Conference quark::human_relations-v1

         The Dreams of my Parents -- A Parable

         ---

         I used to sing a song by...well, sung by anyway, Judy
         Collins...actually now that I think about it, I think it
         is one she did write. It started out:

         	Father always promised us
         	that we would live in France.
         	We'ld go boating on the Seine
         	and I would learn to dance.

         	We lived in Ohio then,
         	Father worked the mines.
         	On his dreams like boats we knew
         	we'ld sail in time,


         What follows is not truly fact...nor is it truly
         fiction, It is true, but not factual...these
         conversations did not take place...they are based on my
         imperfect and necessarily personal view of what probably
         happened. But they help me to understand.

         ---

         My Father had dreams.

         He dreamed of not being hungry. And he dreamed of not
         being cold. And he dreamed of being someone that his
         children would look up to and ask for advice.  These
         things he accomplished.  For a brief moment in time, he
         even realised that he had accomplished them. And then he
         dreamed some more.

         He dreamed now of the things that his children would do
         that he had never done. The places they would go; the
         people they would meet; the things they would do. And he
         built his life around these new dreams. He sacrificed
         his happiness, his peace of mind, his soul...so they
         would have and do these things.

         And his oldest child said:

         "So, who asked you to do these things for us?"

         "I don't want to be this, or go there, or do
         that...'this' is who I am...love me."

         And he said:

         "I have slaved my life away to show you these things. If
         you do not take them, you do not love me; and I cannot
         love you..."

         And his oldest child said:

         "So be it."

         Now his younger child was more naturally inclined to
         follow in her Father's footsteps. She was not more
         inclined to agree however, and when...as it must...there
         came the time for her to also become herself instead of
         her Father's shadow, he said again...

         "I have given you everything I have to give and still
         you do not appreciate it."

         And the younger child said:

         "You have taught me to be strong, and resourceful, and
         to stand on the truth. So, I stand here."

         And he said:

         "So be it."

         And some years after that, when he died, he died
         thinking that these children who owed their existance to
         him...who admitted freely to everyone else in the world
         but him that he was the guiding light of the adults they
         had beco...he died thinking they did not love him.

         And until he died, they never knew that he told everyone
         he met how talented his two daughters were...how proud
         he was of them. The dreams got in the way.

         ---

         My Mother had dreams.

         She dreamed early-on of escaping the farm; of having
         beef on the table more than just in the fall when they
         butchered the beef-cattle; of having sandwhiches of
         something other than mustard and bread. And she dreamed
         of more than one suit of clothes and fancy stockings and
         dancing. And she dreamed of a man not in her home town
         to take her away from it all.

         And she got these things.

         And then she dreamed more dreams.

         She dreamed of the young women that her daughters
         would become; how they would be pretty and exsquisitly
         drressed; how they would marry well and raise their
         children to come and sit at her knee. And how they
         would be so correct and polite and soft-spoken' how they
         would know the old songs and the old people.

         She didn't have a chance.

         Her knight-in-shining-armor was busy making them into
         his likeness; and although he would not be pleased by
         the outcome either...they would certainly ressemble him
         more than they ever did her.

         And although her determination took her away and set her
         free, her duty brought her back and chained her. Freedom
         was a momentary chapter and she came back to her
         beginnings to take care of her ailing Mother and other
         dreams were shattered.

         And she said:

         "How can you say these things and do these things?"

         And her oldest would say:

         "You never cared to intercede for me when I was little
         so don't bother me now."

         And her youngest would say:

         "Mother, we were raised to be this...and we are...so why
         are you surprised?"

         And she would say:

         "Where have I failed? I must have failed to have such
         daughters..."

         And her daughters would say:

         "Never thought of myself as a failure...but If you think
         so, then so be it."

         And she would lament:

         "Why don't you come more often..."

         And they would say:

         "To listen to you complain about who we are? Forget it."

         And so, this day, she sits at home; or travels to
         Florida and everyone thinks she is wonderful. But her
         daughters are wary; and she thinks herself a failure
         because they are who they are.  And they think her
         cold-hearted and proud because she never defended them
         or herself when it might have made a difference.

         ---

         I met...no, that is too strong a word...I saw a Mother
         today. And I went right home and wrote about her in
         RAGE. I was not only rude to her, I was righteously
         angry with her and let her know it. I did what I was
         raised to do. I fought a dragon. And my Daddy would have
         been proud...and Mother (although she would have
         deplored the fact that I actually spoke rudely to this
         woman) would even have approved.

         But I am reminded by several of my dearest and most
         trusted readers...to ask why and how this woman got to
         be a killer of hope.

         Perhaps, she had dreams?

         And perhaps she made the same the mistake that my folks
         did with her dreams...and dreamed them "for" her children
         instead of just "about" them. And then her child not
         only would not fulfill her Mother's dreams but created
         in their place nightmares.

         Perhaps she had too many dreams break so that she
         herself broke along with them and all that remains is a
         husk that mimes the action. Perhaps it is a miracle that
         she even has the energy left to be a kiler of hope?

         ---

         I guess we none of us handle the loss of dreams very
         well. I hope not all of us are so beaten that we attack
         those that do not fullfill them; but I suspect that even
         the more reserved of us harbor resentment.

         ---

         I have dreams.

         And I have a child.

         God help me "not" make my dreams for him.  God help me
         teach him to dream his own and set him free with them.
         And may I have the strength to rejoice in his dreams
         even when they are not mine.

Mel, I'm proud of you.  I sincerely doubt I'd have the intestinal fortitude
to do what you did, but I'd surely want to.  While I doubt that Emma's
mother (and I use the term loosely) learned anything from the incident, perhaps
Emma did.

				Steve

    Mel, you did the right thing if even for a minute that little girl
    felt the warmth of approval. What a living hell she must know. Your
    comments on parents and dreams were beautiful. I guess it's hard for
    all of us to know where our dreams should end and another's be
    allowed to begin. liesl
    

    re .0, .1
    
    You are a wonderful writer.  I laughed through my tears when you took
    the wrong exit.
    
    When I started reading .0, I was warming up to a rebuff on "rage".  Its
    not the kind of emotion I think deserves to come out very often, if
    ever.  Of course, I understand now.
    
    I guess I rage in my own way.  You can be denied credit, a house, a
    job, just about anything.  There are SO many abstract measures of
    success you must have to be allowed to do ANYTHING in this world.
    
    Landlords want to know how cleanly you are, and can deny you your
    home if you are too loud, or if you aren't married, or if you ARE
    married or if you have children.  Companies want to know about your job
    history and your grades in school.  Sometimes life is just living up to
    EVERYONE ELSE'S expectations.
    
    But ANY two people can have a child, no matter WHAT their
    qualifications, or how young they are, or what their ability is to be a
    parent and provide for the child.  And only in the most extreme
    circumstances will there ever be risk that a child would be taken from
    you, no matter how cruelly you treat the child.
    
    I don't think I "rage" at the idea of such a world, but I simmer on
    low-boil.  With luck I'll put this out of my mind somehow before I go
    to sleep. 
    
    Jim
    

    Mel you just made me cry
    
    thank you for what you did for Emma...
    
    Being the mother of a retarded child myself I know I would have
    done something but I don't think I would have done as well as
    you did.
    
    Bonnie

    After reading your story, I had to log out and do something
    else to regain my composure.  
    
    I will think of your story the next time I go temporarily
    insane and say something negative to one of my kids.
    
    Thanks.
    
    Jodi-
    

       "Anger can be foolish and absurd; but when a person is outraged,
       (s)he is at bottom right."
       
             --Victor Hugo (with minor editorial help)

    I hope Emma meets more people like you along the way...
    
    Gail

    After reading the basenote, I can't believe how choked up I am.  Now I
    have even *more* respect for my mother, who raised identical twins and
    a mentally handicapped child with cerebral palsy to boot, with noone
    but herself to depend on when things got tough.  And resepct for my
    step-father, who fell in love with mom and has handled Tracey's
    handicap better than anyone I know.
    
    Tracey will never know what is it like to have a baby, to lay in a
    man's arms, to graduate from school ... all the simple things in life
    we take for granted are such a struggle for her, sometimes
    unattainable.  Finding a job for her is a living hell for my mother,
    because people are so prejudiced against the handicapped, it takes a
    special employer to understand and *want* to take them on.  DEC is one
    of these employers, thank god.  I remember working in Northborough, at
    NR1 and there was a handicapped young man named David that worked
    there.  He had CP and it broke my heart watching him struggle to sweep
    the floors.  But it gave him lots of self-esteem.
    
    My anger at people who talk to the handicapped and physically
    challenged like they are "deaf" is unreal.  It happens to Tracey and I
    all the time.  People will ask questions to Ray through me or my sister
    or mom, like she has no opinion.  And they talk REALLY LOUD like she
    can't hear.  I wish people would be more open minded.
    
    Thanks for the observations ... you did a good thing.  Some people just
    weren't meant to have children.  You need a license to drive, to get
    married, but there are *no* controls over people have children.  Even
    ones that were never *meant* to have children.  Pity, isn't it?
    
    Tammi
    

    Melinda - 
    
    Thank you for reminding me that the divine spark is in all of us,
    children, friends, even those we rage at.  I may not like what people
    do - to me and to others - but I have to love them and forgive them
    because, somewhere inside, they're really just like me.  And we're all
    just trying to do the best we can with what we've got to work with -
    however limited that might be.
    
    Nanci

    The young man that Tammi referred to in Northboro grew up in Marlboro. 
    His father is and has been a wonderful parent to his son.  I remember
    seeing him with David as an infant.  They would walk the streets of the
    city talking and observing life.
    
    A few weeks back, I drove throught Marlboro and I saw David and his 
    father out for a walk.  It is reassuring to know that there are parents
    that love and respect their children.
    
    What Bonnie and Don Reinke and their children have done for Steven is 
    heartwarming as well.  Steven Reinke has literally blossomed from love
    and acceptance.  It appears from an evaluation that Bonnie shared with
    me a few weeks ago Steven will be a productive member of the community. 
    This was not anticipated when Steven was adopted.
    
    I applaud David's father and the Reinkes...and feel saddened that
    Emma's Mother does not know the joy they have found!
    
    

    What a note!! It really did bring tears to my eyes! I give you a TON of
    credit for what you done, because I would have probably did the same
    exact thing!!  A similar incedent happened to me when I was out to
    dinner with my husband at a fast food resturant.  We were sitting and
    having our dinner when a mother comes in with two really cute kids
    around 6 or seven.  Well she was carrying on yelling at the kids
    telling one "You are just like your father!" calling them "stupid" and
    stuff.  I felt so bad for the kids, and wanted to jam my fist down the
    womans throat!!  The other part of me did not want to start any trouble
    (so did my husband ;-) and we just got up and left.  I really give you
    credit for sticking up for that poor little girl! You get a "Thumbs up"
    from me too!
    
    Lynne

    RE: .10 Tammi etal
    David is still here.  he works here in NR5 and I see him every morning.
    when first meeting him a year ago, I felt uneasy, not sure why.  But as
    I learned , REALLY LEARNED, to understand him and what he was saying, I
    felt more comfortable with him.  He always has lots to say and is an
    inspiration to those that feel that things in life are unattainable.
    
    RE: the base... 
    
    Beautiful note!

    re:.15
    
    David's *still* at NRO?  that's GREAT!  I knew him when I was "tagging"
    10 years ago while I was working my way through college!
    
    Tammi
    

    I was in NRO last summer hoping to have lunch with a friend (who I
    managed to miss) and there was an article about David in the plant
    newsletter describing how he was responsible for the recyling program.
    
    Bonnie

    Good writing.
    
    Eugene

    
    Nanci V. just came over here and told me to read this note...
    now I know why.  Talk about inspiration!  Just this morning
    I was mad at my husband, mad at the kids, mad at work, and 
    mad at the WORLD because things weren't the way "Leslie" would 
    like them to be right now.  After reading this note and all the 
    replies, I am thoroughly humbled.  Troubles really do vanish when
    we cease to compare!  
    
    The stories of Emma and David and Steven touched my heart and 
    helped me to remember how very blessed I REALLY AM.
    
    Thanks for sharing.
    Leslie  
    
    
    
       

    Hi Mel,
    
    This is just to say that .0 has the same impact two or three readings
    after the first one -- I just don't laugh as loudly when I get to
    the wrong turn.
    
    But I have wondered why I laughed (and others, too) at that point--
    you had the grace to reveal how caught up you were with the events
    with Emma, but how it was necessary to let them go, to find another
    way to express the inexpressible rage.  I realized only then how
    furious I too had become.
    
    Well, thanks for involving us, and even though I'm only two cubes
    away and usually can say this to your face, thanks again for not
    letting this event pass.

    I also appreciate the replies about downes children, etc.
    
    My girlfriend in college was in special ed.  She told a story about how
    she visited the state hospital for the first time as part of her
    training, and was assigned to a retarded child for the semester.
    
    I always found her account of their first meeting repugnanet, yet
    touching.
    
    She said the children were all naked, in a large, cement-floored room,
    and the idea there of "shower day" was to hose them down with a garden
    hose.
    
    She described her first reaction to her "assignment" as revulsion.  But
    her next response was "This child needs more love than anyone or
    anything in my life".  So, though the child was covered in its own
    excrement, she ran up and hugged for all she was worth.
    
    A very special person, through and through.
    
    After reading these replies, I understand better about loving a
    retarded child.  And I am less apprehensive about the possibility that
    having a child of my own might produce one.
    
    Thank you all, so much, for that.
    
    Jim
    

    How does one get something published in a magazine?  
    
    Mel,
    
       I think your story should be published somewhere where 
    many more people can be touched by its poignancy.  You have
    a beautiful writing style.
    
       Maybe someone here in notes (-bonnie Randall comes to mind)
    can suggest ways of getting a story published in a national
    magazine.  Everyone *needs* to read this story.
    
    Jodi-who_is_still_teary_eyed_just_thinking_about_Emma
    

    re: publication
    
    Mel, I quote from .22
    
    "I think your story should be published somewhere where many
     more people can be touched by its poignancy."
    
    What can I, in my erudite, suave, cosmopolitan way say but. . .
    
    
    See?  See?  I told you so!  Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!
    
    Maturely yours,
    
    Steve (who's been hounding Mel to publish for several months now
    and who would indeed stoop to further embarrass his good friend by
    stating that "Rage" and "Dreams" are just the latest in a marvelous
    collection of short works that Mel has written - more than enough
    to publish in a small book. . .)

    
    Mallett I will get you for this...[grin]
    
    Ahem..
    
    As Steve mentioned, it was he who urged me to post RAGE
    and DREAMS here. So he won one..what can I say?
    
    Thank you all for your wonderful [if somewhat embarrassing]
    comments..I am much more comfortable being seen as a "bitch-lady"
    [chuckle]
    
    Anyway...as to publishing, I am looking into it...suggestions are
    welcome.
    
    Mel

    Mel,
    
    Try the "Womans Day" or "Family Circle Magazine" to put your story in,
    I think it is definatley worth a try!
    
    Lynne

Actually, I'd be delighted to see it get a wider audience, and would
suggest that Newsweek's "My Turn" guest column would seem perfectly suited
for this.  

			Steve

    Hi Mel, and thanks for sharing it.  Its nice to see how special
    Eric is, as well; not many children would handle their first meeting
    with a Downe's Syndrome afflicted child with such acceptance or grace.
    
    And thanks Steve for urging Mel to share this.
    
    And I won't add any 'nyah's but I remember a few suggestions 
    I made re publication last summer ;-).
    
    DougO

    I'd echo Steve's suggestion of Newsweek's 'My Turn' feature.
    
    Bonnie
    
    who thought Mel's writing so good that she got permission to reprint
    it in womannotes so more people could see it.

    Boy, am I going to get in trouble for this reply :^).
    
    I, too, read .0, and it brought tears to my eyes, as well.  But on my
    way home I began to think about Emma's Mom.
    
    And I remembered my relief when my children were born, and they had all
    of their fingers and toes, and they seemed to be "normal".  I can't be
    the ONLY parent ever to check out their new-born children.  And I began
    to think of how AWFUL Emma's Mom must have felt.  Perhaps she and her
    husband had been trying for years to have a baby; perhaps she's afraid
    to try again.  I know the pain she must have felt, because I watched my
    parents go through the heart-ache of having a CP child.
    
    And I remembered the pain of having complete strangers walk up and make
    unkind comments, cruel comments, unthinking comments -- or just
    staring.  I remembered the feeling (not totally unwarranted) of people
    "noticing" that Jim was different, of feeling people's disapproval of
    him, of the need to protect him and myself and my parent from this. 
    And I could see Emma's Mom struggling to keep her daughter "out of
    people's way", trying to avoid with everything in her power yet another
    "confrontation" with someone who doesn't understand, or who sees Emma
    as being in the way, or who cannot see beyond the outward manifestation
    of Down's Syndrome, or who might say something hurtful to Emma or to
    Emma's Mom.
    
    And I cried for Emma's Mom, too.  Because of the unfairness of life,
    which constantly seems to test people beyond their capacity to cope or
    endure.  And I was so thankful that, as a parent, I haven't been so
    tested yet.  I can't "rage" over Emma's Mom; I can feel rage over fate
    (or God, or whatever you want to call it) that tests people this way,
    and then surrounds them with people who have bright, alert, healthy
    children and who have no way of showing any empathy for her.
    
    I cannot even hope to explain to anyone who hasn't been there the
    absolutely ENORMOUS strain it is to care for such a child, often
    without any hope of ever getting out from under.  Bonnie R., you're a
    saint (say hi to Don for me); taking on the responsibility for a
    handicapped child is an extraordinary act of love and caring; not many
    of us could (or would) willingly do so, and I'm in awe of anyone who
    can opt to do that.
    
    For the rest, I rage at the unfairness of Life, and I cry for Emma's
    Mom, and for Emma, and for all of the Moms and Dads and Emmas in the
    world and their oft-times lonely struggle to deal with their lives
    together......
    
    Enough.

    
    Nope, I don't think you are in trouble. You saw the point of
    the essays...you see they are a pair. And DREAMS is an attempt
    to pull myself back from the precipice of RAGE and look at the
    issues you raise in your note.
    
    The fact the you and at least one other intrepid reader had the
    nerve to go against the tide of emotion and point out that
    [at least for you] the justaposition didn't work...
    
    I need to re-work them.  The point I was trying to make in RAGE
    was that rage is just that....illogical anger...anger without
    caution or regard...and I compared it to the equally useless
    rages I felt as a child and young adult against death.
    
    My rage at Emma's mother was equally without reason and
    useless. DREAMS tried to wrestle with how I, a person
    with no *real* experience with such a tragedy, could somehow
    relate this woman's feeling to my own understanding of
    misplaced expectations.
    
    And finally the title RAGE was also a play on words of
    sorts...because Emma's mom must feel RAGE also...yes?
    At her world...at her daughter...and most unhappily,
    probably at herself for not being able to make things
    "alright".
    
    All good writing [I am not saying these are good...just
    making a statement here]....should be able to reach different
    people on different levels. It was perfectly wonderful
    [ahhh...ok....good?] that folks reacted to the emotional
    content of the piece. But, the fact that those readers who
    went beyond that content did not see the connection that the
    writer was trying to make...but in fact saw the writer doing
    exactly what she set out NOT TO DO...then that means they
    need to be reworked....
    
    Or, perhaps the emotional content is just too high in such a topic
    and it would be execceisvely difficult to somehow make the
    negative connection apparant while still keeping the honest
    emotional reaction valid.
    
    The two messages were supposed to be...1) Emotionally it is
    valid to feel outrage when someone...anyone....is "downtroddem"
    2) It is not valid to succomb to unreasoned actions in order to
    deal with this outrage.
    
    The other reader who raised these questions asked me a terribly
    pointed and exciting question...he asked [paraphrased]
    
    "How would you turn the  interchange into a winning situation
    for both you and Emma's Mom the next time?"
    
    Bravo! What a good question. Perhaps with that question in mind, I
    can re-work these two so they do *both* things I was aiming at
    instead of only one.
    
    Thank you!
    
    Melinda

Last night I read your piece in the Notes file entitled "Rage".  Although it 
was very well written, something bothered me about the content.  Had your knife
been sharper than your tongue or had you been packing a gun, would that other 
woman now be dead?  It seems to me that you have skillfully gotten away with 
justifying your anger or did you miss the exit because you were really angry 
with yourself for losing control.  If a situation were to occur like this again
would you act the same way?  How far had you walked in that other woman's shoes?
Perhaps she had been pummeled so much in the past by bigotry that it had 
broken her.  There was no victory here.  Both you and the other woman left the
dentist's office in defeat.  My question to you is "How would you turn this into
a victory the next time around?".  In my opinion, your work, as it stands, is
incomplete and not yet ready for publication but still very thought provoking.

Regards, Don Soule

    re .31
    
    Wow, what an interesting thought. Was she supposed to pull up a
    couch and perform a decade of analysis to find the real reason this
    woman abuses her daughter? I think not. Did she resolve anything
    with her remarks? Probably not, but it beats the hell out of the
    multitude of people that have seen this abuse going on and said
    nothing. Maybe if enough people show the daughter some kindness
    she'll realize that there are other ways that people treat each other. 
    
    It's to bad that it couldn't be turned into a win-win situation
    but that is part of what makes us all hurt when we read it.
    We all feel the frustration of the loss.
    
    I say print the story as is. The story isn't complete but this is not
    a Paul Harvey editorial, we may never know the rest of the story.
    I think it should be shared so that others may add their own ending should
    a similar situation arise. This is a story not a scientific study
    it needn't be  complete to be ready for publication. 
    
    Gail
    

RE.: .32


>    ... this woman abuses her daughter ... this abuse going on ...

Abuse? Read the story again. There was no mention of the child
looking neglected or depressed. Emma was there for the purpose of
caring (dentally) for her. She had 100% of the mother's attention at
all time. 

'Abuse' means something else entirely. 

The mother was protective. We do not know that she was
over-protective. Quite possibly, she was not. She was controlling.
Again, we do not know whether she was over-controlling. Perhaps,
this is what Emma really needs. She was ordering Emma about -
possibly, for Emma's own good. We have no idea what the child could
be doing (maybe, kicking Eric in the shin), had the mother not kept
such a close eye on her. We have no idea how the child had conducted 
herself in the past. 

What you found in the story is a glimpse into five minutes out of
several years of the child's life. The mother had been around all
these years, nurturing the child so that she would be able to
properly conduct herself in a public place. We have no idea how the
child would have behaved (or had behaved in the past) otherwise. 

It's easy to pass judgment. Especially, on others. Especially, when
we do not have all the facts. Especially, when we do not fully
understand the issues involved. I wonder how painfully aware of all
this is Emma's mother and if so - how it affects **her** behaviour. 

-- Ron 

    Wow, this is amazing.  First it was the mother's fault.  Then it was
    Mel's fault.  Now it is the little girl's fault.  I know by writing
    this note, I am risking the chance that it may eventually be my fault.
    But I still think it is good writing, and the story complete.  Those
    stories that resolve everything and leave nothing to imagination 
    have very little redeeming value.
    
    Eugene

RE.: .34

>    Wow, this is amazing.  First it was the mother's fault.  Then it was
>    Mel's fault.  Now it is the little girl's fault.

I don't think there is a question of 'fault' here, unless you want 
to fault fate.

I certainly doubt anyone would fault the base note author (hi,
Melinda) for having spoken kindly to the little girl. 

And, I sure hope you don't think I faulted the girl in my previous
reply. The point I was making (or trying to make) was that no
judgment should be passed on the mother, based on the emotions,
rather than facts, in .0. To loosely quote from a very ancient Book: 
"do not judge others, until you have occupied their space". 

-- Ron

Wow.

And thanks, from me and from emma.

Grins,

clark

ps - I don't know emma, I'll probably never meet her, and she'll probably
never be able to tell you what what you did for her meant to her, and that
is the sad part.

    
    I'm all for viewing both sides of an issue. It's an often neglected
    part of making a good decision. But in real life we don't always
    have both sides and having a "good" reason to do something doesn't
    necessarily negate the action that results.

    Perhaps the mother had a bad day, pershaps she was reacting to years
    of sneers by strangers. Does that make her treatment of the child
    any less degrading and hurtful? If the events Mel depicted in her
    essay happened in the order she stated that little girl was abused
    emotionaly. First she was told to sit then yelled at for sitting and
    told to stand up and remove her coat. If you trained an animal that
    way it would become psychotic and not know how to respond to a given
    command.

    We are all subject to stress and life conditions that may someday be
    too much for us to bear. Will that excuse us if we take that
    frustration out on a child? liesl

RE.: .37

>    ... we don't always have both sides

When we don't have both sides, we shouldn't make snap judgments.


>    ... having a "good" reason to do something doesn't necessarily
>    negate the action that results.

But if you do not know all aspects of the issue, you also do not
know that the action that resulted isn't exactly what's needed. 


>    Does that make her treatment of the child any less degrading
>    and hurtful?

You are viewing 'degrading' and 'hurtful' by your own standards,
which may --or may not-- be valid for the little girl. The mother's
behaviour could be exactly what the little girl needs


>    We are all subject to stress and life conditions that may
>    someday be too much for us to bear. Will that excuse us if we
>    take that frustration out on a child?

You are assuming quite a bit not in evidence.

But even accepting your assumptions as fact, still, no one has the
right to judge or criticize the mother, who apparently had brought
up and nurtured the kid up to that point and presumably is the best
judge as to what's best for her. 

-- Ron

    re .33
    
    Yes I read it again, and yes in the brief snapshot of Emma's life
    presented here I saw abuse. If nothing more than emotional abuse.
    I might have been able to dismiss her harsh commands to sit, stand
    etc., as a bad day, but I could not dismiss this:          
    
    >"Is Emma your daughter?"

    >"Unfortunately, yes..."

    Loving mothers don't accidentally say this, it is a state of mind.
    Very likely she treats Emma in a demeaning manner with some regularity,
    I consider that emotional abuse. How is any child especially one
    with Emma's problems going to understand that it is her mother that has
    a problem, and that she is not bad.
    
    
    Gail

    
    God bless you, Melinda Regnell!
    
    (Try "My Turn" in Newsweek.)
    
    johnson

RE.: .39

>    >"Is Emma your daughter?"
>
>    >"Unfortunately, yes..."
>
>    Loving mothers don't accidentally say this, it is a state of mind.

If my daughter was suffering from such a horrible disease, I, too, 
would refer to it as 'unfortunate'. Internally, I would call it a 
disaster, a tragedy, a catastrophe. This would not be an accidental 
fleeting thought, but a continuous state of mind.

I am a man. I imagine a mother's thoughts would be --if possible-- 
even more intense. Before you pass judgment on her, think what 
**your** attitude would be, as a loving mother.

That's not abuse. That's understanding and reconciling with the 
realities of life.


>    Very likely she treats Emma in a demeaning manner with some
>    regularity

You assume a lot not in evidence. 

Perhaps the treatment Emma gets is exactly what the doctor ordered,
literally. 

Perhaps at home, Emma gets tons of TLC, but needs to be sternly
controlled when in public. 

-- Ron 

No parent, mother or father, who loves their child would use the term
"unfortunately" in acknowledging the child as theirs.  This one word speaks
volumes to me about the relationship between Emma and her mother.

But, in the greater sense, knowing the "true story" here doesn't really
matter, as there is a lot to learn from Mel's tale, even if it turns out
to not accurately reflect the situation.  This is not a trial of Emma's
mother (or ought not to be), but a piercing inquiry into our society's
values and how we treat those such as Emma.

It's a story worth telling.

			Steve

    For whom is it "unfortunate," the Mother or the daughter?
    
    Down's syndrome is not a disease.  It is a syndrome caused by genetic
    makeup of the individual.  The only affects it has is in appearances
    and intellectual capacity which varies from individual to individual.
    Down's Syndrome is not degenerative, although there may be pysical
    problems associated with it.  Having worked in many group homes
    with Downs people of all ages, I've found most of them are very
    friendly and many of them can live with a high level of independence.
      
    	Anyway, as a student in counseling psychology and one who is
    volunteering a lot of time in the field of human services, the attitude
    of Emma's mother is alarmingly common. I don't believe that Emma's
    mother is concerned about the effects of Down's syndrome, but only
    what burden the child is on her. This attitude is quite prevelant
    in our society and has nothing to do with whether the child is ill
    or affected in some way. There are a considerable number of mothers
    (and fathers) who treat children as if they exist for the parent
    and have no identity of their own.  The state and private hospitals
    and residences are full of emotionally disturbed children.  These
    children don't all of a sudden wake up one day and their parents
    discover that they are emotionally disturbed. If any of you had
    the experience of hearing the a rather typical conversation between
    parents and their emotionally disturbed children, you might wonder
    how that child is managing as well as he or she is. Is it normal
    to call a daughter up in the middle of the night and tell her that
    her Grandfather has died (whom she was really close to) then a few
    hours later call her up and tell her that he was ok?  Yes, the daughter
    (young adult) is having serious emotional problems.  Is it a wonder, 
    though, if someone in a primary relationship has treated her for years
    in this manner?
   	I am not pointing fingers at Emma's mother or any individual.
     But emotional abuse is proving to be more prevelant than physical
    abuse.  Physical abuse is just more easily discovered and proved
    than emotional abuse.  
       
    Instead of going into RAGE, I decided to change careers from technology
    to counseling psychology and attempt to do something for those children and
    hopefully their parents.  Rage serves the situation not one bit
    other than help us cope with a seemingly irreparable situation.
                             
    No this is not a trial of Emma's mother or anyone like her.  Hopefully,
    though, the experience of .0 and Emma's mother may have been an
    educational lesson (however small) that may start that mother on the road
    to understanding.
                     
    
    Ernie
    

    Ron,
    
    Downs syndrome or other types of retardation are NOT a horrible
    disease!
    
    Further, Down's syndrome children are generally quite easy going
    and do not need to be firmly controlled in public.
    
    My son Steven is the mental and emotional age of 8 at 15. He tends
    to do odd things in public like flap his hands stick out his tongue,
    put his head in his lap, etc... but no pyschologist would ever
    contenance keeping from doing those things by the kind of behavior
    that Mel observed.
    
    For my self, I pity Emma's mother. I'm no saint for having adopted
    Steven, but it is much easier to choose to take a handicaped or
    retarded child than to have such a child born to you. 
    
    Bonnie

    Re: .0  
    	Thank you.  Your effect on the world is likely much greater than
    you can guess...  Great piece, and I'm very fussy!
    
    Dave E
    

    
    When I first read Ron's reply, I just stepped away from it.  Then, I
    came back to more replies to this note, and the feelings from Ron's
    reply returned.
    
    All I can say is I'm glad he is not a parent of mine or a parent to my
    sons.  That attitude can do such great harm to a child, no matter how
    it is meant.  The child doesn't see anything beyond the word
    unfortunately and the definition the child knows.  Everytime a child
    would hear something like that the child's image and self-worth would
    be destroyed just a little more.
    
    No child deserves that, no matter what!
    

    
    Ron would choose to see a Downs child as unfortunate or a catastrophe. 
    Bonnie chose to see a Downs child as a warm loving person. 
    
    It's perception, is the glass half empty or half full, or in this
    case, is the child half ill or half well. Individually we have to
    make the choice, and then we react based on the choice. I prefer
    Bonnie's choice.
    
    Gail

RE.: .44:


>    Downs syndrome or other types of retardation are NOT a horrible
>    disease!

Who for? For me, having a retarded child would have been horrible.
For you, apparently, it is not. What is it then, a blessing? Can you
point at any one who would find it a source of joy? 

I admire your decision to adopt this boy. But, surely you realize
that your point of view is different than that of a mother who is
hit by the discovery that her own daughter is retarded? For her, it
is a horrible discovery. In one mother's own words, "A life-long
lasting heartache". 


>    Further, Down's syndrome children are generally quite easy going
>    and do not need to be firmly controlled in public.

I know. 'Generally' is key. You may also know that some do need firm
control. Emma wasn't punished or manhandled. She was spoken to
firmly.


>    For my self, I pity Emma's mother.

So do I. Apparently, on different grounds. You may recall that my
original response simply said that no one has the right to pass
judgment on her. 

Reflect back. Have you ever been angry at your adopted son? Did you
ever dismiss him, spank him, yell at him? Did you ever do ANYTHING
that would cause some well meaning, pious, self righteous complete
stranger to pass judgment and condemn you on the basis of a second
hand three minute fleeting observation, concluding that you are a
bad, bad mother? 

-- Ron

I really enjoyed the two pieces.  Very thought provoking.
For me, trying to see the whole, including the alienation Emma's mother
must be experiencing was the most insightful part.  I can't imagine
a more important message for our time.  You have a beautiful way
of writing.

- Peter

    Downs syndrome children are a joy...once you get beyond their
    difference.  As Bonnie said they are very loving and affectionate by
    nature.
    
    If the author of .48 was talking about autistic children I might be in
    agreement...and if Emma was autistic her mother might have my
    sympathy.  
    
    The characteristics, abilities and potential of children with Downs
    Syndrome has been documented.  With love and attention they thrive.
    
    Negative behavior with children in public shows a lack of respect.  As
    a husband of such a women you would not expect to be treated as Emma
    was.  Children have rights and deserve the same respect we expect of 
    others to us.
    
    
    
    

    Ron,
    
    Yes I have been angry at Steven, yes, I have yelled at him, and
    even spanked him. I'm not a saint as I said before. Nevertheless,
    I have always been affectionate and supportive of my children and
    would not tear any of them down in the fashion described by
    Mel's original note.
    
    and there are many people who find joy in parenting a Down's syndrome
    or other retarded child that came to them  by birth. My neighbor
    down the road has two Down syndrome children. The first was born to
    her, the second she adopted. She gets great joy from both her
    daughters. I knew another family when I lived in the Stow Maynard area
    who had a Downs syndrome child where there was great love and joy in
    the family over their daughter's life and achievments. Or for a more
    public example, the parents of the young man who plays Corkie on
    "Life Goes On" have talked about the pride and joy they have in their
    son.
    
    Yes it is possible to have joy in the life of a retarded or otherwise
    handicapped child.
    
    Bonnie

         CONVERSATIONS IN ROOM 103

         ---

         Back in the 60's,Room 103 at the elementary school in 
         Gorham was the room where they put the special needs kids. 
         This was the era of separate-and-special. The kids
         that yesterday were sitting up the aisle from you
         throwing spitballs in your hair were now locked away in
         room 103...never to be seene again until high school when
	 emerged from a strange and alien world into a thoughtless
	 one.

         Probably for children with no "before-room-103" to
         compare the present with...the fact that Sally and
         Johnny were now in Room 103 had very little impact. For those
         of us caught in the years of transition, the effect was
         quite real and unfortunately delinieal.

         All the amenities of everyday life for a school-age
         child were removed from our interaction with these, our
         former classmates. We didn't eat with them anymore...we
         didn't play kickball with them anymore...we couldn't
         tease them anymore. Besides protecting and nurturing the
         removal of children to room 103 isolated them forever.

         Anyway...this is really not a plea for mainstreaming...
         it is something else again.

         ---

         When I was in high school, I was part of Camp Fire
         Girls; those intrepid female boy-scout impersonators.
         We had to all go find a community service to do for our
         junior year, so I went and offered to help out in Room
         103. I learned several things that year.

         I met Johnny who couldn't talk or wouldn't. He could,
         however, play the piano. By ear. Perfectly. The first
         time. Hum him a tune and he would play it back to you.
         I spent a lot of time with Johnny. His smile was enough
         to make a teenage female just die with maternal urges
	 ...and I did once a week.

         And I met Neddy. Neddy didn't talk either. She was solitary
         and seemed angry at everyone all the time. But she could
         draw such perfect likenesses of anything that you didn't
         believe she had done it unless you watched her do it.
         She drew animals and landscapes...anything, but never
         people. Working with her was a chore but I steeled myself 
         thinking how charitable I was being to give of my time to this
         poor little waif who would never experiecne life to the
         fullest. [You know, the mental/emotional content of
         pre-20 females is what trashy romance novels are made
         of...too bad we can't figure out a way to bottle it...]

         And most important, I learned I am not cut
         from whatever cloth it is they use to make special needs
         teachers. I lack...well, just about everything it takes.
         I am inconstant...I change my mind too often and too
         whimsically to provide the steadfast rock that these
         folk who often are perennially bounced about need. And I
         am too emotional...both positively and negatively. I cry
         and anger too quickly, again, to provide grounding for
         folks that are subject to wild sways in emotion
         themselves. And [to me] the only surprise in the bunch...
         I am not strong enough. Me, the bitch-lady....folding
         under the punch. I never would have believed it.

         The special needs teacher was Mickey Boutillier. He was a
         huge man in girth and height...looming impressively over
         everyone in the school, much less his little kids and
         much less me at my soon-to-be-adult height of 4 foot 10
         inches. His hand was big enough to pick up a basketball
         in the palm. In our adolescent cruelty, we used to make
         up jokes about him and his kids....how when he got mad,
         he would just sit on one of the "specials". As
         adolescence gave way to pubesence...his very male size
         and stature was enough to send most young females
         giggling into the girls' room...and enough to make most
         young males pop an octave.

         Well, I wasn't "that" scared of him. I remember the day
         that he preached a sermon to a friend of mine...[she had
         shown up for her work stint, I had not...pleading a need
         to study...in reality I was lazy]...about the need to
         fullfill one's obligations. And I mean sermon...capital
         "S" and all. Brenda came back to school in tears. I was
         outraged.

         I stormed out of school. I marched across town to the
         elemntary school. I pounded on the teachers' room door
         [I really don't know where I got the courage to do
         that.],and demanded to speak to him. 

         He stood in the door way...the door open...teachers in
         all stages of recovery sprawled in the chairs behind him
         while I upbraided him on the ettiquette of correcting
         misbehavior...about his responsibility to address his
         concerns to the miscreant, not some poor self-effacing
         by-stander. I was eloquent.

         He was gallant. And very contrite. And then he
         gave me the sermon on fullfilling one's obligations. I
         didn't cry...but it was a struggle. And he did apologise
         in public to Brenda...so I guess we came out even on
         that one.
                           
         I remember taking a field trip with this class. "Field
         trip" for these students amounted to walking the two 
         blocks to main street and practising crossing without
         getting run over. There were fifteen little kids. All
         standing stock still at the crosswalk watching this
         giant look both ways once, twice, then cross.

         I was metally practicing a madrigal when I was abruptly
         jarred to my senses by a scream. I looked up in time to
         see him slap Neddy. She screamed again. [In
         retrospect I am almost certain the scream was anger and
         not pain...but at 17...a scream was a scream.] She had
         not done the crossing routine right. She was slapped every
         time she did it wrong until finally she did it
         correctly. Then she was hugged.

         I was irate. I was appalled. If I had had a bossom to
         speak of in those days, I would have clutched it. I was
         beyond myself, I was so angry at his actions. It
         happened to be a day I was practicing being "grown-up"
         so I waited until after school to attack him on the
         point.

         "How could you do such a thing?"

         "Which...?"

         "How could you strike that child?" [I was also
         practicing being important, and 'hit that kid' didn't
         make it...]

         "She needed to learn what I was teaching her."

         "Oh, great teaching technique! Beat her up and she'll
         never get run over...Jesus!"

         "Sit down!"

         I sat...involuntarily. Then I smoldered.

         "You know that little girl?"

         "Mmmmm..."

         "You know how she never remembers one thing to the next?
         How she wanders from this place to that? How she forgets
         everything?"

         "Mmmmm...."

         "I can't fix that. I can't even make a dent in it."

         He wasn't even looking at me anymore. He was looking
         very hard at a picture that Neddy had drawn of a
         goldfish.

         "But I can make sure she never walks out in front of a
         car and gets run over. I am going to train her just like
         a little puppy. She is going to learn that if she steps
         off a sidewalk without looking, it is going to hurt.
         God help me, she WILL learn not to step off a curb 
         without looking."

         I was trying for all my worth to be invisible.

         "Get out of here."

         I got. 

         I learned a lot that year in Room 103; not the least of
         which included some of my own limitations.

    
    I think we are not hearing what Ron is saying...but
    rather what we *think* he is saying.
    
    Heaven knows I have spent some delightful times arguing
    with him over his [to my taste] too [insert your favorite
    explitive here] sexist-authoritarian views of just about
    everything from kleenex to sex...
    
    But in this case...[minus his true talent for inflammatory
    rhetoric]...I think he is making a valid point that is *part*
    of the issue raised in .0 and .1.
    
    To the casual observer, the man in ROOM 103 was doing quite
    the same type [even worse it was physical] of thing that the
    Mother in RAGE was doing. Yet this man was a trained professional,
    recipient of many awards in his field, author of articles and books
    on the subject...and his professional judgement at that point in time
    was that the student needed physical [and harmless...he didn't haul off
    and wallop her...he just brushed her cheek] reinforcement.
    
    That is NOT to say that all people who treat children with handicaps
    are practicing enlightened Pavlovian science...far from it! But, I
    believe Ron's point was that...we DON"T REALLY KNOW, DO WE?
    
    So...any uninformed action...no matter how well meaning., may have been
    wide of the mark.
    
    I do not regret my actions in RAGE...I would most likely do it again.
    But I am forced to admit and query the very real lack of evidence with
    which I acted.
    
    Melinda

    
    
    Thinking out loud...
    
    	All anger comes from pain.
    
    	Emma's mother was in pain.
    
    	Emma will, if not already, be in pain as the result of her mother's
    	behavior.
    
    	Mel is in pain from having watched a slice of Emma and her mother's
    	life.
    
    	I, for my own reasons, am in pain from listening to Mel's
    	remarkabley well written account.
    
    	Ron, for his own reasons, is in pain from listening to Mel's
    	account and other's responses.
    
    	I, for one, am bullshit at whatever it is in we human beings
    	that makes us so damned mean when we're hurt.
    
    Just thinking out loud. Thanks for listening.
    
    
    
    
    	

    re .0 - .1:
    
    Marvelous!!!

    Re: .53
    
    Melinda, I agree.  If you can get past the rhetoric (in "Ron's" reply)
    to the main point, we don't ever know the full story, nor can we ever. 
    It calls to mind the saying "There's your side, and my side, and the
    cold hard truth".
    
    It is VERY important to be mindful that there may be sides to an issue
    that we don't see, and we should temper our tendency to judge. 
    Notefiles are great at bringing out different points of view that we
    may not have considered.
    
    *BUT* ...
    
    There can also be a danger in temperance - a loss of passion, of drive,
    of desire.  I read here that at least one noter changed livelihood,
    presumably from a strong desire to make a change, to make a difference.
    
    Such decisions may be carefully thought out, but not to the extent that
    you are rationalized into inactivity.
    
    We all do things from passion.  Often, we do things that we regret all
    through our lives.  Sometimes we get carried away. 
    
    But I think doing the wrong thing without thinking (enough) is better
    than doing nothing while you wallow in indecision.
    
    Melinda, the actions you described in your story may have been
    justifiable or it may not have.  But it was done based on honest,
    healthy, caring emotions.  It was done to show concern.  It was a way
    of trying to help.  There could be no wrong or right.  You did what you
    had to do - there is no damnation in that.
    
    But your story has nothing to do with what you did or didn't do.  It
    had nothing to do with whether the woman was a saint or a sinner.  Your
    story was a rekindling of the emotions you felt, which was honest and
    painfully accurate.  You helped us FEEL something you felt.  I like to
    think that *MOST* people who read it will feel triumph at what you did,
    as well as some disconcertedness.  
    
    AFTER its been read, AFTER the emotions have cooled, the reader might
    question what you did.  But I believe that no one, at least on the
    first reading, questions the honesty of the emotion, or has difficulty
    empathizing.
    
    The ability to let the reader feel these emotions, second-hand as it
    were, is the value of your writing, your gift.  Perhaps Socrates wrote
    great truths.  And perhaps you are not a Socrates.  But I think we have
    all the facts and data we need today - all the "truth".
    
    I think what we sometimes lose track of in our debates for and against
    this and that is the emotions driving people to do what they do.  Its
    easy to be emotional about your OWN side.  But how precious the ability
    to let others see and feel the emotions of the OTHER side as if they were
    our own.
    
    I am cursed with being able to dissect an issue logically, to see both
    sides, to weigh the merits and demerits.  I can tell you whether
    something makes "sense".  I can tell you what is fair or just.  But
    like Spock in Star Trek IV, I am sometimes taken by surprise by the
    question "How do YOU feel?".  Its easy to get caught up in the "what
    ifs" and "how abouts" and ignore the feelings.
    
    Eugene said: "But I still think it is good writing, and the story
    complete.  Those stories that resolve everything and leave nothing to
    imagination  have very little redeeming value."
    
    And I agree completely.  Representing both sides logically and
    completely and fairly is not necessary or always good.  In your
    writing, you are not trying to answer everyone's questions or solve
    everyone's problems.  Everyone has to do that on their own.  
    
    But you ARE helping them see a different side of themselves and others,
    to be in touch with parts of themselves they may not have seen before. 
    And hopefully by having done that, you have helped them to make their
    own decisions more wisely and more completely.
    
    Melinda, with your writing you have done your job.  The rest of us are
    now trying to do ours.
    
    Jim
    

    re:-.1
    
    Wow

    Although altogether and totally independent in substance and style, the
    following story nevertheless is a sort of continuation of Rage (.0).
    One disclaimer though, unlike .0, this  story is following the southern
    tradition of tall-taletelling.   :-)
    
    One more thing, if Melinda has any objections of my "borrowing
    her set", I will write a different beginning and thus make my story
    completely separate from .0.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
                <<< HSSWS1::DUA0:[NOTES$LIBRARY]PROSE.NOTE;1 >>>
                             -< Creative Writing >-
================================================================================
Note 209.1                  The Mouse Among the Cats                      1 of 1
HPSTEK::XIA "In my beginning is my end."            267 lines  19-FEB-1990 14:01
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





			The Mouse Among the Cats

			
			Copywrite by Eugene Z. Xia


	     For a moment, Nancy was back on that fateful sunny 
	afternoon when she saw that ferocious monster with glaring 
	eyes and sharp teeth almost sticking out of its wide open 
	mouth roaring down the hill and the doomed and mortified man 
	riding the beast trying desperately to stop its fierce charge, 
	but to no avail.  "Riiich!" she heard the trembling echo of 
	her own screaming in despair when Rich, startled by the piercing 
	voice, instantly turned to the direction of her eyes.  Within a 
	split-second, his body shot up like a bullet whizzing 
	towards the road, and she could almost see the muscle spasms on 
	his face even though he was running away from her.  Time seemed 
	to be frozen for a brief instant, then abruptly, myriads of 
	images flooded in front of her, gyrating faster and faster till
	the sun turned pitch black.

	     It seemed a life time had elapsed since she had the 
	accounting job in that large department chain store 
	when Rich's company was chosen to build a computer network 
	that would connect all the stores together.  The memory of 
	that life had been largely washed away by that everlasting
	stream of indifferent time except for a brief period of six 
	months when Rich worked in her office, testifying to the 
	strength of their love.  Suddenly, her frantic personal world
	of party-crashing and bar-dancing was replaced by Cape Ann's 
	deserted beach fronts mesmerized by the peaceful ocean waves, 
	and her boring stoic desolate accounting job turned into an 
	infinite variety of expressions of passion and love.  But 
	paradoxically, life seemed to become peaceful and uneventful.
	But that was before she told him of her pregnancy, and in an 
	instance she was cast into a rollercoster which took over 
	control of her destiny that would soon be filled with wines of 
	sweet and bitter taste.  

	     There were baby clothes, miniature shoes and socks, hand 
	crafted cradle of exquisite taste and toys of all creatures invading
	their house before she heard the first heart beat that gave
	the emerging life its separate identity.  She and Rich could spend 
	hours listening to those faint murmurs that were often either
	indistinguishable or drown out by her own and by the occasional
	contemplation on the world their baby would grow in, and then
	Rich would insist on buying bio-degradable diapers.  "We have to 
	think more about the future now," he would say.  

	     Then on a hot sultry summer afternoon, Rich and she
	were summoned into her doctor's office.

	     "How are you today? Mr. and Mrs. Scot...  Please sit down and
	make yourselves comfortable.  Would you like to have some coffee?"  
	behind the mahogany desk that dominated the room rose the silver 
	haired Dr. Steward who seemed to be unusually friendly and
	informal on that particular day.

	     "So what is the verdict?", She asked anxiously.  "Is it 
	a boy or a girl?  Rich and I have placed a bet.  He bet on a 
	boy and I on a girl, and if he is right, then he gets to name 
	him; otherwise, the honor will be mine," she winced at the old 
	doctor with a devious and a somewhat childish smile.

	     "Mrs. Scot...," Dr. Steward cleared his throat, "... Nancy, 
	there is something I think you should know."  He opened the 
	folder in front of him, revealing a chart with two dozen 
	pairs of black marks of irregular shapes.

	     "You see, this particular one has a different shape from that 
	of a normal one", said Dr. Steward pointing at a particular 
	pair on the second roll at the same time avoiding her eye contact.  

	     "You mean our baby has down syndrome?", she almost 
	jumped up then interjected without letting the doctor finish 
	his sentence.  

             She held the chart and slowly she took a pencil from 
	the mahogany desk and began to scratch on it as if to challenge 
	the divine sentence so brutally cast on her unfortunate baby.  
	Silence fell that seemed to have lasted for eternity....  Finally, 
	with his arm around Nancy,  Rich leaned forward, and saw all the 
	crosses she made on the chart.  "Thank you doctor." he said.  His 
	voice was nonchalant and empty, but she could feel the emotion 
	behind it.

	     "Would you like to come here some other time to discuss,
	uh... some of the options we have?", Dr. Steward stood up in 
	a sympathetic voice.  

	     "Thank you Dr. Steward, we will let you know."  They both 
	knew exactly the kind of option Dr. Steward was talking about.

	     Half way home, in their recently bought mini-van, 
	she broke the silence:  

	     "What are we going to do?"

	     "It is your decision."   After a brief silence, he added, 
	"but I don't envy you, Nance," and she could see the muscle 
	spasms on his face.  

	     "I know that, but I want to hear what you have to say."

	     "I love you."

	     More silence followed.

	     "What if you were the baby?"

	     "You know what I want to be done in case I am in a 
	vegetative state."

	     "But what if you are only somewhat retarded?"

	     "It won't make any difference to me," he finished his sentence
	with a strong emphasis on the word "me".

	     More silence reigned and finally she said "Of course, 
	this is what you say right now, and are you sure you would 
	have felt the same if you are already in that state?"

	     "I can't answer that."

			* * *

	     "So it's a girl.  What are we going to call her?" Rich was 
	looking at their baby through the window. 

	     "Why do I always end up doing everything."  She pretended to 
	sigh and gently nudged her elbow at his ribs.

	     "Lassie, a deal is a deal.  It is a girl, so you have to name 
	her.", said Rich smiling.  

	     "Any suggestions?"  

	     "... Well, do you know the famous British writer who were 
	both blind and deaf?"

	     "Helen?  Hmm, but it is like naming your kid after Einstein.  
	Too much pressure."

	     "You love to read Jane Austin, don't you?"

	     "Alright, it will be Emma then.  Emma Lee Scot."

	     "I already got my 'Scot' in her name.  Maybe we should call 
	her Emma Nancy Scot." said Richard Lee Scot feebly.

	     "Lee goes natural with Emma.  Besides, it is my choice."

	     Rich thought for a moment and conceded the point.


	     So she quit her job to take care of Emma, and for a 
	moment she thought she could be back in the job market within 
	3 years, but Emma was different.  Through out those years, 
	Rich had maintained his sense of humor and his cheerfulness, 
	but somehow his optimism had been eroded and he became less and 
	less certain of himself.  Sex gradually lost his interest.  
	First it was three times a week, then once a week, and finally 
	once a month and it became more like so many of his other burdens 
	of responsibility.  "I am getting old." he would joke, but she 
	knew the real reason.  Rich was still blaming himself for Emma's 
	problem.  Oh he understood perfectly well that it was not his fault.  
	"Don't be silly," he would say, "the chance of it being my fault 
	is perhaps as remote as being hit by two trucks on the same day 
	at the same spot."  But that wasn't really the point because 
	she also knew that he FELT it was his fault, at least partially.

	     When Emma was five, her little heart developed a faulty 
	valve that needed major surgery to correct, and they had to
	find extra income fast so they didn't have to sell their house.  
	Then came that fateful day when Rich rushed back home all excited 
	announcing that he had found a second job, or as he called, it 
	a "moonlighting" job.  "Now Emma can have her surgery and we can 
	still save our house.  It's an occasion that calls for a 
	celebration.  Let's go out and have a picnic."  Rich waved the 
	envelope in his right hand and lift her up, turned around once 
	and dashed to the mini-van leaving her to prepare the food 
	basket.

	     "A hundred bottles of beer...  Woops, not in front of 
	the children...  A hundred bottles of milk on the wall, 
	a hundreds of bottles of milk....", but soon he switched to 
	the love songs of Mozart's Figaro although she knew he couldn't 
	read a word of Italian.  "Fan tutti fan tutti, we are all
	bozos..." she couldn't suppress a smile as his voice rose to a 
	climax.

	     Then it all happened, happened so suddenly.  she had just
	set up the picnic table.  Rich, in high spirit, was running 
	around trying to help, but she new he could only do worse, 
	so she sent him away to take a walk.  

	     "Ok, it is all set, you just come..." she was then stuck 
	with a horrible sight.  Emma who went to play with a group of kids
	a minute ago had wondered onto the nearby road (they probably
	didn't want to play with her), and a truck was gliding down the 
	hill.  "Emma!", she screamed, then saw that Rich was just about 
	100 yards away from Emma.  "Riiiich", she heard the name came 
	out of her lung with screeching pain...

	     The next thing she remembered was the sight of blood, 
	the wrecked truck almost tumbled over by the side of the road, 
	and the hysterical crying of the truck driver's widow at the 
	truck's CB radio, and the ambulance and the men doing mouth to 
	mouth resuscitations.  

	     "Oh my baby, my baby", she cried out, but it was Rich's 
	blood she saw, and she found the small body of Emma with her 
	face badly bruised, with an expression of absolute terror, an 
	expression she would never forget for the rest of her life.  
	Rich had pushed her away from the road when the truck came 
	running down.

	     There she saw him sleep, resting there peacefully as 
	if to recuperate from all the labor and hardship of his life 
	while the pumps and tubes around him were doing his work for him.  

	     "Take all the time you need, my darling," she whispered, 
	but she had no doubt as to what she was going to do, and 
	after signing all the legal documents, Rich was removed from 
	the life support unit.  His heart, liver and the still functioning
	kidney were removed, but she couldn't bring herself to go through 
	the last item on Rich's will and donate his remaining body to 
	Harvard medical school.

	     "You have always respected my wishes, but forgive me,
	I couldn't do the same to you," so she did the next best 
	thing--she cremated the remaining body and on a Sunday 
	morning scattered the ashes on the beaches of Cape Ann to be 
	washed away by the early morning tie.

			* * *

	     She came to herself when she heard a door slam followed
	by the start of a car engine, and her moist eyes looked
	up and saw the poster of one mouse among the hundred cats.
	"When I am in a bad mood, I always concentrate on some technical 
	problem or solve some puzzles," she heard Rich's voice 
	resonating in her head.   She wondered over to the poster and 
	began to search for the mouse.  She felt a bit dizzy as her eyes 
	swept across the faces of the cats densely packed into one poster, 
	but she soon came to herself and began a systematic search.

	     "Mommy, are you looking for the mouse too?", a timid voice came 
	up from her left side.  

	     "Yes Emma", then realizing that she had dropped the "Lee".

	     "It's right there", Emma pointed to a section of the poster 
	that Nancy had already gone through.

	     "Where?" Nancy lifted her up.

	     "There", Emma pointed at the little mouse triumphantly.  There
	stood timidly a small mouse in her own world surrounded by
	a hundred predatory cats--smiling cats, laughing cats, angry cats,
	sardonic cats and even sympathetic cats.  "Get out of their way, 
	Emma!  Don't just stand there!"  She almost blurred out again.

    RE .57 .58 .59,
    
    Sorry for all the submission and resubmission of .59, the text now is
    in .59
    
    Eugene

.50>    Downs syndrome children are a joy...once you get beyond
.50>    their difference.  As Bonnie said they are very loving
.50>	and affectionate by nature.
    
.51>    Yes it is possible to have joy in the life of a retarded
.51>    or otherwise handicapped child.

But neither reply addresses what we are talking about here. Yes,
children can and do bring joy to our lives, regardless of the
problems they have or cause. But, in the .0 narrative, the mother is
asked whether the kid is hers, in the context of the kid's obvious
problem. She is referring to the unfortunate aspect of having a
retarded child, not responding to the question of whether or not the
child brings happiness to her life. 

Regardless of whether a child brings joy to the parents, it **is**
unfortunate, to say the least, when he/she is retarded.

-------------------------------------------------------

I would understand (if not condone) readers' criticism of the
mother, had she made the remark in the child's presence; but Emma
was busy finding a mouse and the mother was talking to another
mother (of an obviously healthy kid), who was apparently very
sympathetic to Emma. We do not know that she ever allows herself
that kind of expression within the kid's earshot or even that she is
normally disposed to feel that way. 

I still refute anyone's right to criticize --let alone, pass 
judgment on-- an unfortunate mother, based on a fleeting glimpse in 
a dentist's office.

But the world is full of self appointed, self righteous preachers,
the big brothers who know what's good for everybody else and how
everybody else should conduct themselves. Such people will often 
form their own interpretation of reality, that has nothing to do 
with facts.

So, if you are one of these saints, why don't you pass judgment on
.51's author, based on a brief glimpse of her spanking (see her own
admission) her boy. You don't need to know the circumstances or
consider it was probably to his own good. You can ignore the love
and warmth she provides. You may be oblivious to the day-to-day
caring and support the boy receives. Don't confuse the issue with
these extraneous facts, just brand her an abusive mother: 'good
mothers' do not beat up (oh, 'spanking' is not 'beating up'? Who
cares?) and physically abuse (don't tell us she didn't. **We**
know better) their kids. 

-------------------------------------------------

Having experienced some flak from several directions, I want to 
publicly thank .53 for her "I think we are not hearing what Ron is
saying...but rather what we *think* he is saying.". Excellent 
observation.

I found some of the responses here both illuminating and
entertaining. To the woman who is glad I am not the father of her
children, I can only say the feeling is mutual. I am very selective
with regards to the women I impregnate and she in no way was ever
exposed to that danger.

To the person who found all personnel involved with this note to be
in dire pain (including Melinda, who in .0 indicated rage - but what
does she know about her own feelings) I can state with some
confidence that, in my case, he is mistaking impatience for pain.
Due to an old back injury acting up, I am on 1800 mg, daily, of
Ibuprofen and consequently, totally immune to note induced pain. 

-- Ron 

    A woman friend of mine recounted a story to me once of how she dealt
    with judgemental attitudes.  Its been a while, and I may not recall it
    exactly, but...
    
    She and her husband were hosting a party for a number of friends. 
    While she was hostess-ing, she oeverheard her husband to say something
    to the effect, "..My wife wouldn't appreciate that, she's too dumb".  [The
    fact that she has her doctorate is irrelevant to the story].
    
    Her reaction was to walk into the kitchen, one by one throw EVERY
    SINGLE dish in the cupboard against the wall, then lock herself in the
    ONLY bathroom all night.
    
    When she came out the next day, her comment was "Don't you EVER call me
    dumb AGAIN!".  She says that, to this day, he hasn't.
    
    I can't say I recommend this technique.  But it certainly does have a
    great deal of honesty and purgative power to it.  
    
    Now, her telling of the story is kind of black and white.  Its not
    clear that the remark was as denigrating as I have told it.  I think,
    regardless of what the tone of Ron's remarks imply, that most of us
    agree the situation in the base note was less than black and white as
    well.
    
    Was my friend justified in her reaction?  It seems extreme to me, but
    it had the desired effect.  Was Melinda justified in her reaction (and
    I'll state again, that although we have gotten on to this tangent, that
    the message of the story has nothing to do with her actions,
    reprehensible or no)?  It may have been extreme.  It may have been
    inappropriate.  Or it may have been VERY appropriate, and it may have
    driven the woman to do some soul-searching that she would NOT have been
    driven to do my more polite folks who would silently walk away, biting
    their lips, but too chicken to "get involved" or "do something".
    
    We don't know if any action was called for.  And, perhaps if Melinda
    had stayed to talk to the woman, shoe would have found that out, been
    dreadfully embarrassed, and regretted what she said.  
    
    Judging in general is viewed as a bad thing.  For instance, you catch a
    coworker on a bad day or in a bad way, and have a tift; you then start
    (inadvertently) spreading rumors about how the coworker is a bitch to
    work with, which eventually hurts them more than they deserved just
    because they had a bad day (parent died, etc.).
    
    It might be inappropriate to say to the person "Hey, you don't have to
    be such a bitch", considering IN RETROSPECT what you did not know about
    thier situation.  But perhaps that might help them open up, redirect
    their anger and furstration in the right direction, and be seen in an
    entirely different light.
    
    I think we walk around avoiding people and situatiosn we don't like and
    instead do damaging things behind the scenes, when being a little more
    open with our emotions, being a little more willing to express
    ourselves and our feelings could go a long way to help communication
    with one another, and help us to better understand one another.
    
    As mentioned in another note, sometimes people withdraw when what they
    WANT is for someone to COME IN.  Perhaps the woman was asking for help. 
    It might be a bit much to ask a complete stranger to "help", but maybe
    she just needed to realize something was wrong, so she could fix it
    herself.
    
    OR, as Ron said, maybe NOTHING was wrong.  But certainly what she said,
    not matter how it was intended or motivated, was crying out for
    attention of some kind.  Melinda gave it (after a fashion) where the
    more "polite" (and I use the term LOOSELY) of us might have gone on our
    way.  
    
    If there was a problem, us polite folks certainly wouldn't have done
    anything to help it.  Even if there was no problem, one could hardly
    pat oneself on the back for self-restraint.  
    
    I may not always live it as I should, but I believe the saying "If you
    aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem", meaning,
    sitting on the fence not getting involved doesn't do anyone any good.
    
    Now, my friend at the beginning of this missive traded dishes and a
    party for more respect from her husband.  Sounds like a fair trade in
    retrospect.  She couldn't know the possible result.  The husband could
    have gotten PO'd, gotten drunk, gone driving and killed himself.  Or
    gone to bed with another woman at the party.  Or divirced her.  Or any
    number of things.  But to my friend, her honest expression of her
    FEELINGS, which were perfectly valid REGARDLESS of any other
    circumstances, had to be expressed.  She didn't hold it in and nail him
    with it when he least expected it and create ALL KINDS of
    communications problems.  
    
    I PREFER honest expression of feelings.  Its hard to do.  And I find
    that it almost hurts SOMEONE, and often I have regrets.  Its VERY hard
    to judge when its appropriate.  But the judgement process mitigates the
    feelings.  I can't give answers on when or why, but I greatly
    appreciate the action of expression.
    
    Right or wrong, damage or help, I like what Melinda did.
    
    Jim
    

    re .62
    
    That woman may not be "dumb", but she _is_ stupid.  Scaring
    someone into not saying something (as she scared her husband
    into not saying "dumb") is not the same thing as changing their
    mind so that they no longer think it.
    
    If I were her husband I would still think she was dumb, and
    after the dish-breaking performance I'd think she was not only
    dumb but untrustworthy and destructive as well.
    
    				-John Bishop

 The essence of good writing is to make you feel what the author wants you 
to feel.  Now, Mel's piece was very well written; it was entertaining, 
thought-provoking and insightful.  It was also written from Mel's point of
view at the time, and reinforces _her_ belief that she did something remarkable.

 I enjoyed reading the piece.  BUT I am not jumping up and down to condemn the
mother, as so many in this note string have.  It would be interesting to have 
her write about _her_ side of the incident.  I suspect that a well-written story
about a poor woman taking her child to the dentist and being harrassed by some
"well-meaning" busybody would lead to the same outrage in this file, but 
directed against Mel!!  

 Let me hasten to add that I personally believe that neither Mel nor this woman
(did she have a name, perchance, or is it more telling just to refer to her as 
"The Woman") are bad parents.  

 So often in notes files, we only hear one side of the story.  And often, that 
side is presented in such a manner as to make the teller of the story appear
to be the hero, or wronged in some way or otherwise victimized by a cruel and 
unusual world.  That is the essence of storytelling!  However, the real world is
much messier and less well defined.

					Nigel

 

    How would *you* feel if your mother/father/SO/sibling/friend/boss
    acknowledged *your* existence with the word "unfortunately"?
    
    In my book, that's mental abuse.  I wasn't going to digress further
    into this topic, but I'm saddened by this topic turning into a "who's
    right - who's wrong" thing.
    
    Maybe there *is* no right/wrong answer.  But by publishing this story,
    more people can be made aware of the daily anguish handicapped people
    go through (even if they cannot acknowledge it themselves verbally, it
    leaves an impression on the heart and soul) and change their attitudes. 
    Maybe they can see how they treat people *in general*, and make a vow
    that no longer will they discriminate or become judgemental.
    
    My mother is sometimes totally stressed out taking care of my younger
    sister's needs, but I have *never* heard her verbally abuse Tracey,
    make her feel unloved, unwanted or "different" than the rest of us. 
    With *all* children, there are ups and downs.  You cannot take
    resentments out on defenceless individuals ...
    
    OK, now I feel better.   Tammi
    

    .62 Jim 
    	I see her having a doctorate as being very relevant to her
    situation.  To say someone is dumb or stupid is very condescending
    to that person. It indicates a lack of respect for that person.
    It indicates that the husband had already decided for his wife that
    she wouldn't even want to discuss and understand the topic that
    he thought she was too dumb to understand. It is my opinion that a
    person who has their doctorate is a very intelligent and thorough
    person with a high level and focused knowledge.  He or she may or may
    not have the knowledge base concerning the topics that her husband
    was discussing, but that does not make her dumb. (dumb relative
    to whom?)  There are a lot of assumptions going on when someone
    decides for someone else what they want or can do or wants to understand. 
    This is exactly what the husband did; he made an assumption about her
    ability to comprehend something and also an assumption that she
    would not even be interested because she is too "dumb" to want to
    learn. If this wasn't his assumption, he would have asked his wife
    directly and let her make the decision.  And if the excuse was that
    he got drunk or what ever, that in itself is no excuse because alcohol
    is a physiological depressor not a psychological inhibitor.  In
    fact it generally loosens up inhibitions and allows one to do things
    they would like to do while sober but social restrictions prevent
    them from doing so. That is, alcohol encourages "Freudian slips"
    so to speak. And to attribute the incident to a "bad day" is to
    say that since it only happens once in a while when he has a bad day,
    we can blame it on that, instead of his inability to take
    responsibility for his own actions.  

    Actually neither (or both) persons are to blame, they are responding
    to each other in the only way they know how. If they knew how to
    respond in a more supportive manner without feeling loss of self
    esteem they would have. The actions (what they are actually doing to 
    each other) are not so significant.  I see a significant dependency on 
    both their parts to use the other to boost their own self esteem.  He in
    belittling her and she becoming agressive to his treatment of her.
    Calling someone "dumb" is condescending under any circumstances.
    She, in becoming very demonstrative in her resentment of his attitude
    indicates a struggle to re-acclaim her self esteem. 
    	I think what this and the other stories are about is a person's 
    attempt to reclaim their perceived loss of self esteem. When People
    value themselves through others (a child, a spouse, a pet), those
    others must live up to that person's expectations or he or she
    perceives a significant loss in self esteem.  If that other person fails
    in some way, then the first person must make an effort to change
    their spouse, child, or pet so these associations can build up that
    person' self esteem.  "If you live up to my expectations then I can
    feel better about myself." In counseling, this is called projection:
    The placement of a quality I would like to have on someone else.
    	From, my experience and studies in psychology and counseling, it
    is the bad days that indicate that the person does not have the
    knowledge base or  experience to handle these special occasions.
    When things are not going right, frustration sets in and self-esteem
    is lowered.  It is during these times that a person is likely to
    project the cause of their limitations onto someone close to them.
    Some people have a very limited knowledge base to handle every day
    situations, and these people spend a lot of time projecting their
    frustrations onto others nearby (relatives or not).   If a person
    is taught on both an intellectual and emotional level (the goal
    of counseling) to handle these special events,then the level of
    their self esteem becomes less dependent upon others.
    
    	Rage, to me, is in effect an attempt to project our own
    inadequacies onto others.  Even if it is the inability to stop a
    perceived injustice. If we had in our own knowledge database, the
    information to stop what we percieve as injustice, we would take
    the actions necessary to effect the discontinuation of the abuse
    and not have to resort to rage.  From  my observations, those who
    seem to have very little ability to control their environment and
    are out of touch with their emotions because of the lack of self
    esteem, seem to have a high level  or are in a more continuous state
    of rage.  I was coming to work this morning when someone in a four
    wheel drive pulled up beside me and start moving into my lane at
    about 65 mph. I laid on the horn in case his thoughts were elsewhere, 
    in order to bring him back to the here and now.  Well he then veered off
    to the right taking the exit that we were nearly past. I glanced
    over at his vehicle and I saw him give me a mean look and a gesture
    with his finger.  Is he having a "bad day?" Or does he have low
    self esteem and is taking his lack of control of the environment
    out on me?"  I haven't the faintest idea why he assumed that outRAGIOUS
    attitude.  
    
    Ernie
    
    
    

    RE: .0 and .1
    Melinda, Thank You for capturing my imagination and thought process
    in a comfortable manner
    
    RE .64 <<SNOBRD::CONLIFFE>> writes;
    >> so often in notes files, we only hear one side of the story. and
    >> often, that side is presented in such a manner as to make the teller of
    >> the story appear to be the hero, or wronged in some way or otherwise
    >> victimized by a cruel and unusual world. That is the essence of
    >> storytelling!
    
    I'm not a storyteller, but that doesn't sound quite right to me.
    I didn't get the feeling that Melinda was trying to tell me that
    she was a hero, or wronged, or victimized.
    
    I did feel that a wonderful person tried to make another person
    feel wonderful....but maybe I just like reading the story and not
    too much into it
    
    Thanks again Melinda
    
    christopher