For my summer job, I’m working at Camp Shutaf – a summer camp for kids with and without special needs. I double as a councilor and a personal guide for a teen with Down Syndrome.
Yesterday during lunch, I was handing out cups of water to the campers and as I observed the room out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly found myself thinking: wow, this is so normal. I was reminded of going to summer camp myself: color war, swimming, relay races, getting popsicles at pickup time. Had I been observing the camp from the outside I may never have guessed that “special needs” is even in the mission statement of the Organization.
First it made me think I must have special needs, if such a scene felt so normal to me. Then I remembered one of my favorite quotes from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon:
“Everyone has special needs, like Father, who has to carry a little packet of artificial sweetening tablets around with him to put in his coffee to stop him from getting fat, or Mrs. Peters, who wears a beige-colored hearing aid, or Siobhan, who has glasses so thick that they give you a headache if you borrow them, and none of these people are Special Needs, even if they have special needs.”
There were two incidents at camp which really made me think later that afternoon. The first was with a kid who is almost ten years old but not even three feet tall. Right before my eyes he burst into our homeroom and spilled every cup with liquid all over the floor before I could stop him. When asked why he did that, he replied simply, “I was upset.” I thought, hey, sometimes I feel like tossing a few cups of grape drink across the room when I’m upset. But I don’t, because I’m an adult and I learned not to. The important thing is to recognize that these instincts still exist inside of us, and just because we may have learned earlier to restrain them, does not mean we are different from this boy. He just has special needs, one of them being that sometimes he needs to be physically restrained when he is upset in order to calm down.
The second incident was with a camper with Down Syndrome. I was playing catch with her when a CIT approached us and requested she join the group activity. I had not had a lot of experience with this camper so I could not anticipate how she would react. She told us clearly that she did not want to join the group, and preferred to stay where we were and continue our game of catch. We talked her into it using bribes and ultimatums and whatever else we could possibly think of, and finally managed to convince her to join the group. Immediately my camper started hitting other campers. I didn’t see the first time and was not able to stop her the second, so I took her hand and kind of dragged/lead her upstairs to see the camp director and have a talk. After the fact it seemed obvious. She had told us clearly what she wanted, and we refused to pay any attention to her preference, so she got mad and started acting out. Wouldn’t it have been better to just stay where we were and keep playing catch? Kids with Down Syndrome don’t always communicate clearly, so when they do, I thought, maybe we should pay close attention to what they’re saying instead of holding the camp schedule as a higher priority. I recognize that there could potentially have been other technical challenges such as shortage of staff hands or not wanting to spoil her, but neither were relavent in this particular situation.
Because I’m a nerd, I’m going to borrow a metaphor from the world of mathematics. In Vector Algebra, a vector is called “normal” if it is at a right angle to another vector. The consequence of this idea is that normal vectors show us new dimensions. Any time a new “normal” vector is added, we have another direction to explore. The world grows. Lots of new combinations can be formed. On the other hand, staying on the same line or the same plane isn’t necessarily normal; in fact, in most cases it’s not.
Following this idea, here’s a list of what I think would be considered normal and not normal:
- allowing for lots of alternatives
- recognizing that each child is unique
- striving for individuality and celebrating differences
- trying to stick with one plan
- assuming that all children move in the same direction or fit into the same space
- striving for homogeneity and discouraging creativity
I believe there are endless valuable lessons to be learned from kids with special needs, because when you deal with special needs kids, you have to get creative. Usual methods we use in public schools just don’t work, because the kids are not necessarily even rational thinkers. Some kids will just sit down in the middle of the street and refuse to budge no matter how many times you explain to them that they could get run over by a car. You can’t just pick them up and physically force them to move, because they could be 19 years old and six feet tall. You have to find ways to appeal to them, you have to treat them with utmost respect and give them unconditional love, because they don’t respond to anything else. With non special needs kids it’s easy to forget that they need these things too, but if we look at the success of schools around the world, it is clear that love and respect are just as crucial to a child’s growth whether or not they have special needs.
And anyway, as we know, everyone has special needs.
Two twelve-year-olds kissing.
They were standing at a bus stop, two children, even shorter than me, which is saying something.
Suddenly the boy grabs the girl and kisses her on the mouth.
I thought, shouldn’t you guys be playing legos or something?
I get off the bus at the university, and three things happen: I’m asked for ID, my bag is searched and I walk through a metal detector. Every single day. When I go to the mall, the same routine. When I eat out, a security guard sits outside the restaurant. When I was in elementary school three teachers had guns with them all the time. Because we’re not allowed to bring guns into public spaces. Here in Israel, we know people want to kill us. For that reason we take extreme security measures to prevent them from doing so.
When I was ten years old visiting my grandmother in the States, I went to see a movie with a friend of mine. When we got to the door of the mall I did a double-take. “What did you expect? Metal detectors?” he asked. I did.
My family moved to Israel in 1998 leaving all of our extended family behind. I remember once asking my uncle why they didn’t come visit us, and his response being that it was not safe in Israel. This struck me as odd, because I feel much safer in Israel than I ever do in the United States. Sometimes I think this might just be because I feel at home in Israel, but maybe there’s something to it. Maybe I feel safe in Israel because I’m surrounded by soldiers and security guards all the time.
In Jodi Picoult’s book Ninteen Minutes, one of the characters recalls going to pick up her daughter in school and noticing that nobody asked who she was or what she was doing there. It makes you wonder, what if someone had?
I wonder about the man who fired shots at the Sandy Hook Elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. What if someone had asked him for ID, or checked his bag, or made him walk through a metal detector? If he were not allowed to bring a gun into the school, he would have had to plan much longer, increasing his chances of being stopped. Imagine if the school had an armed security guard. You might argue that someone who has made up his mind to commit this kind of act can not be stopped by any amount of security. We may not be able to stop someone from acquiring a gun. We may not be able to stop him from shooting. But we might be able to stop him from killing 20 children.
You can talk all you want about the right to bear arms, but we can’t ignore that fact there are dangers that come with it. We might be able to save more lives if we stop being naïve about the fact that that people use guns to kill.
Ever seen that headline? I Googled it before I wrote this, so don’t tell me you have.
“You’re not starving. I can’t see your bones.”
“You won’t grow up if you don’t eat vegetables.”
Children are expected to put all kinds of revolting foods into their mouths without arguing about it. I think that is an unreasonable expectation, seeing as our taste buds develop at all different stages in our lives, and not everyone’s develop the same way at the same time. We know that our sense of smell and taste are indicators for things which are not good to put into our bodies, such as spoiled food. It makes perfect sense that they should also indicate food that is not spoiled, but simply will not go over well in the digestive system. So don’t tell me I don’t know if I’ll like it or not. Trust me, I know.
It’s a hard life being a picky eater. Your body has an aversion to a variety of foods and although you are hungry, you can not bring yourself to eat them. If a picky eater told me they were starving, I’d believe them. It’s difficult to force your body to consume something it so clearly does not want to digest. You can sit there for hours thinking about how mom won’t let you have dessert if you don’t try eggplant quiche, but the concept of placing it on your tongue is so repulsive that it’s worth it to give up chocolate cake just to avoid the eggplant experience.
I still will not touch broccoli. And guess what? Now that I’m a grown up, nobody cares.
Do you have moments when you just want to bury your face in your hands and shout, “Those @#$%*@# bullies!” Know what I mean?
A few days ago I was babysitting an adorable two-year-old. We were at the playground, and I was waiting for him at the bottom of the hill while he skated down on his little toy car. When it took longer than usual for him to arrive, I got a little concerned but told myself it was nothing. Finally he came flying toward me, hysterical with tears, his face red with anger. A short distance away two boys were in his wake, cheering and laughing and pointing at him. I wondered how they could live with themselves, proud for making a two-year-old cry. I wanted to do terrible, awful things to them right there in front of their parents, who were ignoring the entire scene. But instead, I scooped up my kid, and looked those evil creatures straight in the eye with so much anger, and said, “Don’t. You. Dare.”
I was horrified by the whole incident. I was upset with myself, that I had not been there to protect him. But mostly I was shocked at the cruelty of these two children. Had I somehow forgotten how mean kids can be? Or had I simply blocked it out, because it seemed so impossible? How can anyone triumph in the tears of a toddler?
Cornered is a story I wrote which was featured on the Figment.com homepage a few weeks ago. From reading the comments and reviews, you might conclude that it is a story about bullying, written from the point of view of the bully. As the author I would like to say that this is not just a story about bullying – it’s about the failure of the adults to prevent or in any way deal with bullying. Yes, the story is told from the point of view of a bully, who just so happens to have an abusive father. However, the circumstances in which she is being raised are no excuse for her behavior, and they certainly do not protect other children from being scarred for life by her words. (By the way, according to Figment it only takes 5 minutes to read, so go for it!)
The way the saying really should have ended is, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will scar me forever.”
I was picked on from 3rd to 8th grade. That’s what happens when you get good grades in pretty much everything when you’re 10 years old. I was in an all-girls school, and the sort of attacks which happened were mainly constant commentary on my looks, my actions, or even things my teachers or friends did that somehow involved me. When I was in fourth grade a girl threatened to punch me in the face and break my glasses. What had I done to deserve that? God knows, probably ace a multiplication test. The worst incident was when my English teacher published six of my original works in the year journal. Since most students only had two pieces published, this was an obvious act of favoritism. There was a clique of about six girls who were straight up plotting to kill me for it.
Where am I going with this? To one very simple conclusion. As adults, it is our responsibility to never underestimate children in any area of life. Just because they’re small does not mean they’re less capable, less powerful, or less intelligent in any way than a grown person. On the contrary, they are more powerful than us in many ways we refuse to see. We must be willing to know their true abilities if we have any hope of protecting and teaching our own.
On September 11th, 2001, I got up and went to school, said “Good morning!” to a friend, and she snapped, “No. Bad morning.” I was ten years old and had just started fifth grade at Orot Etzion in Efrat. I loathed my new homeroom teacher.
We didn’t have a TV. If my parents had heard anything, they didn’t let on, so it wasn’t until much later when class started that I found out what had happened in New York, and it wasn’t until two years later that I watched it on video in science class, where our teacher showed us that the bombing of the twin towers was visible from outer space.
In Israel, the second Intifada was going on where I lived. Hearing about people dying in terrorist attacks was a part of my daily routine, along with eating a healthy breakfast and learning Judo after school and pretending to do my homework. Not that it was any less upsetting. I spent many sleepless nights wondering why I was living in Israel, wishing I could go back to America, where it was safe, where I didn’t have to hear about my neighbors being shot in their car on the way to Jerusalem.
I don’t really remember how I reacted when I first heard the news. But I do remember that for me, 9/11 was the day the option of going back to America became officially closed. I realized at the ripe age of ten that no place on Earth is safer than another, that evil, like humans, lurks everywhere.
In Israel, kids grow up quickly. From a very young age we are faced with the brutal reality that life is not to be taken for granted. I remember thinking that the best way for me to feel safe was to trust in God, because security can not be guaranteed. You’re safe where you feel safe. It’s not a matter of geography or politics.