When I was little, there was a guy named Paul who lived in my town and worked at the grocery store bagging groceries.
My parents knew his parents, and so he knew me by name. Every time we went to the store he would say hello to me.
Well, he was mentally retarded. Or special needs. Or whatever the pc/correct term is right now.
Anyway, he had an unusual way of talking, and I was completely (and irrationally) freaked out by it. So much so that I stopped going into the store with my mom. I can recall one time that Paul came out to round up the grocery carts, and I hid on the floor of the car so he wouldn’t see me.
I find the fact that I did this to be incredibly embarrassing.
Believe it or not, I was an extremely shy kid. And back then, there wasn’t a whole lot of exposure to kids with disabilities. There wasn’t any “inclusion” in schools. Plus, I lived in one of the whitest towns ever. Not a lot of diversity going on.
So my interactions with anyone who looked different than me was seriously limited.
This started to change when my little brother got sick. He lost his hair, had to wear a mask, and had permanent marker lines on his head which were used for his radiation treatments.
Whenever we went out in public, people would point and stare, and it really pissed me off. I realize now that they weren’t really any different than I was as a child.
Then, about 10 years later, I got a job as the full-time aide to a 4th grade student with autism. That kid changed my life. David C. He’s got to be at least 30 now. I have to track him down.
Anyway, that led to me coaching a Special Olympics swim team. One of the most eye-opening/rewarding/fulfilling/enjoyable experiences of my life. But once I started having kids, I just couldn’t fit it into my schedule, and I had to stop.
Well, fast forward to 2 weeks ago. I was at the beach with the kids. Number 3 had to pee, so I told him to go into the bathroom.
He ran in, and was back out in a matter of seconds. I was seriously impressed with his speed.
It turns out I had abloslutely nothing by which to be impressed.
Two days ago we were getting ready to go the beach again. The kids were finishing up breakfast. I told Number 3 to drink his milk.
“I’m not drinking it. I don’t want to have to go to the bathroom.”
“What are you talking about? Drink your milk,” I ordered.
“No. Then I’ll have to pee. And I’m not going into the bathroom there,” Number 3 said.
I was seriously confused, and becoming very annoyed.
“What are you talking about?” I asked him.
“Last time I went into the bathroom there was a scary man in there. He was talking really weird, and he scared me. I didn’t even go to the bathroom. I just ran back out,” he explained.
And then it started to make sense.
There was an older couple, probably in their 70’s, who was at the beach with their son.
Their son with down’s syndrome.
Who I saw go into the bathroom at the same time as Number 3. But I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
I only remembered because his mom came over to take a peak at Number 7, who was sleeping in the stroller, while I was waiting for Number 3 to come back out.
So Number 3 had his own “Paul” experience. Traumatized by someone with down’s syndrome.
I feel like such a failure. How did I produce a child like this?
And let’s not forget Number 4 who, for some reason, is completely intrigued by Asians. Not too long ago she was amazed by the fact that “Costco has Chinese people”.
Ugh. We need some serious diversity training in this house.
If anyone is willing to help me out here, I’m hiring.
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