Where Denial
was the Hyatt Regency with Thor waiting on you hand and foot, Blame is a trailer
park that rents by the week run by an obese, chain smoking woman named Rhoda. Everyone
gets out of Denial eventually. They
either leave of their own volition (as I did) or they’re forced out by the
realization they could have helped their child and didn’t. But Blame:
some sad souls stay in Blame forever. When leaving Denial you realize immediately
you’re on the road to Blame and you know it’s gonna suck so you try to drive around
it. Unfortunately, Blame is enormous and
stretches on for miles. After hours of
driving you’re hungry, have to pee, and Kevin is screaming his head off so
you give up and pull in. What a
dump. There’s not even a welcome sign,
just a 2 x 4 stuck in the ground that reads, “This is Blame. Boy are You Fucked.”
For $6,000 a
night Rhoda offers you the keys to a filthy, rat-infested trailer that reeks of urine
and pot. Unlike your suite in Denial, the trailer in
Blame is covered in wall to wall mirrors so you’re forced to look at yourself wherever you go. You’ve aged quite a
bit since Kevin was born. Your hair has
fallen out in places, you’ve gained 25 pounds, and because you went back to
smoking, there are little lines around your vacant eyes and mouth. Then there’s your son. The little boy that seemed so perfect only a
few hours ago is now clearly disabled. Although
he’s four, Kevin wears leg braces because he can barely walk. He can’t speak more than a few words and is
not potty-trained. He flaps, twirls and
screams throughout the day for no apparent reason. In addition to all that, he pisses on the
walls to punish you for not understanding him on the rare occasion he actually
attempts to form a sentence. Yeah, Blame
sucks. It smells, it’s dirty and Rhoda
is a bitch. Whoever built the trailer
park that is Blame knew exactly what they were doing because the very second
you check in, all you can think about is how to get out.
And it
should be simple right? Just get in your
car and drive away? Alas no. As stated earlier Blame goes on seemingly
forever with no restaurants, rest stops or even another car in sight. There is no one to help but Rhoda and she’s
not going to tell you shit. Why would
she? She’s making $6,000 a day renting
you that trailer. And though there are
other women in Blame, none of them ever come out of their trailers or answer
the door when you knock. Even if they
did what help would they be? If they
knew how to get out, they’d be gone. “So
what the fuck do I do!!??” You scream at your reflection. And then comes the revelation: Duh, this is Blame. If I’m ever to escape, I have to find someone
to blame for the fact that I’m here.
Now I never
tried this myself but I know many women’s initial attempt is to blame their
doctors. “Something must have gone wrong
during my delivery!” they say. “I’ll start a lawsuit and prove my doctor is to
blame!” I personally don’t know anyone
for whom this has worked, and I imagine in some cases it’s true, but for 99.9%
of Club Members who drive it, this road leads to Bankruptcy, Anger, and then
right back to Blame. Next, and I never
tried this either, some women blame their husbands. “Yes our son is disabled,” they say. “But if
YOU had been more supportive and accepting I wouldn’t have stayed in Denial as
long as I did. Thor may have been an
illusion but at least he was kind, and told me I was beautiful, and a good
mother which is more than you’ve ever done!”
Now I don’t pretend to know what this journey is like for men because my
husband doesn’t talk about it much and has informed me if I ever discuss him in
this blog he will stop having sex with me.
However, after watching too many Club Members choose this route, I can
tell you it ALWAYS leads to Divorce, Loneliness, and then right back to Blame. Please, even if
your husband is a complete dick, don’t try this.
And then
comes the saddest, loneliest choice of all:
the choice to surrender yourself to your current circumstances, walk
back to the trailer, lock the door and blame…yourself. “After all,” you
tell your reflection, “It obviously is.
You had a glass of wine in your second trimester. You took Tylenol! Everyone on Gohollisticoryourchildwillbeborndeformed.com says Tylenol causes
birth defects. Furthermore, you walked past the kitty litter box at least 6
times during the course of your pregnancy and ate soft cheese! Of course you’re to blame!” Occasionally the conversation with yourself
is interrupted by a knock at the door from some “newbie” looking for help but
you ignore them because you’re too ashamed.
So how did I
get out? Kevin’s occupational therapist,
Miss Megan. One day back in 2011, Kevin
spent the entire hour at OT hitting, kicking and screaming at Miss Megan When I came to pick him up, he was still
wildly out of control. As she secured
Kevin in a restraining hold, Megan told me what had happened and adamantly
refused payment because the session was completely unproductive. I burst into tears. “It’s all my fault!” I cried.
“I just know it’s all my fault!!” and by this point I was actually
screaming. The sight of me collapsed in a heap crying my heart out stopped both
Megan and Kevin dead in their tracks. As
Kevin sat there watching us in disbelief, Megan approached me, and in a tone
that suggested she was speaking to a COMPLETE idiot said, “Rachel you have
twins. One is perfectly normal. What did
you do, drink down the left hand side?” And
POOF!!! I was out of Blame and on the
road to Anger.
Here’s the
truth: The ONLY way out of Blame is accepting
that no one, especially you, is to blame for your child’s disability. Some people believe their children were born
the way they were to serve some greater purpose. Others, like myself, believe there is no
reason for their child’s disability. It
just happened, because shit does. However, sadly, some women NEVER stop hunting
for someone to blame. They try doctors,
lawyers, husbands, themselves and when all that fails they blame the one person
with the greatest chance of helping them escape Blame forever………their
child’s teacher.
This fact pains me deeply because my life was, quite literally, saved by Kevin's Kindergarten Special Education teacher. They are the kindest, gentlest, most loving people on Earth. I respect them more than I do the goddesses
among women and that’s saying a lot. The
job of a special education teacher is far more difficult than that of a regular
education teacher and I can say that because I’ve taught both. And it’s not, as most people assume, because of the kids: they’re friggin awesome.
When I was a
special education teacher I had an autistic student named Houdina. That’s not her real name I’m just calling her
that because she was an extraordinarily talented escape artist. No matter where we brought her, Houdina tried
to run for the hills. When she got off
the bus in the morning and realized it had brought her to school, Houdina would
run back on, scream “Traitor!” at the bus driver and hide under the seats. If we brought her to art she’d escape to the
library and hurl books at whoever was trying to catch her. My favorite number on Houdina’s greatest hits
was the day I announced to the class it was time for math. She screamed, “Help!!!!!!!”
and ran out of the classroom. I stood
outside the door of the bathroom where she was hiding:
Me: Houdina, you need to come out now
Houdina: I’m not in here!!!!
Me: Yes you are I can hear you.
Houdina: I’m in the other bathroom!!!! Me: No you're in this bathrom Houdina: You can't see my feet! Me: No but I can see your face, I'm speaking to it right now get out of that bathroom!
All special
Ed teachers have stories like this and it’s part of why they love their job.
So what makes it so hard? The parents who are still living in
Blame.
Dear Special
Education Teachers,
You are
wonderful. Many of you are killing yourselves in an effort to please the parents of your
students and live up to an unrealistic expectation that you can “fix it". You are the last person on a very
long list of people they have tried to blame for their child’s disability, and
they will cling, with all their might, to the conviction that everything would
be fine if YOU were doing a better job.
Don’t believe it. Accept the reality they refuse to: all you can do
is help your students reach their full potential, and though that may never be
enough for their parents, it has to be enough for you or the job will eat you
alive. Accept that you are working with parents who will NEVER be satisfied no matter how hard you try because no matter what you do, at the end of the day, the child will still be disabled, and someone needs to be blamed for that.
I have often
likened special education teachers to Merriweather from Sleeping Beauty. When Maleficent places an evil curse on
Aurora, the king and queen turn to the good fairies and ask, “Can you undo this
wickedness?” “No sire,” says Flora, “The
magic is too strong….. but we can change it a little.” And with that, little Merriweather rolls up
her sleeves, pulls out her magic wand, and alters the curse by saying the child
will not die, but fall into a sleep only true love can awaken her from. In real life, parents are the source of this true
love. It is something YOU can never
provide. The
curse is lifted when we stop searching for someone to blame, accept our
children for what they are, and start fighting for what they can be. Good luck.