet husband insane, and now I will have to go another 2 weeks. Then I thought about not reading my book and figured it was a sign that I need to at the very least start my blog again.
So here it is. From your buddy who at times is so intelligent, and at times is the Village Idiot. But either way, I am having a ball!
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