Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Cribsheet: Special needs week
Well according to a post I saw on Facebook, it's special needs week. I've been thinking about this issue a lot for the last few years because my son has a complex constellation of odd issues...a little bit Aspergers, a little bit OCD, a little anxiety disorder, a LOT of Sensory Integration Disorder, a heaping dollop of WTF and a smidgen of boogie-woogie flu. He zigs where the world zags. And those are just the deficits...what I mean is, he is also weirdly smart in some ways.
When he was 3 years old and we were driving in the car he said: "Why do some cars have their lights on?" (it was daytime) and I said "There have been a bunch of studies done that show there are fewer car accidents in the daytime if people have their lights on." he instantly responded: "Then why are some people driving with them off?"
Since I've spent so much time around him, and studied his quirks so intently I've realized that I am a big ball of quirks too. As a grownup I've become slightly more adept at hiding them but all my weird processing issues are alive and if this is the right word, well. The other night I was teaching a class and I had a window open ( not many classrooms left where you can do this) and I realized I had the window open because I don't feel like I can think with it closed. I subtly feel oppressed by claustrophobia if the window is shut. And then I had to close the door because people were talking in the hall and I can't think when I hear talking as I am wired to process sound. I am a complicated ball of adaptations to my own system, hoping to appear normal to the world at large.
You may be "special needs" (undefined) yourself if any of the following apply to you:
Uncomfortable clothes ( scratchy, tight collars, weird feeling fabrics, annoying labels) make it hard for you to focus completely on something else. You can't really think clearly or concentrate in a room full of sound or in a place which is visually very busy. You are scared of heights, or speed. If you seem to have to come at things from a direction other than the "official" way. If anxiety floods you when certain issues are raised and you simply feel that you can't process them at all right now.
These are just a few that are near and dear to my own heart but there are many more, from other parts of the spectrum(s) that I am not so familiar with. If it seems to reduce "Special Needs" to just an exaggerated case of the human situation then "By George, I think you've got it!"
AS kind of a friendly shout out to the all the good hearted special needs teachers and helpers out there here's a story about them.
Isaac loves to say things in his own made up language LIKE ALL THE TIME: To answer normal questions and such. Those of us who spend a lot of time around him actually learn what he means and take it in stride. Well today as I was walking him into his school, (with Isaac being most reluctant to go) his special Ed assistant Ms. Currier saw us coming and peeked at him through the staircase banister with a friendly smile.
"Glibble Norf!" She said.
I said, "Isaac, someone speaks your language!"
Isaac couldn't help smiling and he walked of his own will into the classroom.
Thanks Ms. Currier, for understanding my little weirdo.
When he was 3 years old and we were driving in the car he said: "Why do some cars have their lights on?" (it was daytime) and I said "There have been a bunch of studies done that show there are fewer car accidents in the daytime if people have their lights on." he instantly responded: "Then why are some people driving with them off?"
Since I've spent so much time around him, and studied his quirks so intently I've realized that I am a big ball of quirks too. As a grownup I've become slightly more adept at hiding them but all my weird processing issues are alive and if this is the right word, well. The other night I was teaching a class and I had a window open ( not many classrooms left where you can do this) and I realized I had the window open because I don't feel like I can think with it closed. I subtly feel oppressed by claustrophobia if the window is shut. And then I had to close the door because people were talking in the hall and I can't think when I hear talking as I am wired to process sound. I am a complicated ball of adaptations to my own system, hoping to appear normal to the world at large.
You may be "special needs" (undefined) yourself if any of the following apply to you:
Uncomfortable clothes ( scratchy, tight collars, weird feeling fabrics, annoying labels) make it hard for you to focus completely on something else. You can't really think clearly or concentrate in a room full of sound or in a place which is visually very busy. You are scared of heights, or speed. If you seem to have to come at things from a direction other than the "official" way. If anxiety floods you when certain issues are raised and you simply feel that you can't process them at all right now.
These are just a few that are near and dear to my own heart but there are many more, from other parts of the spectrum(s) that I am not so familiar with. If it seems to reduce "Special Needs" to just an exaggerated case of the human situation then "By George, I think you've got it!"
AS kind of a friendly shout out to the all the good hearted special needs teachers and helpers out there here's a story about them.
Isaac loves to say things in his own made up language LIKE ALL THE TIME: To answer normal questions and such. Those of us who spend a lot of time around him actually learn what he means and take it in stride. Well today as I was walking him into his school, (with Isaac being most reluctant to go) his special Ed assistant Ms. Currier saw us coming and peeked at him through the staircase banister with a friendly smile.
"Glibble Norf!" She said.
I said, "Isaac, someone speaks your language!"
Isaac couldn't help smiling and he walked of his own will into the classroom.
Thanks Ms. Currier, for understanding my little weirdo.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Cribsheet: Time and tide.
It was a beautiful warm Spring like day. Isaac and I went out to the beach, turning over rocks in the low tide zone, finding hundreds of little crabs. We picked up a few on our shovel and they tried to fight us. As we were leaving he said: "I guess we gave them some great stories to tell their grandchildren."
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Cribsheet: Thank you, I'm here all week!
Got a link to a video via email.
All the kids in Isaac's class are saying happy valentine's day to a kid who just changed schools...
21 kids one after another saying "Happy valentines day Owen"
No sign of Isaac for a long time - suddenly annoying hands in front of the lens. And again.
And again. Surprise, it's Isaac.
Finally, Isaac's face.
He sings a little dramatic theme music.
Isaac: (loudly) " How many cows does it take to feed a fish?"
Teacher: "um...how many"
Isaac: (with great satisfaction) "Zero!"
Camera moves on.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Cribsheet : The man who kept nothing
My Mother and Father were very different people and ultimately went their separate ways but they did have a few things in common. They were rationalists, they disliked bullshit, they leaned left, they liked a good joke.
My Mother kept treasured things like she was running a little museum She kept the albums of family photos going back to the beginning. She had a knack for picking tiny significant things as keepsakes: A tiny indian head penny bank full of pennies , a little writing book of mine from first grade; an envelope of confetti from the celebration of VE day (WWII) in Times Square.
But my Dad kept nothing. There were no pictures of him as a boy, no mementos. His father died 3 years before I was born but I have never in my life seen so much as a photo of him. I have no idea what the guy looked like except I heard later he was lanky like my brother. I'm short and compact like my other Grandpa.
My Dad was a writer. He was an advertising copy writer in the fifties and early sixties on Madison avenue. He was a Mad Man, and when I watch that show I can practically picture my brother and myself as the generally ignored children in the background. He won a number of advertising awards including one for a rather risque commercial during the black and white fifties where the two protagonists were only seen by their glowing cigarette tips as they exchanged pillow talk.
He also wrote the once famous "Please mother, I'd rather do it myself!" Anacin commercial.
But before he wrote commercials, he was a poet.
While he was an ensign in the Navy in WWII he wrote this:
FOXHOLE ELEGY
Far off, she sleeps,
And where she is, a baby cries.
Where I am, a soldier dies.
And God's on a mountain, hiding his eyes.
Far off, she sleeps.
Far off, she wakes
And where she is, the grass weeps dew.
And where I am the quick are few,
And I sleep close to a man I slew.
Far off she wakes.
By A/S Richard B. Miller USNR
And after it was published, Carl Sandburg wrote him a letter of encouragement, to tell him he thought he was a great talent.
This was the only poem I had ever seen by my father and I had as good as forgotten it. But while cleaning out boxes of papers my Mom left behind when she died, I came across a big fat manilla envelope stuffed full of papers and on the outside was written in my Mom's handwriting:
Richard B. Miller: Poetry, etc.
And I realized in a moment that I was in possession of a pile of his poems, all entirely new to me.
My Fathers' voice with new things to say, 4 years after his death.
I opened it and checked just enough to see that it was real and tucked it away in a safe place. I have been waiting for the right state of mind to sit down and go through it, but so far the right state of mind doesn't exist.
But I've been feeling a pressure grow in me to look and last night I took out the first one in the stack and read it. And it was good, it was actually very good. Not great but solid and clear and carpentered true. And more than that, it was young. It was edgy and lean with an energy younger than I possess today.
I put the rest away, determined not run downhill through them. I will take one out every couple of days for the next month or so till I run out, listening to my Father talk to me for the last time.
My Mother kept treasured things like she was running a little museum She kept the albums of family photos going back to the beginning. She had a knack for picking tiny significant things as keepsakes: A tiny indian head penny bank full of pennies , a little writing book of mine from first grade; an envelope of confetti from the celebration of VE day (WWII) in Times Square.
But my Dad kept nothing. There were no pictures of him as a boy, no mementos. His father died 3 years before I was born but I have never in my life seen so much as a photo of him. I have no idea what the guy looked like except I heard later he was lanky like my brother. I'm short and compact like my other Grandpa.
My Dad was a writer. He was an advertising copy writer in the fifties and early sixties on Madison avenue. He was a Mad Man, and when I watch that show I can practically picture my brother and myself as the generally ignored children in the background. He won a number of advertising awards including one for a rather risque commercial during the black and white fifties where the two protagonists were only seen by their glowing cigarette tips as they exchanged pillow talk.
He also wrote the once famous "Please mother, I'd rather do it myself!" Anacin commercial.
But before he wrote commercials, he was a poet.
While he was an ensign in the Navy in WWII he wrote this:
FOXHOLE ELEGY
Far off, she sleeps,
And where she is, a baby cries.
Where I am, a soldier dies.
And God's on a mountain, hiding his eyes.
Far off, she sleeps.
Far off, she wakes
And where she is, the grass weeps dew.
And where I am the quick are few,
And I sleep close to a man I slew.
Far off she wakes.
By A/S Richard B. Miller USNR
And after it was published, Carl Sandburg wrote him a letter of encouragement, to tell him he thought he was a great talent.
This was the only poem I had ever seen by my father and I had as good as forgotten it. But while cleaning out boxes of papers my Mom left behind when she died, I came across a big fat manilla envelope stuffed full of papers and on the outside was written in my Mom's handwriting:
Richard B. Miller: Poetry, etc.
And I realized in a moment that I was in possession of a pile of his poems, all entirely new to me.
My Fathers' voice with new things to say, 4 years after his death.
I opened it and checked just enough to see that it was real and tucked it away in a safe place. I have been waiting for the right state of mind to sit down and go through it, but so far the right state of mind doesn't exist.
But I've been feeling a pressure grow in me to look and last night I took out the first one in the stack and read it. And it was good, it was actually very good. Not great but solid and clear and carpentered true. And more than that, it was young. It was edgy and lean with an energy younger than I possess today.
I put the rest away, determined not run downhill through them. I will take one out every couple of days for the next month or so till I run out, listening to my Father talk to me for the last time.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Cribsheet: Wii, Myself & I
So I wanted to get a gaming system for the boy and me and just a little looking convinced me that the Wii was the way to go. I didn't want him sitting passively, building up massive thumb muscles and nothing else. Some other systems have better graphics and maybe even better games (from a grown up gamer point of view) but the Wii is the most truly family friendly gaming system out there right now.
So I got the system and there are pluses and minuses but I have to say on balance it's been awesome. And partly for reasons I didn't see coming.
Like more than just the fact that he would have to be standing up and moving around, this system requires him to work on his larger and smaller motor skill issues just to play the game. In the games he responds to physical challenges that he would never be brave enough to face in the real world (and nor would I for that matter)but in the sunny, candy colored world we play in he learns timing and nuance and swift action.
In Mario Kart, he steers away from cliffs, flips over ramps, throws shells while driving. In Lego Star Wars he jumps over obstacles and swings and twirls his light saber in the cross the chest motions his Physical therapist said were so important. There seems be a neurological component, stifled in Isaac that needs to learn this.
The other issue, strongly related, is that Isaac, with his crabby and rigid temperament disliked games with others, disliked games with rules. Every game with Isaac quickly became a version of Calvin ball where the rules are entirely at the discretion of a weird little boy. Naturally games like that played with anyone but an overly indulgent Poppa dissolve into furious frustration.
Well, because the game is a thing and not a person he seems to accept that there is no point in arguing and you either play the game or you don't. And so, he plays and he learns the rules and more and more he accepts being bad at first because he knows he'll get better. And that is a dream come true for me. I play with him and as we laugh over our successes and complain about our defeats it's amazing to suddenly realize how far we have come.
One amusing side note has been the fun of creating the Miis or avatars that represent you in the games. Isaac and I both enjoy making Miis though we do it very differently. He likes to make these weird, elfin starry eyed creatures who look related to Dr. Seuss characters and I like to see if I can create close approximations of real people. I started off by making people close to me and then began making people I am no longer close to, moving on to historical characters and finally into fictional characters. So now as I go running on Wii island I routinely pass (along with hosts of elfin, starry-eyed Seussians) My Mom and Dad, my grandparents, friends, old girlfriends, Hitler, Stalin, Voldemort, Tony Soprano, Groucho Marx and dozens of others, all smiling and waving as they jog past on a another beautiful day. If you are reading this I probably know you and if I know you, you probably have a small round digital existence on my Wii.
So I got the system and there are pluses and minuses but I have to say on balance it's been awesome. And partly for reasons I didn't see coming.
Like more than just the fact that he would have to be standing up and moving around, this system requires him to work on his larger and smaller motor skill issues just to play the game. In the games he responds to physical challenges that he would never be brave enough to face in the real world (and nor would I for that matter)but in the sunny, candy colored world we play in he learns timing and nuance and swift action.
In Mario Kart, he steers away from cliffs, flips over ramps, throws shells while driving. In Lego Star Wars he jumps over obstacles and swings and twirls his light saber in the cross the chest motions his Physical therapist said were so important. There seems be a neurological component, stifled in Isaac that needs to learn this.
The other issue, strongly related, is that Isaac, with his crabby and rigid temperament disliked games with others, disliked games with rules. Every game with Isaac quickly became a version of Calvin ball where the rules are entirely at the discretion of a weird little boy. Naturally games like that played with anyone but an overly indulgent Poppa dissolve into furious frustration.
Well, because the game is a thing and not a person he seems to accept that there is no point in arguing and you either play the game or you don't. And so, he plays and he learns the rules and more and more he accepts being bad at first because he knows he'll get better. And that is a dream come true for me. I play with him and as we laugh over our successes and complain about our defeats it's amazing to suddenly realize how far we have come.
One amusing side note has been the fun of creating the Miis or avatars that represent you in the games. Isaac and I both enjoy making Miis though we do it very differently. He likes to make these weird, elfin starry eyed creatures who look related to Dr. Seuss characters and I like to see if I can create close approximations of real people. I started off by making people close to me and then began making people I am no longer close to, moving on to historical characters and finally into fictional characters. So now as I go running on Wii island I routinely pass (along with hosts of elfin, starry-eyed Seussians) My Mom and Dad, my grandparents, friends, old girlfriends, Hitler, Stalin, Voldemort, Tony Soprano, Groucho Marx and dozens of others, all smiling and waving as they jog past on a another beautiful day. If you are reading this I probably know you and if I know you, you probably have a small round digital existence on my Wii.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
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