Chickadee and I went to the library yesterday. It's our first time just the two of us. Beansprout was missed greatly, from his explosive storytime personality to his holding open of doors. That boy holds doors open better for Chickadee's wheelchair than any other human. But the kind stranger was good enough, even if it was a bit awkward. Like a date.
We had a lot of fun. Only one family was there from our old tribe. It was fun to catch up, but the other 12 parents were unsure of us. Chickadee has transitioned to conversational punctuation. In other words, she's a bit of a moderated yeller. She immitates the tone of the speaker.
It's been celebrated around the home. Cause it's at least a change from all those raspberries, and she's interacting socially. But public storytime is a different monster. The little people in diapers waddled over and stood between her and the book. The older ones simply stared, equally interested in the story and Chickadee.
I don't mind them.
I don't even mind the parents coming over and collecting their kids. I do a little when they act horrified. I mean, Chickadee does look different and act different. It never fails that just when I'm hoping one of them will talk directly to Chickadee, that a parent swoops in and whisks away. They aren't apologetic to me. They always berate their children. And they never make eye contact.
That bugs me. It's not the kids' fault Chickadee is there.
I've noticed they seem to feel guilty. Ashamed of their own blessed lives. It happens most if the mother seems to have everything together. Before I would have felt shunned. Before I would have not felt good enough.
Now, I feel ambivalent. I probably would have tried to make some snarky remark to make those women laugh a couple of years ago. I would have wanted to be their friend. Now I still feel the pull of their magnetism.
But somehow? I'm not moved by it. I'm fine if they want to befriend me. I care enough to shrug it off when they don't.
Their loss. I'm still smiling.
You never fail to amaze me. I work with a population that includes many different types of Chickadees of all ages and sizes - an unbelievable variety of imperfect humanity. But the thing is, even the ones of us who seem to have everything together are in the biggest super set of imperfect humanity.
ReplyDeleteI have an aa friend who has a 60 y/o brother with retardation who lives with her. One day, she (the sister) was lamenting to another (very Catholic)friend about wishing John wasn't so "involved" and needy. Her friend said, "At times, I wish I was John, because John cannot commit sin." I just heard that this week and it blew me out of the water. It makes me love the population with whom I work even more.
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ReplyDeleteI think you nailed it when you said they seem to feel guilty.
ReplyDeleteAnd I think so many times people just don't know what to say.
I love the genuine curiosity of the kids, though. Thing one has always been drawn to kids who were different. Curious and compassionate. Now that he's older and a little bit peer pressured, he's trying to figure out if he's going to protect that trait or not. I think he will, but it may be a process. We'll see.
The other storytime mothers are a nice place to visit, but you probably wouldn't want to live there. (however, you could come live in our guest room anytime)
to me the sentence which LEAPED OUT was ashamed of their own blessed lives.
ReplyDeletewe are at the stage now agewise (uh her not me :)) where my child would want to stare.
It's her four year old instinct
I like to think Im not a WHISKER AWAYer...but an explainer and a stay and befriend you.
not because of chickadee but because Id immediately sense we were kindred spirits.
Carla
Although we don't interact with a lot of other children right now, I encourage my daughter to be social with all sorts of people... which is awesome because now when we take neighborhood walks, she greets everyone we pass. She says hello to dogs, waves to delivery men, greets the construction crew at a house down the street...
ReplyDeleteI'm hoping I'm instilling in her the idea that as long as I'm nearby, there's no reason she can't speak to everyone. It's great too because at 16mo she doesn't care that people don't always talk back.
I guess, as a parent whose child is fully physically functional, I see the guilt. Although I'd never whisk my daughter away, maybe I wouldn't know what to say... I feel like I'd just encourage her to say hello, like I do to everyone else, and then strike up a conversation with you.
I think that many times it is that people just don't know what is appropriate, what you would welcome, how to best respond. You are helping educate us all.
ReplyDeleteSometimes, also, it is simply not knowing what to do or wanting to do the very right thing. I know I felt this way many times after my brother-in-law died. Each time I would be around my sister (with Mr. Helen) I simply did not know what to do because I knew it was so evident to her that I had and she did not. I did not want to even inadvertently cause her pain.
ReplyDeleteMr. Helen is very good at this sort of thing and has taught me so much. A lot of his understanding comes from a friendship he developed with a special needs guy in high school. If you lived near us, not only would he acknowledge Chickadee AND you, it is very likely that he would end up holding Chickadee and inviting you over for dinner. He's just good that way. Like I said, I'm learning by watching.
I guess I have a different perspective. I would probably do the same thing not because I felt guilty but because who wants to be stared at? You never know what your child is going to do or say and it's rude to have them just stand there and stare at a child or say something rude. I'd do the same thing if my child was staring at a child of a different race instead of paying attention to the book. Just my opinion. I've been on the other side of the situation and it's hard to know what to do. Maybe you should tell them it's ok to talk to her so the parents know it's all right.
ReplyDeletePeople amaze me sometimes. You're right, it's their loss.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Karen that many people don't know how to reach out or what is the proper way to react.
ReplyDeleteYou are teaching all of us!
I had a great uncle who had a brain injury as a baby and was left with brain damage that caused some drooling, twitching and such. He was the kindest man you could possibly meet with the biggest grin.
When I was a kid growing up I didn't know there was anything "wrong" with him, he loved me and I loved him. He taught me a lot about enjoying each day and taking delight in the simple things in life, like his garden, flowers, birds and penny candy!
Yes, you ARE amazing! And so is Chickadee - Conversational punctuation is grand!
ReplyDeleteHellow?
ReplyDeleteHey girl you know me I just scoop her up and hug her. I am very open with kids especially after having to answer many a question about why Jer has a belly button on his neck. Its strange to not have to do that anymore know one notices the tiny scare line on his neck. To bad the parents are not ok with themselves enough but give them time they will all come around to your amazing attitude.
ReplyDeleteThis post was so important for me to read. You have educated me and amazed me once again.If the moms don't want to be your friend, then that is totally their loss - because you are amazing.
ReplyDelete