The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

Thoughts from an old fogie Suzanne Vary COMMENTARY Suzanne Vary of Rockland, Ontario, is the information officer for the Canadian Organizing Committee for the Internationâ€" al Year of the Disabled Person. The following is reprinted with permission from the Ontario Association of Children‘s Aid Societies. The article appeared in their Oct., 1981 edition of Journal. Some old fogies get all het up every year, and writing letters to the editor, deploring the increasing commercialism of Christmas. I used to do this when I was a young fogie, but I‘ve quit. â€" What‘s the difference? Well, a young fogie gets all upset about things that should upset only old fogies. As he gets older, he really doesn‘t give a diddle. They can play ‘"Rudoiph the Redâ€"Nosed Reinâ€" deer‘‘ on the first of July, and it doesn‘t bother him. * An old fogie, on the other hand, is a young fogie who has molded his ideas early, and lefi them there to moulder. Or Unicef states that five hundred million people in the world cannot take full part in the ordinary activities of daily living. _ At least one quarter of them are chilâ€" dren. These children may have mental, physiâ€" cal or sensory impairments. They may be paralyzed, have limited hearing, sight or mental capacity. Some have emotional difficulties. These children are disabled. Their limitations may prevent them from doing what they, their families, and communities expect. Architectural and attitudinal barriers become obstacles to leading a full normal life. This is when a child becomes handicapped. increased the rigidity of his early opinions until they are molded in iron. He likes "I‘m Dreaming of a White Christmas", but, doesn‘t want it played until there is some snow, and Christmas is imminent (not eminent, as my students insist). I prefer to be a middle fogie. This is a person who listens to young fogies, old fogies, nods solemnly in agreement, and wishes they had buried "White Christâ€" mas‘‘ with Bing Crosby, its perpetrator. In other words, the young fogie dances in the latest frenetic style, because he doesn‘t want to be called an old fogie. But he thinks it is decadent. He‘d like the return of the waltz and the schottische. While an old fogie shakes his head at the modern, openly sexual dancing, knows the dancers are all going to the hot place, and Statisitecs show that one child in ten is born with an impairment or acquires it. That means that 120 million disabled children are part of our lives. My son is one of those children. Jean Francois, who turned three last October, is orthopaedically disabled. I have another son, Marc Andre, aged two, who is able bodied. When I look at my two boys, something doesn‘t make sense. It‘s not the disability that bothers me. As a family with a disabled member we have weathered the initial onset of paralysis, the emotional and physical stress. We have all accepted the fact that Francois cannot walk without aid, that he will always have problems with bowel and bladder management, and that he will depend on some type of hardware for moâ€" bility. â€" o0 But parenting a disabled child is no different than parenting an able bodied child. How many times have I met people who walk up to me and say it must be difficult. But it‘s not difficult for me to love my son, to kiss him, hold him and tell him how much I love him. He is my son. I have the same disciplinary approach to him as to his brother. He asks the same questions and sometimes gets into situaâ€" tions only a threeâ€"yearâ€"old can get into. He already knows about planets â€" why the sun is a day star and why the sky gets dark at night. He knows that he is a boy and that some of his playmates are girls. He also has a girlfriend and they plan to marry as soon as they are toilet trained. He is no different in those aspects. The difference comes when we leave the home. Access to buildings, schools and playgrounds become obstacles. How do I explain to him why access is so difficult? would like to see the return of the waltz and the schottische (polka, what have you?). youlj. A The mlddle;i?g!e says, ‘"Jeez, there but for the grace of God, go 1." Or, ‘"Holey ole moley, I wish my arthritis would ease up. I‘d love to try it, especially with that girl who‘s just kick off her shoes and displayed her navel." He‘d like the return of the waltz, but never learned to count past two waltz, but never leamefl to count past two in the ongvuéthnee of the waltz, and gets tangled up, and falls on his face, in a fast polika or schottische. This brg.l.lant analogy, gentle reader, if you are still there, represents my attitude toward the commercialization of Christâ€" mas. I can turn off the commercials and ignore the town‘s brave decorations. Or I can crab when they commence, or are erected (sorry, that‘s a dirty word now). As a middle fogie, I choose to shut out the carols that begin Nov. 1st, ignore the drooping angels on the town decorations that were erected (there it is again) on Nov. 8th, and merely set my teeth, grit them a bit, and try to get through the Christmas season, bearing in mind that the Minister of Finance wants a little piece of every action going on in town, and Or I can say, ‘"‘Cheeze ‘n rice, I wish I were back in the business again, pulling in all those dollars that should be going for food and fuel." » Why architectural barriers are reflections of people‘s attitudes? Why he cannot find role models who just happen to have some type of physical impairment? Why he becomes an invisible person when it comes to commuity living or just sharing an experience with children his age? How, as a parent, can I help my son? Who can help me help my son? _ o When our son became paralyzed, we had our first experience with frequent hospi«~ talization and encounters with social workers and district nurses. We weren‘t quite sure how to deal with all these professionals. But we wanted to make it quite clear that the focus of our son‘s recovery was his total needs, not just the physical aspects of his disability. We needed to resume a normal life style. We did not want to raise a different child than the one we had actually given birth to. What we were trying to find, with the health care professionals, was a solution to the problem of disability. But although we had all those resource people one phone call away, Francois was still limited as far as socialization was concerned. Children weren‘t paying attention to him at the park. He was invisible. We decided to enroll him in a preschool program. I also needed time to be with Marc since most of our days were spent in treatment clinics. Our first experience with preschool was a half day, two times a week, nursery program. I showed up with the other mothers and filled out the appropriate forms. That is where Francois met his first wall. The slightly puzzled teacher looked at him. Why did I want my son to be in an ordinary program? Why wasn‘t he at the Treatment Centre? I think she anâ€" swered her own question. We wanted Francois to participate, to become active. Then the questions followed. ‘"Can he walk?" "Yes," L replied, "but with difficulty." "Is he toilet trained?" ‘"*No, he wears diapers." "Is he retarded?" ‘"No." | C In the final analysis, she declared that she could not accept him into the program since she had very limited resources and could not provide a teacher for Francois‘ special needs. All I could see was a child eager to play and make friends. He didn‘t require special stimulation. As for toiletâ€" ing, I had noticed that other toddlers were still in diapers and it didn‘t seem to pose any special problems for them. _ As for mobility, the classroom was well planned and Francois would not have any problems going frotm one play area to another. In other words â€" he wouldn‘t monopolize the teacher‘s time. _ He was finally accepted after I had agreed to become their "official volunâ€" My son is not invisible rdon the euphemism, after preaching a gn‘adgo( of equity and restraint, went out to lunch with a few of his ilk, and ran up a lunch bill of between $600 and $2,000, depending on the version you read. That, to me, is the réal Christmas spirit. His boss, King Pierre the First, has expressed similar sentiments. "If they can‘t afford filet mignon, let them eat boiled sumac bushes.‘"‘ Very tasty, by the way, and a true national dish, along with pumpkin soup. I don‘t really know where I‘m going with this column, but I have to live up to the billing another teacher gave mw this week, after he‘d armâ€"twisted me into talking to his creative writing club: teer‘"‘. That meant I had to stay at the school in case Francois had any mainteâ€" nance requirements. That particular arâ€" rangement did not work as I couldn‘t be in two places at the same time. The teacher couldn‘t handle a disabled child. To me, that didn‘t make sense. *‘Wednesday afternoon, we are going to have a seminar on writing, headed by Bill Smiley, former reporter, editor, publisher, and author of a syndicated column that appears in more than 150 papers across Canada.‘"‘ It sounded great. Like those November Christmas carols. But I cannot say, ‘"That‘s a lot of crap, John." A year later Francois was enrolled in another nursery program. Again he met this wall. The questions were the same and Little do the kids know that I was a reporter because everybody else was doing something useful; that I was an editor because nobody else wanted to take the blame; that I was a publisher only because I owed half of a $30,000 mortgage; and that I am a household word across teer"‘ In a nonâ€"integrated nursery school, your disabled child is on probation. That means, if the teacher cannot cope with him, he is out of the program. I always volunteered just so Francois could stay. After a while, it wasn‘t uncommon to answer the teachers‘ questions about Francois‘ impairment. I welcomed the question periods since it meant that some myths could disappear and the communiâ€" cation could become a learning experiâ€" ence. Some insecurities were aired. One teacher expressed her irrational fear of orthopaedic braces. She requested that I be on hand to remove them when Francois _ participated in the gym program, and wouldn‘t it be easier for everyone conâ€" cerned if Francois went into the babysitâ€" ting room (ages 0 to 18 months) while the other children were playing in the gym? Certainly not! Francois could do everyâ€" thing those children can do. He was just a little slower. The gym program was an excellent supplement to his physiotherapy sessions. I wanted Francois to be in a learning situation â€" to learn how to manipulate his environment. Francois stayed with that program for six months. He didn‘t set limits for himself because he found ways of overcoming his disability in his efforts towards full participation. Francois did that all by himself{. No one did it for him. When I could no longer stay with him at school I asked for the help of the school‘s Volunteer Bureau. Was there someone already in the building who could assist Francois if he ever needed help? Francois had a good record. In six months, he needed assistance only twice. I pointed out that many volunteers were helping other disabled individuals in the building, for example visually impaired joggers. The school advocated full participation for everyone. But this lady turned out to be another wall. Next month our family is moving to a small town on the outskirts of Ottawa. The schools look reasonably accessible as they are built on a single level. Francois will not have to cope with stairs when he attends school in the fall. oC I left her office with the impression that my son just didn‘t fit into her program and that, perhaps because he was disabled, he had a very low social status. tioned gentlieman, if you‘ll yyâ€"2j 0) CAOIMIz2AQ WATERLOO CHRONICLE, TUESDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1981 â€"â€" PAGE 7 ahr & Canada, almost inevitably preceded by the prefix ‘"bull", My colleague didn‘t mention that I wrote stories about nothing happening in town that week, just to fill up a hole on the front page; that I infuriated merchants and township reeves and little old ladies, and had to bear the brunt; that 1 personally carried the newspapers to the post office in bags weighing about 280 pounds; that I helped stamp and roll up the outâ€"ofâ€"town papers; or that I am neither rich nor famous. However, the show must go on, whether it‘s "Good King Wenceslaus‘" in No vember, or yours truly talking a group of youngsters into adopting the glamorous life of journalism, at 60 hours a week, and basic pay a little below unemployment inâ€" surance. But I must admit, the Christmas spirit sort of grabs you, whether it‘s by the pocketâ€"book, or the short and curly. â€" Just this week, I wrote a letter of recommendation for a student. If someâ€" body checked it out, I would be on the stand for perjury, mopery and gawk. But, what the heck, a commercial is a commerâ€" cial, even though it‘s a tissue of lies, halfâ€"truths and exaggeration. As for this summer, well, I found this little nursery school. It‘s just beautiful. The children there look very happy. When I visited the school last week I noticed there was a stuffed chicken on the window ledge. The teacher said that the chicken had been the school‘s mascot when it was a small chick. When it died, they just couldn‘t part with it so they brought it to the taxidermist. That‘s why it stands near the window for all étéernity." ; *.; I thought that if someone were willing to go to all that trouble just to please a child‘s fancy, I was probably knocking on the right door. Also, Marc was now two years old, and could finally join his brother in a program. The day we met the teacher, we went through the same procedures, filling out forms, etc. Then we sat down to answer her questions. That is when I noticed that she was looking at Francois‘ braces. Her questions were predictable and so were my answers. Instead of addressing herself to Francois, asking whether he preferred crafts to a singâ€"aâ€"long, she would ask me. Francois was invisible â€" and he noticed it. After a while he got up, looked her in the eye and said, "I don‘t like this place and I‘m leaving." ‘"‘What‘s wrong", she said, ‘"hasn‘t he ever been in a nursery school before?" I smiled. One month from now we will be in our new house and the boys will attend that nursery school. The teacher says she doesn‘t anticipate any problems with Marc; but it‘s Francois. She does not know if she can personally handle a disabled child. So he will be on probation. The story I have just told you is true. My son lives through this every day. Rehabilitation is fine when it comes to clinical physiotherapy, occupational therâ€" apy and the like. o o _But my ‘son is a whole person. He is a child whose needs have to be met on a larger scale than just physical treatment. That‘s why the idea of integrated preschool programs is vital to our family because the emphasis is on real life participation rather than treatment. Franâ€" cois is preparing himself to manipulate his environment. I think that when Francois sat through the last school‘s interview, he realized what people‘s attitudes were. He did not like it and he left. But it made him think about the situation. I know the teacher got the message. This year‘s theme has been full particiâ€" pation and equality. It makes sense to Francois. 1t makes sense to me. I do not want my son‘s personal growth to be limited by someone who cannot personally handle being close to someone who cannot walk. BILL ts dt vvol! ~4:‘biot 44