A fellow elementary school counselor titled her power point presentation for our in-service meeting: "Embrace the Quirk".
I loved it.
Her main message was to understand and even join those oddball children who may or may not fall somewhere on the Autism spectrum but who most certainly don't fit the norm.
The norm. What is that? A box? A multiple choice question? A file? A computer generated curriculum? A standard created by some pin-striped guy in the sky?
Anyways...
I wish you all could have been in Dr. Arnold's waiting room with us yesterday.
There wasnt a single norm in the room.
(Can't help but flash to a Boston bar with mugs raised when a heavyset man walks through the door: "Norm!!!"
But as I was saying...)
Oh, we were a regular crowd of misfits.
Refreshingly so.
And I found myself all turned around as I watched my able-bodied, neurotypical, milestone-achieving daughter stare at a nonverbal 13-year-old boy who rocked and moaned on the floor by the plastic tub of giant foam puzzle pieces.
"Gentle. Don't scare the baby," his Mom said and then looked at me with "I'm sorry" eyes. I tried to tell her with my deep browns that she didn't need to apologize.
That I get it.
I know what its like to be the mother of a child who draws curious stares. I know those "I'm sorry" eyes as Elias touches a round woman's belly and asks, "Do you have a baby in there?"
I'm sorry.
I wanted to tell this Mom that she didn't need to apologize for my daughter's tears. And I wanted Olive to not be scared of the boy who rocked and moaned.
But she's one. And aware but unsure.
"Can I sit with you?" Elias asked the mother of a 15-month boy who did not yet move as Olive does, who is not as aware, who reminded me of Elias as a baby, only bigger and more adept.
"You can sit on the chair next to her," I say, to save the woman from trying to decide if she wanted my six-year-old son on her lap and to try to teach Elias about personal space, a concept he does not yet grasp. He'll lean against anyone and touch them anywhere, often grabbing guy's packages just to hold on like to a railing or a door knob, for stability, without apology.
"Hi!" he says, leaning his body against hers.
She smiles and asks, "What's your name?"
"Elias."
"Elia," she says, "That's a nice name."
And I want to correct her but I don't. For its just one letter and we only have this moment together to wait for our children's eyes to be assessed. To hear numbers like 20/200. Or terms like "Visual deprivation nystagmus, "Myopic Astigmatism", "legally blind".
And wait we do.
For Dr. Arnold is one of the only Pediatric Optomologist in Alaska-- and the best--so we make empathetic eyes with each other across the carpeted-walled waiting room strewn with plastic toys, all well-chewed, with pieces missing and random parts displaced.
Embrace the quirks. Its all we can do. The best we can do.
For god knows, we all have quirks.
As I watch the kids in my classroom with quirks, I realize each day that I have many of my own!
Posted by: Shelley | 01/19/2011 at 02:04 PM
Like Shelley above me I relize with the help of my class that I have many quirks of my own. I also find myself picking up many of thiers!
Posted by: Jessica | 01/20/2011 at 09:44 AM
Yes, we should not overreact to others' idiosyncracies. We all have them. The way we laugh, what makes us sad, what makes us cry... we are all human and in near of care (or at least respect), not condemnation from each other.
Posted by: Junie | 01/20/2011 at 10:55 AM
June, what a great comment! Imagine how much happier and less anxious we would all be if we didn't have to fear and bear cruel judgements.
Posted by: Kimberly | 01/20/2011 at 06:28 PM