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Posts Tagged ‘respect for all people’

Peculiar Gift From a Stranger

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 16, 2014| 1 Comment »

I suspect the most we can hope for, and it’s no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love. (Elizabeth Strout)

I am tossing two-for-one-sale whole-grain tortillas into my cart when a woman behind me speaks.

“Those are really good.” Her musical twang signals more than enthusiasm. She wants to talk. At first she tells me about baking sun-dried tomato tortillas and serving them as snacks. Then she says she is a southern girl with down-home ways and opens the stories of her past.

For a change my agenda doesn’t have the feel of a block of frozen spinach, leaves frozen together so that the pieces can’t be separated from one another. As long as this pause doesn’t turn into a filibuster I can handle it.

She tells me about her health and how she has overcome emphysema sufficiently to function without oxygen. “I’m 76 and a survivor.”

Her mini-memoir includes the story of her ex-husband’s mental abuse. “He told me that as long as he gave me food and a roof over my head he didn’t owe me anything else.” She has family and has given them love, even though their father could not. I nod when she mentions Women Helping Women. They made it possible for her to make her own way. She was in her sixties when she left her husband. I suspect there is more to her tale. Much more.

I want to reach out and touch her arm—but don’t. My nod says that she made the right choice, whatever that involved. A touch could signal the pain that brought her to seek survival. Moreover, I don’t know her. Instead I step back, just a little, not out of avoidance, but respect.

Besides, I am only a stranger in a large grocery store. Did this woman stop other shoppers also? Did they listen, or did they look at her as if she had two heads with three mouths? I have never seen this woman before this moment, and may never see her again. Probably all she wants is the reassurance that she has strength, that it shows in her being. Somehow. She never asks for my name, nor does she offer hers.

“Peace,” I say. “Have a blessed day.”

I pray for her now—days later. May she no longer need to rely on strangers for support. May she have people with her that she can count on. Perhaps I could have done or said more, offered to pray with her—right there. I’m not sure I would have had that much courage. It would have been less embarrassing if she ran away, than if she decided to shout alleluia in the middle of the bakery department. Perhaps I haven’t arrived at perfection in any form just yet.

Thanks to all my friends, the ones with the huge shoulders and the fine-tuned ears. I am grateful for our shared laughter and tears.

feel what I feel

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Patience Power—in Toddler-Size Three

Posted in kindness, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 14, 2013| Leave a Comment »

In this world, you must be a bit too kind to be kind enough.
(Pierre Carlet de Chamblain de Marivaux)

Ella runs toward another child with white-blond hair as if their fair heads were halos meant to merge.

“Hi! Hi!” Ella is finally talking. Her vocabulary is limited. She still uses sign language for most communication. Down syndrome has affected her development. But she has always expressed enthusiasm with complete clarity.

The boy seems puzzled, but accepts our little one’s hug. His sister, perhaps a year younger, continues toward the parking area at the Museum Center. Then she hesitates. I suspect she isn’t going to miss out on the love her sibling is getting. Ella doesn’t disappoint her.

Ella, Grandpa, and I are on our way to the Museum Center. However, our three-year-old girl is in no hurry. Each step on the journey brings its own adventure. She sees a little girl in a stroller and blocks Mama’s path to ooh and ah over someone younger than she is.

While my husband and I apologize for the interruption I hear my name called. I see Marcia, a very special friend who has enlightened my life’s path in deep and beautiful ways. I’m both surprised and happy to see her. Her smile fits the halo image. An embrace feels in order.

She introduces me to Mama and the little one in the stroller. The child is on her way to nap time and barely tolerates Ella’s gushing. Fortunately, the little girl isn’t screaming yet. And I am grateful.

I don’t count the number of stops it takes to get to the door. After all, we aren’t late for a plane. A fountain, a cloud, or a block of cement can fascinate if approached with curiosity. Adult responsibility has damaged a lot of my spontaneity. If I don’t catch my granddaughter’s life lessons, she will show me again, without any sign of irritation.

In one play area inside the museum she insists upon putting on a sheriff’s vest by herself. Unfortunately it includes a scarf with an opening along the back that could be an extra arm hole. Although Ella never figures out how to maneuver the vest, she doesn’t give up, and she doesn’t throw a tantrum and blame costume construction for getting in her way. Life is what it is. Difficult. She has known that since she was born seven weeks early with multiple medical needs. She has overcome most of them.

One girl seems insistent upon going up a slide the wrong way. Ella waits patiently at the top. Within minutes the two children are playing together. The other girl runs back to Ella to give her a hug before she leaves with her grandparents.

One embrace has led to another. So simple and honest. And it took a child with a tripled twenty-first chromosome to begin the cycle. May one kind gesture direct another… and another…and another.

hug

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The Clubhouse in the Attic

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 8, 2013| Leave a Comment »

If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.  (Nelson Mandela)

Service we needed done in our house takes up a large portion of the afternoon: drilling, decisions, and comforting a five-year-old who doesn’t like noise. No time left to go to the Y for a swim. I expect Kate and Rebe to express serious disappointment. They handle the situation well.

Rebe gets custody of PBS Kids on my iPad while nine-year-old Kate and I do artwork in the second-floor storage area of our house. There is no air-conditioning here since we have no place for duct work, but this has been declared girl territory, a clubhouse arena of sorts. The heat isn’t as horrid as August usually offers. I’m holding out. Rebe manages for a while, and then returns downstairs to the cooler air and Grandpa.

“You can have this page,” Kate says, tearing it out of her brand-new book of designs to create and color. “You can make cards for the family, and then copy them on the computer.” Kate is always planning. She wants to turn our storage area into a play room. That will take not only time but ingenuity. With Kate’s enthusiasm, however, I can see it happening.

She watches as I show her how to blend colored pencil, rounding strokes inside a circle, adding depth by easing orange around the edges of yellow. “See how it looks if you leave a tiny bit of white in a block of turquoise—on purpose.”

We share, heart to heart. I feel free to tell her that someday Grandma and Grandma may need to sell this house and move to a condo, when Grandpa gets too old to mow the grass. Not now. Someday.

“I hope that never happens,” she says. “There are too many memories in this house.”

I am impressed by the depth of a child who hasn’t reached double digits yet. She adds that she is not disappointed that she didn’t get to swim today. She got to spend time with me.

I look around at the haphazard space around us: old blankets, photos, a box with my old published materials, the dolls I bought for my mother—nothing of outstanding value. No one from Better Homes and Gardens has ever approached us with an offer to do an article. Nor do I expect any in the future. Yet, I am blessed.

Finally Rebe returns upstairs, her demeanor comments on the heat as she looks at us working in the corner. “Whatever are you thinking?” she asks.

Kate and I laugh. One more memory has been added to the rest.

learning from children morning coach

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Perfect is Only an Adjective

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 5, 2013| 1 Comment »

There’s something ugly about the flawless. (Dennis Lehane)

As a child I thought perfection was attainable. Expected. On multiple levels.

On an achievement test my sixth-grade teacher emphasized how important it was to erase completely. Pencil residue could be picked up and two filled-in boxes would mean an automatic wrong answer. I sat in the back corner of the room and sighed. That day had been particularly difficult, although I don’t recall why.

Not far into the test I needed to erase. The process became gruesome to this literal student. I moved so slowly through the pages that I eventually gave up. The next year the psychologically ignorant teacher positioned us in rows according to the grade we got on that test. There wasn’t enough room for the last two rows of desks—they were shoved together. I sat in the dummy section. After all, if we cheated the answers were bound to be wrong.

I must admit that seventh grade turned out to be fun. I sat next to the class clown. However, the image that teacher had of me stuck and showed up in my grades. Once again, why bother?

Then, that winter we were given an assignment to write a one-act play based on a book by a Catholic author. Mine was taken from “Fabiola” by Cardinal Nicholas Wiseman, first published in 1854, a, thick book from my parents’ book shelves. It spoke of persecution in the lives of early Christians in the catacombs during the reign of Roman Emperor Diocletian. My teacher did not believe I had read the book much less written the play. My parents needed to verify the fact that I had chosen each word with the required fountain pen at the kitchen table. I had to bring the book to class so that both the principal and teacher could see that I had not plagiarized my assignment. Strangely, I was not frightened. I knew the work I had done was honest.

I won first prize in the Greater Cincinnati area from that one-act play. My grades improved drastically. Yet I was the same child, in the same row. By then I wouldn’t have chosen to sit anywhere else.

Those students I sat next to weren’t dummies either. Perhaps their skills didn’t include diagramming sentences and answering multiplication tables within a given number of seconds. I have no doubt that those conjoined rows housed kids who eventually owned their own businesses or who became beloved parents and grandparents, exemplary citizens, military heroes. They became folk who could find that glitch in a car’s engine no one else could find. Many probably graduated from college and earned degrees because they had learned to work for what they wanted.

They created common miracles no one ever chronicled. We are all important—in different ways.

(pic from Positive Words to Love By)

dogs and differences Positive WoRds

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Replace the Word Re—d with Respect

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on March 6, 2013| Leave a Comment »

The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be either good or evil. (Hannah Arendt)

Computers fascinate my granddaughter Ella. She knows how to maneuver the icons on her Samsung Galaxy tablet, and her small fingers move with alarming speed from screen to screen. Sure, her tripled chromosome adds learning challenges. However, since she creates an atmosphere of joy wherever she goes, her efforts spread courage, too.

If Ella can work harder to reach a goal, so can I.

Since I have experienced the wonder and beauty of a child with Down syndrome, I wince when someone uses the R-word, that taunt that ends in a d. It is not used by the medical community, only by the unthinking. (By the way, Ella is a child with Down syndrome, not a Down syndrome child; the difference may appear subtle, but it isn’t. She is first a person, and second, she is a child who has a challenge to overcome. Also,  the word syndrome is not capitalized unless it is part of a title, such as the Down Syndrome Association where the emphasis is on an organization, not a person.)

Grammar, however, is secondary. An understanding of people is what matters.

Today is the day to pledge to end the r-word:   http://www.r-word.org/

Many folk who have handicaps have more determination than college graduates. Actually, with help from the caring, some people with special needs have earned college diplomas.

So, today, right now, replace that put-down word with respect. It goes a lot further and delivers a lot more truth.

r words

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Feeding the Inner Wolf

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2013| 2 Comments »

I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. (Kahlil Gibran, mystic, poet, and artist 1883-1931) 

I am aware of choice, a precious gift. When the beautiful appears I want to savor and celebrate it. Every moment can’t be mountain-top glorious. If it were, the wonderful would turn into take-it-for-granted.

In the past few weeks, life has given me many lessons. However, I am alluding to only two events. The first occurred one afternoon when I was unexpectedly confronted by someone who holds a long-term grudge against me. The second, far more pleasant,  took place as I prepared a family party. The details  of the first situation don’t need to be shared to be understood. Almost every living person faces folk on different wave lengths. This is the only point that matters: Do I allow someone rent-free space in my head or not?

When I think about scenario two, preparing to celebrate four family birthdays, however, I smile. Eight-year-old Kate painted assembly-line style, and told stories about what she drew: hearts, swirls, action. Enthusiasm for each person being honored flowed as she created. Five-year-old Rebe worked quickly with a few wild strokes across the page. She picked out which tablecloth we should use, and then played with Grandpa. Okay, so the afternoon wasn’t newsworthy. It highlighted the beauty of the gift of family. I treasured that, and didn’t waste the moment fussing about something I couldn’t control anyway.

The Cherokee legend of the Two Wolves explains choice well. The following story is taken directly from FIRST PEOPLE, THE LEGENDS: http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.

“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

I would like to say that I have completely forgotten about the person who harbors resentment against me. I haven’t. I am fortunate enough to have made very, very few enemies in my life. Strange, as I think about it, the great people of the world have fought many adversaries. Hmmn, looks like I may be meek, but I also don’t take many risks. Perhaps I am now in a position of opportunity, not threat. This place may present a new taste for the Good Wolf.

Whenever this person’s name comes into my mind I pray that she receives the same blessings I would want for myself. Then, all I feel is sadness for her and joy for me as the sun shines through the seven child-simple paintings hung along my back window. Seven is the ancient Hebrew symbol for wholeness, creation, good fortune. The Good Wolf symbolizes healthy spiritual choices in life. I think I’ll keep the girls’ art gallery on display a tad longer—as a reminder of greater possibilities.

feed the good wolf Optimism Revolution

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Toddler Teacher

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on December 6, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Forever is composed of nows.  Emily Dickinson

Our granddaughter Ella may be in her pack-and-play for a nap, but that doesn’t mean she has any intention of succumbing to sleep. Fortunately she isn’t putting up an ugly protest. This time of day is relegated to rest and our little one knows it. She doesn’t cry without a good reason.

As I work at the computer Ella babbles. She could be talking to a stuffed animal, an imaginary friend, or her guardian angel. Our granddaughter’s language hasn’t developed enough for us to know. Down syndrome has delayed her speech, but has elevated her understanding of the now, a place to be embraced—even if Grandma could be hogging all the fun Curious George games and Sesame Street videos.

I hear a cackle, perhaps the punch line to some joke only she understands. I shake my head and swallow a laugh. Apparently her run through Lowe’s didn’t wear her out this morning. It took two adults to keep one three-year-old girl from rearranging a huge hardware store. While I picked out an area rug for the computer/toy room, Grandpa followed our blonde tornado through the store. Ella made friends along the way, too. She always does, with her magnet-blue eyes and innocent smile. Her beauty and personality reach beyond the limitations of Down syndrome. She makes people feel chosen by her love. It relays an angel’s touch.

Perhaps an angel is teaching her the tricks of the trade—right now. And I don’t know a thing about the lesson. I can’t see or hear her life teachers. I may not have been born with the competition gene, but that doesn’t mean I don’t compare myself to folk who achieve a lot more. I also grow restless when time steals moments I feel are rightfully mine.

No day belongs to me. It is a gift, just as Ella is a gift.

Eventually the noise and rustling stop and I hear two voices in the bedroom. Grandpa and Ella laugh. It is post-rest time. Let the blessings continue. After all, I have a lot to learn.

It's today Pooh shared by Jane Friedman

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Learning Heart, The Rest Is Incidental

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on November 23, 2012| 1 Comment »

The trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit. (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière, actor and playwright, 1622-1673)

Eight-year-old Kate calls the day before Thanksgiving to talk to Grandma. She wants to know what her cousin Ella has done today, especially anything funny. I’m getting ready for the big feast, so I don’t have all three of my grandchildren at the house on my usual Wednesday. Sure, it would be difficult to prepare with three active kids in the house, but I miss the precious presence of the other two children.

I tell Kate about how I found Ella’s shoes on Barney, the Dinosaur. It’s the kind of story she wants to hear. Later I learn this game was initiated by Grandpa, but it doesn’t matter. It makes Kate laugh.

Ella reaches for the phone. She’s been out of the loop too long. I put the conversation on speaker, and then let our youngest granddaughter communicate, in her own way. She kisses the receiver. Blessings fill the air.

After Ella reluctantly gives up the phone, Kate tells me about someone she knows who is pregnant. The baby may have Down syndrome. The parents are waiting for test results; they are frightened. I am amazed at my granddaughter’s adult understanding. She knows what a joy her cousin is—and yet, she recognizes the difficulties of caring for a child with special needs.

Ella tries to climb onto the television stand. “No!” I call to her. She stops before I get to her, and I am grateful, but I am also glad she is extending her horizons.

It’s been a long haul since our little one was born seven weeks early, facing two surgeries before she was three months old: one for duodenal atresia and the other for an A/V canal defect. The second meant open heart surgery.

When her heart was cut open, our hearts were, too. The entire family learned what was important and what wasn’t. We continue to grow with her, to share enthusiasm when Ella points to the first letter of her name and pronounces “E” clearly. No, we probably won’t have a Harvard graduate. But a positive attitude teacher? Definitely.

“See you tomorrow, Kate. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Grandma.”

I’m not sure much of anything else matters.

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Somersault, Cast in Red and Blue

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on November 15, 2012| Leave a Comment »

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. (Nelson Mandela)

Kate somersaults across the living room—with a cast on her left hand. “Did you see that, Grandma?”

“I sure did.”

“I’m going to do it even better this time.”

I want to yell, No, we don’t need any more trips to the hospital! But, her movements are confined, and the other kids are in the toy/computer room right now, so she isn’t going to knock anyone over. (Whether toy or computer comes first depends upon whether kid or computer plays the dominant role.) Besides, I am the one who was on the phone when our granddaughter broke her finger diving into the couch. The cast was necessary because the break affects a growth plate. I heard her scream, and then went into shock for a day or two.

She rode through her ordeal like a soldier and flashes her red and blue cast as a badge of honor. In fact, there are no more spaces on it for Grandma to sign her name. A place to fit initials would be difficult to find.

Children’s bones bend and heal easier than a grownup’s bones do. It seems my eight-year-old girl’s spirit is mighty powerful, too. Kate is drawn to children with special needs. She doesn’t see them as different; she sees them as people, like herself, with challenges. Perhaps having a younger cousin with Down syndrome has given her that blessing; perhaps that gift is innate. I don’t know.

I watch Kate perform one more somersault. With a smile. With ease. And I know I’ve learned something important about resilience.

pic from MorningCoach.com

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Happiness Is a Scribbled Chalkboard And a Good Family

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 23, 2012| Leave a Comment »

What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make. (Jane Goodall)

Our youngest granddaughter politely coughs into her hand. Her hand is full of blue chalk, but it’s the thought that counts. I smile at her blue face and she smiles back before she goes back to filling the chalkboard with her spontaneous creation.

She pauses and hands me a piece of yellow chalk. I get a turn, too, albeit short.

Ella has spent her first overnight with us. I’m amazed at how smoothly it went. I’m even more amazed at her mommy and daddy, Sarah and Steve. They are busy talking to Steve’s daddy right now, in our living room after Sunday breakfast. Steve and Sarah have no idea what words I’m conjuring about them—about what a blessing they are.

It isn’t always easy to care for a child who not only needs physical and occupational therapy, but has medical concerns as well. (Of course Ella helps in her own way. She has the personality of at least three angels and the heart of four.) Nevertheless, it takes time—and money to be the parent of any child with exceptional needs. My son and daughter-in-law both work; then they volunteer for the Down Syndrome Association.

This past summer Steve and Sarah earned over seven-thousand dollars and placed seventh among contributors in Greater Cincinnati for the Down Syndrome Association. Of course they had help from friends and family. My assistance was minimal. I painted a few cups for a raffle. Jay and I babysat while the more organized folk prepared a huge festival.

However, it’s the simple, everyday dedication I love most about my own family, the fact that our little one has learned to cough into her hand instead of into the air, the way she waves good-bye at preschool with three-year-old independence, the fact that she is learning the alphabet with enthusiasm.

Her development is a direct reflection on her parenting, on two of the most wonderful people in the world. Ella is blessed, and so am I.

photos taken at the Buddy Walk

at Sawyer Point in Cincinnati on September 8, 2012

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