Tomorrow there’s a meeting of Sophie’s “team” — the therapists, teachers, even the principal, everyone who works to make it possible for her to be mainstreamed at a public school. It’s a good thing, this meeting. In fact, I demanded that it be written into her IEP (the document dictating her services) since typically the team meets in May and this is a much-needed chance to assess how things are going at the beginning of a new school year.
This meeting’s got me thinking about stereotypes.
(And now, please pardon me, I feel a few digressions coming on.)
Digression Number One:
Stereotypes are dangerous. I know that. For years I joked — in all seriousness — that Jews don’t like guns. I mean, I don’t like them. I’ve never held one, much less had the desire to use a gun. And all the Jews I know are just like me.
Then Ray, who does not happen to be Jewish and does not hate guns, interrupted my Jews-don’t-like-guns schtick one day with a single, show-stopping line:
“What about Israelis?”
Oh.
Digression Number Two:
When it comes to Sophie, I’m (almost) all about stereotype busting. Funny how suddenly Facebook has become such an important means of communicating in so many ways. I’m sure many (most?) of my 500-plus friends hid me long ago, simply because I post way too much about my kids, particularly Sophie. Call it parental indulgence, or simply the case of an obnoxious mom, but I prefer to think of it as a little social experiment. By cataloguing Sophie’s day to day activities — by showing the outfit she chose on a Friday or mentioning that suddenly she’s calling us “Mom” and “Dad” instead of “Mommy” and “Daddy” — I’m trying to take a Person with a Disability (the kind of person I’d have shirked from, 7-plus years ago) and make her 3-D. Not in a global sense, but in easy, bite-sized chunks. I wish I’d had that, pre-Sophie.
Does that make any sense at all? I’m not sure it came out right. But that’s the general idea.
OK, digressions over. Back to the stereotyping-at-hand.
Yesterday morning, Sophie was in a mood. She refused her Special K, turned my computer on when I told her not to, and demanded a lot of coaxing to get dressed. (This involved a “fashion walk” of five dresses, though she’d requested seven.) None of that is all that unusual, actually. But it was the crucial out-the-door moment that really snagged me, as it so often does.
While I was in the shower, Sophie grabbed one of her baby dolls. “I be a Mommy when I grow up!” she told me. “That’s so nice!” I called over the water, trying to push away the demons that whisper in my ear about the unfairness of the universe. A busy Monday morning is not the time to ponder the future — and possible procreation and all that entails — of your special needs daughter.
Apparently Sophie’s plans for the near future included a stint as a stay-at-home mom, because a few minutes later, I found her in my bed. Both she and the baby doll were tucked in, and I was informed that the baby was asleep and neither of them were going anywhere.
“That’s sweet, Sophie, but it’s time for school! We’re late!” I tried to say as kindly as possible. This turned into 10 minutes of cajoling, begging, yelling, counting, dragging and tears. Not good.
We got to school so late there were no parking spaces, which sealed our fate as Late. I marched the girls directly to the office, thinking along the way about how to turn this into a Teaching Moment. Most punishments slide right off Sophie’s back, but sometimes I can a get a message through. This morning I was going to try, at least. (Annabelle was in on the plan, by the way, as a fellow cajol-er. She gets it, probably better than I do.)
We skidded into the office just as the bell rang. “You can just go up,” the secretary told the girls. Oh no, I told her, adding that she should write “Because Sophie was not a good listener” on both late slips. She nodded, looking very serious. The principal walked by, and I even made Sophie tell her why we were late.
Then I kissed the girls, talked to Sophie about starting fresh for the day with a new attitude, and they both disappeared down the hall. It wasn’t even 9 and I was ready to go back to bed.
I smiled weakly at the principal. “I don’t know what to do,” I told her. “I know it’s a Down syndrome thing — Sophie can be so incredibly stubborn.”
“Oh, I know just what you mean!” she said. “My daughter was just the same at that age! It was terrible!”
For once I held my tongue around this woman, who tends to inspire too much honesty from me. What I wanted to say was, “That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not true! You are so condescending! Your typical kid was typically stubborn — and I know what that looks like. Yes, Annabelle’s well behaved, but trust me, she’s had her moments, and I’ve seen a lot of typical kids and I’m telling you, they don’t act like Sophie. Yes, other kids have issues. But this is one of Sophie’s issues. And to tell me it has nothing to do with Down syndrome, I mean, what am I supposed to do with that? Of course it does! You can’t pretend she doesn’t have it. That won’t make it go away. And it won’t make her behave. I know — I’ve tried that.”
I mean, really. I know the principal was trying to be nice, which is why I didn’t say anything, but I’m considering mentioning this stubborn thing tomorrow at our meeting, particularly since at least one therapist has already mentioned Sophie’s difficulty with transitions. (Code for “your stubborn kid with Down syndrome is driving me nuts.”) I know I’ll get dirty looks.
It’s not easy, navigating this P.C. Thing. I get that it’s not cool to stereotype Jews and guns (even if I maintain to this day that there’s some truth to my theory, some Israelis aside) but the truth is that kids with Down syndrome can be incredibly stubborn — maybe it’s not as strong a trait as snubbed noses and small stature, but to ignore that it’s a problem simply in the name of Political Correctness, now what’s correct about that?
Reading this, you probably thought, “I’m with the principal. Sounds like just another stubborn kid. With an insensitive mom.”
But I bet you didn’t think that if you a. have spent a hunk of time around Sophie or b. have your own kid with Down syndrome.
As for me, I’m not changing my mind. I’m stubborn that way.