The Five Rings
Of Special
An
inability to perform tasks often demands attention. The human instinct to make that inability ability. However, one should never rely on
compassion. People will either bend
over backwards to help, they’ll ignore you and act uncomfortable, or your
inability becomes an object for their mockery.
The
first is what I most often find from educated adults and children. They have nothing to gain. There are no monetary or psychological
profits that would come from helping.
Suppose this were the case. It’s
usually not, and there is an unavoidable pat on the back on the table. However, occasionally the ego is secure and its
stroking can be left untouched. Embrace that Samaritan. There’s one in every group of ten.
The
next is a shifty bunch. Spines disappear
with the wave of a cane or crutch. They
leave a crack open enough to smell the smoke of their burning need to do good a
deed. But they also have an exit
strategy in case they choke on their own condescension. I’ve seen it on cruise ships from passengers
and crew alike. I’ve also seen it from
bouncers in low-end bars who stare with dour, evasively straight faces. Both want to help, they mean you no
harm. They just can’t cognate the
difference; they can’t get past the disability.
It is their job in either case to “help” you out if humanly
possible. A disability just wasn’t in
their training. They’re helpless and
really have no clue, but they are trying as they think any humane person ought
to do.
The
last group is usually the youngest. They are the troubled souls that kindly
escorted me through junior high school.
Compassion fears to enter their minds.
I’d like to think that group has grown smaller since then. Total
ignorance remains still though, from people of any age. Not necessarily malicious, but simple blatant
refusal to realize someone might have special
needs.
I fear
the repeated use of special word can
condition someone to think they are above the rest. Over years, being termed special due to a disability
can make someone they think they are entitled to more than others. I’ve seen it happen. Maybe they are entitled to more? All I am saying is the disabled individual
should not be taught to count on special treatment. If it’s there, fine, take it. The
seven-letter word has become the fuel for stereotypes. It is what makes the second and third group
act at all. It’s what causes nerves and
ignorance. The mind game festers; it’s emboldened
and reiterated each time a parking permit is used with questionable need. That’s just how it is; all because of one
word.
Michael
Phelps was ADD, and he became the most decorated Olympian. He did that competing in The Olympics,
no Para. My guess is that no one ever
called him special. Granted, Attention
Deficit Disorder is common and not usually a greatly handicapping condition. Still, it can be nurtured like any handicap
and end up making a person dependent and greatly diminish their drive to pursue
what makes them happy.
The “_
_ _ _ _ _ _” Olympics make me crazy. I get the image of the Down’s syndrome
athlete being told he’s special. He’s
clutching his medal with genuine tears in his eyes with the vague notion that he’s
part of something, well…special. The
name of the event is subliminal. To me it is sad and degrading. Those athletes deserve no more or less
recognition than Kerri Strug (the gymnast who vaulted with an injured ankle in
the 1996 Olympic Games). Do these athletes
really require any more nurturing; a perennial motivator to grow up strong and
confident, if not also dependent?
Athletes are athletes. I don’t
think a word that overtly distinguishes them from other athletes should be hung
around their neck.
The Paralympics, I can live with that. It comes from the Greek (the ones who gave us
the games) meaning “around.” Around the
Olympics; that is an avenue we had to enter. It is unbiased and does not put the player on
a higher field. The name does not convey
any sympathy. It simply gives greatly
handicapped athletes a chance to compete with athletes who share handicaps of
that degree.
For
about five years I competed with the ABA (Armature Bodybuilding
Association). In all those years I never
heard special. I competed in a division
for “physically challenged” athletes. I
had no issue with this. The name stated
the facts; no sugar coating. Some had CP
(cerebral palsy), one competitor was and amputee, I had ataxia (a
neuro-muscular condition). I remember
one guy was blind. Any significant
“challenge” that made preparing for competition harder put us in this
division. Before I knew about the ABA I
competed for five years with the NPC (National Physique Committee. There were no “physically challenged”
divisions then and I shared the stage with bodybuilders who were not challenged
by anything.
Special
is just a word though. Children simply
have needs; some are less simple than others.
In 1974 I went back into my city’s public school after a two-year
hiatus. I had been going to Michael
Dowling School in Minneapolis after a traumatic head injury. The MVA (motor vehicle accident) interrupted
my kindergarten year in Richfield’s public school. My classmates at Dowling had physical and/or
cognitive inabilities, in many cases much more severe than mine. I went back to my school in a new program
called mainstreaming. I could not write
well or quickly. “Adapt to his needs and
get a typewriter for him.” It doesn’t
seem like a lot to ask, but I remember teachers who just wouldn’t budge. The IEP (individual education plan) created
mountains of paperwork for the special education teacher. Schools didn’t roll well with the punches
thirty-nine years ago. Coming from
Dowling back to the public schools was anything but a smooth transition. I was ready for them; they were not ready for
me. Many conferences went on in my
behalf between my parents, social workers, teachers, and doctors. After one such meeting my doctor said
“mainstreaming in alright if you don’t drown.”
Well, thirty-nine years later as a college graduate, I obviously did not
drown. I did come close though. In some respects I, along with my parents and
doctors, might have taught them (the teachers) as much as they taught me.
Special
is as special needs. Today Dowling is called Michael Dowling Urban
Environmental School. The type of school
I went to no longer exists. Dowling was
founded in Minneapolis in 1924 for children with disabilities. Many of those kids learned to swim in the
pool dedicated by Franklin Roosevelt in 1937. There is no separation anymore. Distinctions in levels of learning are ascertained
and adaptations are made; from a computer in the room to a private instructor. The “art” of education, continues to be a
learning process for all involved. The
tactical responsibilities fall on the teachers, the parents, and the
students. There’s a balance of nature
and nurture. The factual nature of a
student’s disability can’t be nurtured more or less than is necessary. Ideally the advantage of the needier student
should not be greater or less than that of the rest of the class.
Words
resonate more loudly to some. Some words
carry stigmata. Their connotations are
positive or negative depending on who hears them. I remember when the word crippled preceded children in Shriner’s Hospitals. I was outraged as I’m sure were many of my
peers from Dowling. That word eventually
fell back into the archaic bag of wisdom from which it came. Special
does not come close in its debilitating value, but it is a close second. Perhaps in ten years special education might
be termed something like “education plus” like Google plus. Or we might cop a title from Monty Python
and call the Special Olympics “the secret athletes other Olympics.”
MBMoshe
LLC
©2012
