Yom Hashoa

Today is Yom Hashoa , or Holocaust Remembrance Day (though "Shoah" does not mean "holocaust" -- which actually means "a burnt offering" -- but rather "catastrophe").

Catastrophe.

(ETA: I was certain that I had been told that "shoah" means "immolation" or something similar, but three online dictionaries insist it's "catastrophe.")

"I've noticed that about your people, Doctor.  You find it easier to understand the death of one than the death of a million.  You speak of the objective hardness of the Vulcan heart, yet how little room there seems to be in yours." -- Spock, "The Immunity Syndrome."

After Spock's comment above, McCoy, cynically answers, "'Suffer the death of thy neighbor,' eh, Spock?  Now, you wouldn't wish that on us, would you?"

"It might have rendered your history a bit less bloody."

Ironically, I think one of the most difficult things about the Holocaust is the sheer number of people that died.

Millions.

Twenty million soldiers, and forty million civilians.

Sixty million people.

How do you conceive of millions of people dead?  Of sixty million, at that?

How many people can truly conceive of what a million means, anyway?

And, yet, every one of those millions was a light, a spark, and every one of those millions had people who grieved their loss.

It's staggering, to the point almost of abstraction -- which gets to the heart of Spock's comment.  Of course we find it easier to understand the death of "one."  One life snuffed out is hard enough to encompass...to try to conceptualize 400 -- the number of Vulcans about whose death the good Doctor is so incredulous -- let alone millions is almost an impossible task.  After all, when does "millions" cease to be "millions of faces" and become...well...just "millions."

And imagine the horror -- imagine the sheer, unutterable horror -- if we truly did suffer every one of those deaths?

So is it too much to ask to take a few moments out, once a year, and consider the lives that were cut short by forces of history that ceased to see a human being as a person and turned them into -- quite literally, in some cases -- a number?

To remember the approximately 6 million Jews who perished in ghettos, concentration camps, work camps, death camps?

To remember the approximately 5 million other people who perished in the camps, including gypsies, slaves, gay men and women, and others?

To remember the thousands upon thousands upon thousands people with disabilities who were exterminated as practice for the real Final Solution?

To remember the heroes who cared for, hid, saved, and protected the other victims, at grave danger to themselves?

Of course not.

The problem is, the Holocaust asks us to peer into the deepest, darkest parts of human nature, and to accept that they are there.

The Holocaust is uncomfortable, and nowhere is that more exquisitely portrayed than in an episode of the Twilight Zone called "Deaths-Head Revisited."  You can watch it online here, (iTunes has a radio play of the episode, but it's not quite right...for one thing, they consistently pronounce Lutze wrong) and I would highly recommend at least the teaser:

A former SS officer has come to check into a little inn, and feigns forgetfulness of where he is.

Reluctantly -- oh, so reluctantly -- the woman behind the desk admits in a quavering voice, "Dachau, sir.  Dachau."

"Ah, yes," he says, unable to hide his pride, "Dachau."  He points to the hills and inquires whether that is still the camp.

The woman, appalled, wishes they would "burn it to the ground."  The memory is clearly painful, and she wishes to avoid it.

Being the Twilight Zone, awful things happen to the former SS captain, including a trial run by a former inmate (played amazingly, searingly well by the same man who played Otto Frank in the original Diary of Anne Frank -- also a weakness of the radio production mentioned above).  At the end, a doctor comments:  "Dachau.  Why does it still stand?  Why do we keep it standing?"

There is an answer to the doctor's question. All the Dachaus must remain standing. The Dachaus, the Belsens, the Buchenwalds, the Auschwitzes - all of them. They must remain standing because they are a monument to a moment in time when some men decided to turn the Earth into a graveyard. Into it they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worst of all, their conscience. And the moment we forget this, the moment we cease to be haunted by its remembrance, then we become the gravediggers. Something to dwell on and to remember, not only in the Twilight Zone but wherever men walk God's Earth.

People often quote the adage that those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it, and I would imagine most people think that this is the function of Holocaust Remembrance Day.

But here, in one of the most haunting tags that Rod Serling ever wrote, he points to another reason to remember, to be haunted by remembering: because if we don't, we are complicit in the victims' deaths -- after all, it is only when someone is no longer remembered that they're truly gone.

In a later episode, less well acted and less affecting in its product though perhaps not in the thought behind it, the Twilight Zone continues the meditation.  If by becoming inured to or forgetful of the horror, we become complicit, the gravediggers, the assassins of the victims all over again -- then by "Othering" people, any people, we are allowing the spirit of Hitler to live, thrive, and survive.

Where will he go next, this phantom from another time, this resurrected ghost of a previous nightmare - Chicago; Los Angeles; Miami, Florida; Vincennes, Indiana; Syracuse, New York? Anyplace, everyplace, where there's hate, where there's prejudice, where there's bigotry. He's alive. He's alive so long as these evils exist. Remember that when he comes to your town. Remember it when you hear his voice speaking out through others. Remember it when you hear a name called, a minority attacked, any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being. He's alive because through these things we keep him alive.

"Any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being."

Or, in the words Diane Duane fed to Sarek, "The spear in the Other's heart is the spear in your own; you are he.  There is no other wisdom, and no other hope for us than that we grow wise."

To me, that's the heart of Holocaust Remembrance Day -- that we take the day to remember that words and thoughts sow deeds.  Casual epithets, whether it's the "N word" or the "R word" matter.  They shape thoughts, and given enough times, thoughts can shape actions.

I am not Jewish, though some people in my family are.

I am not gay, though some people in my family are.

I do not have a disability, though some people in my family do.

My family's history is neither Slavic nor Romani.

None of that should matter, of course.  The Holocaust should be horrific whether or not it could have affected you directly.

But somehow, that's my hook.  That's how I can take those millions of faces and even begin to conceptualize them.  They're my aunt, uncle, cousins...brother.

Only through a fortunate accident of birth was I born in a place and time where the Holocaust would not directly impact my life, though personal experience, but I suspect this is behind my long-time interest in the topic.

Today, though, history, psychology, anthropology...none of that matters.

Today, I remember.

An Age of Fear

Okay, so I couldn't wax eloquent on Inauguration Day.  Much of this has been percolating in the back of my head for at least a week, though, so hopefully I'll pull something at least readable out of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Maybe it's the collection of kids.

Maybe it's that they are, collectively, more academically able than just about any group I've ever had.  (Yes, I had Shy Girl for 4th grade, and she got re-classified, but I'm talking about the overall 'nature' of my class.)

Maybe it's that they are, by nature, a competitive group.

Maybe it's just that they can all say "Obama."

Yes, all.  Yes, even Bulldozer and Elastigirl.

But the fact of the matter is, my little experiment in civics lessons, which began more or less at this time last year, was a resounding success.  My students were incredibly invested in the election, in President Obama's move to the White House, and, yes, even in what type of dog Sasha and Malia (and, yes, they can name the girls too) will be getting.

Ironically, though, the experiment arose out of the frustration I remembered during the 2000 elections, when Patrick -- who was not yet old enough to vote -- knew more about the candidates than many people interviewed on the news.

If you'll recall, I said I took a perverse pleasure in the idea that my 9-12 year olds with moderate to severe disabilities might know more about our political system than the Average Joe on the street.

Of course, that didn't happen.  The whole world, I would venture to say, was captivated by the election, and I would hope that, whatever side of the political line you lie on, most people were at least touched by America's ability to move past some of its damaged past.

It may be that America elected its first black president.  But what would be nicer -- and what we'll likely never know -- would be that America simply joined together in a repudiation of the Bush era and elected the Democratic candidate.

Who just happened to be African American.

Because it will be at that point that America has truly embraced racial equality -- when it truly, literally does not matter.

That moment may in fact be a long way off, but this is the next best thing.

A few weeks ago, I posted a rambling comparison of Aragorn and Theoden's differing approaches to leadership -- as evidenced by their separate mustering of their troops in Return of the King -- and it occurred to me yesterday that, in effect, that that was the choice America faced.

Arise! Arise, riders of Theoden!  Spears shall be shaken!  Swords shall be splintered!  A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises!  Ride now!  Ride now!  Ride!  Ride to ruin, and the world's ending!  Death!  Death!

That, of course, was Theoden.

The message there was basically, if I might borrow a Klingonism, "It's a good day to die."

Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers: I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me.  A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. 

An hour of wolves, and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day!  This day we fight! 

By all the you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!

That, of course, was Aragorn.  And he was basically saying, "Look, I know you're terrified, and this sucks.  I am too.  But today is not the day to falter, and for the good of others, stand up and do the right thing."

I think America wanted the latter.

America, collectively, I think, is tired of being led by fear -- by fear of the Other, and even by fear of ourselves.

It became fashionable after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, to say that the world had changed.

Of course it hadn't.

Terrorism has been a part of history for centuries.  In the past, airliners have been hijacked.  Bombs have exploded in buildings -- in the World Trade Center, no less.  Terrorists have attacked American targets before, and will again.

It was just that, in the scope, scale, and sheer gutsiness of the attack (I mean, really, who would have thought of flying into buildings), we were taken aback.

The world didn't change on September 11th.  It was merely our perception of it that changed.

What was once something you viewed with dull horror on the evening news -- a suicide bombing in Israel, an embassy attacked -- was in New York.  It was close.

And it was here.

And if it was here, it could be anywhere.

It, of course, was not long before America had declared war on Afghanistan -- something which, while not tasteful, made sense, as they had supported Osama bin Laden.

America was reeling from anger and fear, and we fought back.

But it didn't end there, and without getting into the political implications of the Iraq war, or the War on Terror -- notice the language, there...it's not "war against terrorists" -- it's a war against fear.

We spent months -- years, even -- hearing about how so-and-so had dirty bombs, so-and-so could kill millions with one vial of ricin, how so-and-so had suitcase explosives, and so on.

Remember how, eventually, you got tired of watching the endless replays of the September 11th attacks?

Remember how, eventually, you had to turn off the TV and go read a book?

Remember how, eventually, you watched Saturday Night Live, just to have something to laugh about?

The Bush administration used fear to justify the PATRIOT Act.  The Bush administration used fear -- by saying it was protecting us from all sorts of horrors -- to justify torture.  The Bush administration used fear to justify wiretapping American citizens.

The problem is -- eventually, one of two things happen.

Either you simply get tired of being scared and want to move on, or you realize that the world hasn't really changed all that much, and that with prudence and caution, you can pretty much look at it like you looked at the world on September 10th.

Because the world did not change on September 11th.  Terrorists who had already tried to destroy those same buildings, terrorists who, a few months before, had attacked an American warship, got lucky by trying something no one could ever have predicted, and it worked.

For whatever reason -- and perhaps the faltering economy is one of those reasons, but I'm truthfully not certain -- the American people decided that they want to be led by Aragorn.

America decided that rather than facing the endless litany of things that could -- and, perhaps, should, scare us -- with secrecy and a paternal pat on the head and the suggestion that eroding just one more freedom would be enough to Make Us Safe, we wanted Aragorn.

We wanted someone who could say to us what President Obama said in his Inaugural Address.

Someone who could -- who would -- say with authority that, yes, things suck.  That, yes, it will be hard.  That, yes, mistakes were made.  That, yes, we face an uphill battle.

George W. Bush could possibly have said all that.

But can you imagine -- truly -- George W. Bush responding with assurances that America has, when pushed to its limits, risen to its challenges?  Or would George W. Bush have reassured us that the War on Terror and the Department of Homeland Security would make us reasonably safe?

What America chose, I think, was not so much President Obama's vaunted "change" -- I think what America chose was to believe in the slogan "Yes, we can."

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the
world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake.

Yes, we can face the future as Americans, with all that entails -- all the freedoms that have been in peril the last few years -- with our heads held high.

America was told we can, that we are able, that we are capable.

I think that is what America was hungry for.

When you take teacher's education courses, they tell you that positive reinforcement should outnumber corrections by 4:1.

People need reassurances that they are competent.

Americans were hungry for someone to say, "Yes, it will be hard, and it will take a long time, but it's do-able."

I don't necessarily want to draw any undue correlations between Barack Obama and Franklin D. Roosevelt -- though it's interesting, of course, that FDR was (to my knowledge) another first: the first president with a disability (that he worked hard to hide, but that's a post for another day).

But I think Americans reacted to Obama the way they reacted to FDR, who famously remarked that "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

And FDR said that not about World War II, as I imagine most people believe, but about the nation's grave economic troubles at the time, better known, of course, as the Great Depression.

Ultimately, I think it will be up to history to judge not only the reasons for President Obama's election but also the true impact of former President Bush's administration.

Can President Obama truly fulfill all the expectations that now lie squarely on his shoulders?

Truthfully, I don't know.

I do know that, in a few days, America will settle down to blissful indifference, and the only people who will really be aware of what the new administration is doing will be more or less the same people that followed the Bush administration: supporters looking to justify their choice and detractors looking to find fault.

There is still deep animosity between both sides of the aisle, and I think that -- without playing the blame game too much -- that comes from 8 years of the "if you're not with us, you're against us" mentality.

For my money, that's the deepest wound of the Bush administration.  Guantanamo can be closed, the PATRIOT Act repealed, transparency increased, but it will take real work to extend the goodwill that was largely directed at President Obama yesterday into lasting cooperation between the two parties.

To get back to my original point (which I hope wasn't lost), I think the election of Barack Obama was a repudiation of fear: of fear of the Other who means us harm, of fear of the Other who looks different than us, of fear that our challenges are too extensive to address effectively.

And even of fear of our neighbor -- because I read yesterday that few, if any, arrests were made in D.C. yesterday, even given the enormous size of the crowd and the heightened state of emotion.

During the Inauguration yesterday, most of the school crowded into the cafeteria, where our principal (or, most likely, Retiree DF, as she refers to her husband) rigged one of the computer projectors to show CNN.

My class sat quietly, clapped when President Obama walked on screen, and listened to his whole speech.

It's often said that kids with special needs are attuned to the people around them -- that, for instance, they react with anxiety if they sense people around them are anxious.

So my kids' interest in the election may very well have been a reflection simply of the mood of the rest of the country.

I doubt I'll never know for sure, but I'll tell you one thing: we'll definitely track the next election from primaries on, no matter what group of kids I have.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I've said before that I try to keep politics off the blog, except for things that I feel very strongly about (Prop. 8, for instance).  I often find myself a little on the outside of political discussions, for a variety of reasons.

One is that my political views are sometimes in opposition -- to each other.  While I'm registered Democrat, my views are actually closer to Libertarian in that socially I'm quite liberal (for instance, referencing Prop 8, if you're consenting adults, I don't much care what gender or how many people are involved as long as all those who are involved can consent), and yet I tend to the conservative where it comes to money.

Another is that I've always been fascinated with history, and so tend to view things with a longer eye than some folks.  For instance, I remember blundering into a political discussion with my dad and grandparents (my mom's side) some time in the mid-90s, before I learned not to beat a dead horse.  They were complaining about the Clinton administration and perceived corruption in politics.

(As an aside -- from a purely sociological standpoint -- it's always fascinated me that the general perception of Clinton's lying about being...sexually...serviced was categorically worse than selling arms to bad guys and then lying about it...but what do I know, right?)

Anyhow, I pointed out that corruption specifically and turmoil in general in politics seems to be a cyclical thing.  The 1860s saw the Civil War and deep divides over slavery and how the South should be repatriated.  The late 1800s saw deep corruption at all levels of political activity.  The 1960s saw deep divides over racial equality and other social issues. Beginning with Nixon, of course, America saw a string of less than ethically sound decisions from the highest office in the land.

It took until the early 1900s for the corruption to shake itself out of American politics last time around.  Is Barack Obama the turning point once again?  Will the cycle repeat itself again?

Only time will tell, really.

Mixed Messages

On the one hand:

On the other:

Dreams

I have no idea why, but in high school, I became a large fan of both Romantic poets (as in, from the Romantic period), and Langston Hughes.

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

While my favorite Hughes poem is probably either "I, Too," or "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" (I heard a recording of, I think, Avery Brooks reading this once and was enthralled by the rhythm of the language), nothing quite captures frustration and longing like "A Dream Deferred."

Intentional or not (I imagine it was probably intentional), Dr. King used the dream motif as well, in a quote that most everyone has probably heard.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

. . . 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, . . . little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

 . . . With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

I must admit to pessimism.  I never thought that America was ready to elect a person of color (or a woman) to the White House.  I'm still not, if I'm entirely honest, convinced of Obama's safety, should he actually win -- as it's looking he will.

I must also admit to cynicism.  No one politician can change the world.  That President Bush was able to ram the PATRIOT Act down Americans' throats and change as much as he has has got to be a historical anomaly.  Although Obama's politics more closely mirror my own, I doubt very much that he will live up to the nation's hopes -- but then, neither would McCain should he win.  There's too much to do, and politics just doesn't work that way.

But for today -- just for today -- I want to say congratulations to America for looking beyond its troubled past.  Just for today.  Even should McCain pull a rabbit out of his hat, Barack Obama is within 70 electoral college votes of the presidency.  That in itself is huge.

Now, about that whole "equality" thing?  That "free at last" thing?  That "let freedom ring" thing?

Go vote no on 8.  If you haven't already.

Those Darn Commercials

Consider this your warning: This will be long.

I mostly try to avoid politics here; I really do.  From what I can tell, my regular readers share my view -- but who knows?  I might have nerdy conservative lurkers out there.  Who knows, right?

But I can't let this go.  The "Yes on 8" commercials are driving me freaking insane -- especially the one about teaching second graders about same-sex marriage.

Okay, first off?  Check out the English Language Arts and Social Studies content standards (PDFs), and search "marriage," "marry," "family," etc., and see how far it gets you.  Not very, that's how far.

Second.  There are already books dealing with same-sex couples.  People have complained for years about all sorts of books.  Don't believe me?  Google "banned books" and see what you get.

Third.  When I had Space Cadet J in my class, her family didn't want anything to do with Halloween (for religious reasons).  Knowing this, I made my Halloween vocabulary homework optional.  Her mom said that they'd discussed not having her do it, and took the opportunity to explain what Halloween was and why they didn't believe in it.  If your school does teach same-sex marriage (which is NOT in the content standards), if you feel so moved, take the opportunity to tell your child why you don't believe in it.

Fourth.  Pardon the yelling.

RELIGIOUS MARRIAGE DOES NOT EQUAL CIVIL MARRIAGE.

Want proof?

Go get married in a church, don't get a marriage license, and see what the government says when you try to claim a benefit of marriage.

Then, go get a marriage license but don't get married in a church, and see what the government says when you try to claim a benefit of marriage.

Making same-sex marriage legal -- or, rather, keeping it legal -- does not compel your church to marry same-sex couples.  I would venture to say that there may be churches out there that won't marry mixed-race couples.  Fifth Grade Teacher E's rabbi wouldn't marry her son because he married a Catholic girl.

ALL.  TOTALLY.  LEGAL.

Fifth.

Again, pardon the yelling.

FOR FRELL'S SAKE, HOW DOES IT IMPACT YOU IF TWO OTHER PEOPLE GET MARRIED?

I mean, really.  It's not like they'll run out of marriage licenses.

It's infuriating.

Marriage, as far as the government is concerned, is a civil contract between two people that entails both rights and responsibilities.  Denying a marriage license to two people of the same gender is discrimination because it's telling one of the two that they can't get a marriage license because of their gender.

It's not right.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It may seem odd that someone raised in a conservative family who went to a conservative Lutheran elementary school, a Catholic middle and high school, and a Lutheran college would hold such views.  Because of that, I probably should share a little.

I was raised in a very sheltered environment.  My elementary school was extremely small, and -- for the most part -- not very diverse.  How small?  I was one of four graduating sixth graders.

So you'll pardon me that I was close to thirteen-ish before I realized that my uncle's sister (who had been bringing her "friend" to family-only events for years) was gay.

In my freshman year of high school, I had a very forward thinking religion/sex ed teacher (yes, our semester of sex ed was considered our religion class for the semester) who showed an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation to explain homosexuality.  She explained that the character who had committed the heinous act, according to her society, of being born a female in a genderless society was roughly equivalent to someone who was born gay.

While she was bogged down in what is (to my understanding) still current Catholic dogma -- that is, being gay isn't a sin but acting on it and having intercourse is -- it was remarkably progressive, given the environment.

Because of that, I was already predisposed to believe that being gay was just a genetic variation -- and (and this is key) something over which one does not have control.

So, that was percolating in the back of my brain as I became interested in Babylon 5 -- but I still totally missed the Susan/Talia thing until Susan blurted out at the end of an episode that she had loved Talia.  (Actually, the line was "I think I loved Talia," which I always found very poignant.)

Meanwhile (this is important, I promise), Leonardo DiCaprio was becoming the Next Big Thing.  (I'll get there; I promise.)

Also meanwhile, I was developing a "relationship radar" -- that is, if I watch a show for more than an episode or two, I can generally sense which characters will eventually pair off.  Whether it's because writers are transparent or because several years of scouring every detail of Babylon 5 and Star Trek for hidden clues predisposed me to look harder and catch subtle clues, I don't know, but the effect was the same.

By my freshman year of college, the Internet happened.  Being the inquisitive sort, I checked out Star Trek fan sites within weeks of starting college.  Being the naive sort, I did not anticipate -- at all -- the...ahem...varied views one can find in fandom regarding relationships.

That is, I had no idea about Rule 34 :  If it exists, people will 'ship it.  (Well, technically the rule is "if it exists, there is p*rn for it," but I can count on one hand the number of things with a greater-than-R rating I've ever read...and the ones I have involved a lot of skimming and page-down-ing.)

Boy, oh, boy, was I in for a shock.

Most of the pairings made very little to no literary sense -- that is, I just could not see how anyone thought the original "text" of the show suggested a relationship of any kind.  But it did force me to examine whether I was reacting negatively to a lot of those things because I am a bit of a canon-snob (in other words, you have to convince me that your story could conceivably happen on the show) or because of the content.

Well, around that time, Titanic smashed into the box office, and every female on the planet was swooning over Leonardo DiCaprio.

I didn't get it.  (I still don't.)

Now, Jason Carter?  Sure.  Kevin Smith (the kiwi, not the Jay and Silent Bob guy).  Heck yeah.  The guy who played Gunn on Angel?  Oooh, boy yes.  Honestly...Leonard Nimoy?  Uh huh.

But Leo DiCaprio?

Meh.

And I realized that if I was not able to convince my hormones that he was OMG THE BEST THING EVER...how could I expect someone else to make their hormones react to another gender?

Meanwhile, I was home for winter break and forced to watch only channel 5 due to having a c-band satellite in one room and an iffy antenna on the other.  I flipped onto an episode of Xena ("The Quest ," as it happens), and within 20 minutes, my relationship radar was going off the charts, and I was...a bit confused.  Had I flipped into the episode five minutes earlier and seen the much-discussed kiss...I doubt I would have been confused.

I don't read much fan fiction online anymore (and I find it infinitely amusing that of the little I do, they are written by opposite ends of the political spectrum, even though the second show isn't overtly conservative), but I do read Missy Good.

I found her second story, At a Distance, on one of my first searches into online Xena stuff, when I was still trying to figure out what was going on with my relationship radar.  I had no idea what "alt" was, and by the time I got to that one scene ("The feeling was stronger now..."), I didn't care.  I was hooked, and have been ever since.

It's been fun watching her writing develop over the past -- Good Lord -- twelve years.  I'm not the only one; she eventually ended up writing two episodes of the sixth season and collaborated on a musical episode that, sadly, never aired (I'd have killed to hear Xena sing "Last Dance.").

And I'm going to borrow her words -- words I read, if I'm not mistaken, when I was a sophomore in college -- to end this, because it was reading them that I became absolutely, unequivocally, a proponent of same-sex rights.  They hit me that hard.

"There was so much hate in his voice…I don't understand, Dar...how can people hate you for something as beautiful as loving someone?"

Vote no on 8.

Please.

The Vote

As I said on Twitter earlier today, I helped Patrick fill out his absentee ballot this afternoon.

Patrick, like many other young people his age, just barely missed being able to vote in the 2004 election (he was a few months shy of turning 18).  And, yet, he's always been a bit of a news junkie.

I mentioned last spring, when I had my class start following the presidential primaries, that I was partly inspired by memories of Patrick watching news coverage of the 2000 elections.  In particular, I remember being shocked when news programs (real ones, not something like The Daily Show) went around and showed people pictures of Al Gore, George W. Bush, and the like -- and a whole lot of people did not know who was who.

Patrick did.

And -- for reasons that must be genetic (I come from a primarily politically conservative family, although Patrick's main influences -- myself and my mom -- since our dad's death both lean liberal) Patrick was very clear, both times, that his preference was for George W. Bush.

In neither case could he articulate why, but how many average voters can?  Sure, there are the news junkies, the NPR or KFI listeners (depending on which way you lean on the political spectrum), but how many average j-err...Tom, Dick, and Harry could articulate why they vote for someone as opposed to someone else?

So, anyway, when she helped him register to vote, my mother had Patrick register as a Republican.

Now, I am fairly passionate about the fact that adults with disabilities have as much right to vote as anyone else.  There is no IQ testing required to vote -- though I think CA says that you can't vote if under guardianship.  But as Patrick is not, that's not an issue here.

(Also, again, IQ or not, Patrick is probably as informed -- if not moreso -- than the average voter.)

So, Patrick was waiting eagerly for his absentee ballot to come.  He is registered to vote absentee because he requires the assistance of someone to read the ballot to him, and often to clarify what it is saying.  (More on that later.)

Before starting, I laid out the ground rules for Patrick.  I would read the ballot to him and help him understand it.  I would help He of the Bad Eyesight Who Won't Wear His Glasses to fill in the right bubble.  But I would not tell him how to vote on any issue, even if I didn't agree with his vote.

The first page was the presidential election.  I explained that this was the list of candidates for president and vice president.  I pointed out that most people would vote for either Obama or McCain but told him that he could vote for whoever he wanted.  He carefully perused all the names, and eventually voted for the Libertarian candidate.

The next page was senator, state senator, etc.  I read the names to him, explained what each job was (senator versus state senator, etc.) and pointed out the person's reputation.  I don't recall who he voted for, but he said to me that he chose one person because he thought "they would do a good job for this country."

Then there were the judges.  He voted primarily on what the person's job was -- for instance, in one race, he chose a gang prosecutor over a defense lawyer because he knew "gangs are bad and he helps them go away."  I am pretty sure he voted for one candidate because he was amused by their last name.

But, to tell the truth, I usually don't vote for judges if I haven't heard of them -- and if I do, I often do just what he did...vote for the teacher or other profession I like.

Then came the propositions, and where we went from me reading the ballot to a little more interpretive work.

Before we started, I explained that the propositions are another way to make a law.  I told Patrick that most times, we vote for people who make laws for us. (You hear that, folks?  We are not a direct democracy.)  These propositions, I told him, are a way for people to help make their own laws.

I also told Patrick that there are times that I don't vote one way or the other.  If I haven't sufficiently researched a proposition, I would rather not vote at all than mistakenly vote for something I don't agree with.

We eventually settled upon this system:  I read the title of the proposition, then summarized the description (including costs), and explained what a "yes" vote would mean, and what a "no" vote would mean.

This, of course, involved explaining bonds (after two tries, I settled for "selling bank accounts" as something that would make sense to him), as the majority of the propositions were bond measures.

He listened carefully to each one and clearly considered them carefully.  He looked a little overwhelmed and at one point told me he was "nervous," which was when I simplified the language a bit more.

What I was careful to do, though, was to present both sides, regardless of how I felt about the particular issue.

Of course, Proposition 8 came up.  We had already talked about this last week, as we walked through the Disneyland parking lot (I'm pretty sure I saw a "yes on 8" bumper sticker or something), but I kept to the system.

As an example, this is how we went through the propositions:

"This is the law we talked about before," I told him.  "It's the one about being married. If you vote 'yes,' it means that you think only a boy and a girl should get married.  If you vote 'no,' it means that you think that if a boy and a boy or a girl or a girl are in love, they should be able to get married."

Because Patrick is a "default to B" type of kid (that is, if you give him a multiple choice question, he almost always picks the second option -- as in, "Patrick, is the sky blue or pink polka dots?" If he were distracted, you would likely get pink polka dots), I repeated the distinction.

"Remember we were talking about Sulu's wedding?  If you vote 'no,' you are saying that it's okay for him to marry the man he loves, or for T to marry M."  (T and M being my uncle's sister and her partner.)  "If you vote 'yes,' you are saying that a man and a man or a woman and a woman who love each other can't be married."

Patrick paused, thought about it, paused again, and said definitively, "I choose no."

I showed him which bubble to fill in, and then thanked him.  :-)

As we went through the issues, one thing became very interestingly clear:  some higher power moved him to choose the Libertarian guy.  Almost without variation, he voted the way I would expect a Libertarian to: conservatively on money issues (except the bullet train to San Fran and Sacramento...I think he thought that was cool) and Prime Directively on social issues (that is, non-interference).

I took my responsibility to be objective very seriously, but it was a cool experience helping him take this step into the adult world.

My class is going to vote Tuesday too, and compare our results to the national ones.  So far, polls are leaning towards Obama...but partly because my two twin girls, as well as Drama Queen (4th grade girl A), have decided that he is handsome.

(Betcha lots of other women are voting that way for the same reason, sad as that is.)

Whether or nor their parents ever help them to take this step...at least they'll have had practice.  Meanwhile, Patrick's vote is in the mail tomorrow.

A Serious Question

When did it become bad to be smart?

People -- or, rather, those who aren't boggling in amazement -- are praising Governor Palin's down-to-earth soccer-momness.  When George W. Bush ran the first time, much was made of the fact that he was a regular guy and aspersion was regularly cast upon Gore for being too intellectual.

Prior to the VP debates, a commenter on NPR said the same thing about Joe Biden.

Here's the thing.

I want the president to be smart.

He is the leader of the free world.  I want a smart person to be in charge of the world.

But, seriously, when did intelligence become bad?

I remember being in school and feeling I had to apologize for the grade I'd gotten on an essay.

When I wrote "aspersion" above, I briefly wondered if (1) I should define it or (2) if people would be mad at me for using a word they didn't know.

I don't really have an answer here (as you can probably tell by the semi-incoherent rambling), and I'm not saying that intelligence is the end-all and be-all of the world.  Street smarts count for a lot.  They do.

But if you're going to be running my country, and therefore directly affecting my life, I would really rather you were smart enough to handle it adequately.

I don't get it.

The default "super awesome" jobs that everyone thinks of are "doctor" and "lawyer" -- two jobs which require degrees beyond a bachelor's degree.  Both of which require rigorous training that's not for the faint of heart.

So why do we honor jobs that require intelligence but turn around and complain that the potential vice president is too smart?

I just...don't get it.

Why It Matters

Last year, during Mr. Voice's IEP-From-the-Dark-Side, his mother was berating me because I'd sent home a social studies homework assignment that said...

...wait for it...

...circle any of these people that you see on the news or in a newspaper.

It was clearly marked as extra credit (as I'm not assuming that anybody has a TV or can afford a newspaper) and...y'know...circle a picture.

"My typical ten-year-old couldn't do that," said the group home representative.

(I boggled.)

"Why does it matter anyway?" asked Mr. Voice's mom.

Well, for one thing, there is not a functioning-level requirement to vote.  Patrick can vote. If she so chooses, and has someone to assist her to do it, Elastigirl will be able to vote.  If you are an adult American who is not a felon, you can vote.

(Note that I'm not sure how guardianship affects that -- but I'm not a fan of guardianship anyway.  I would much rather an adult with disabilities have a specific document detailing where they need assistance and where they are able to make their own decisions.  But I'm weird like that.)

For another, it's only a matter of time before my students, who are already tested on Language Arts, Math, and Science (just like their peers who take STAR testing), will be tested on social studies.  It's probably inevitable.

For a third -- even if it weren't likely to be on a test someday, I believe that it's my responsibility as a teacher to teach as much civic knowledge as I can.  For some, that may simply mean recognizing the Pledge of Allegiance, knowing The Star-Spangled Banner, recognizing America's flag, or knowing that we have a president.

And, for a fourth...for crying out loud, it said to circle anyone you saw on the news.

The News-2-You website says this about teaching current events:

Everyone needs ready access to sources of "new information". It's the content that makes our conversations interesting and meaningful and sparks learning. All individuals have a right to this information, not just for those of us who are able to decipher the content-intensive formats regularly used in newspapers and on newscasts. News-2-You® is universally designed for individuals who need concise, visual concepts. It provides "big picture" news to a population previously denied that information. It provides fun and motivating reading material.

In other words, current events are important.

I'm blessed this year to have kids that pay attention to the world.  After the train crash, several kids came to school the next day asking if we'd read about it for News-2-You.  (Sadly, they did not produce a short World News article on the subject.)  Every single one of them -- Elastigirl excluded, but more on her later -- can name Obama and McCain.

When I started, last year, the kids' books regarding the presidential primaries, I said that one of my main motivators was remembering seeing a news segment before the presidential election in 2000, where very few people could name the current VP, name or recognize either of the candidates, and a few who didn't recognize the current president (!).

Another main motivator, I have to admit, is the pride of being able to say, "My kids know more than 30% of the people out there in the real world."  This is also why I drill the world map so hard -- it is insane that so few high schoolers can find America on the map. My fourth, fifth, and sixth graders with moderate to severe disabilities are getting it.  So there.

But there's also the fact that these guys will be living in the real world.  What happens in regards to politics is as important to them -- maybe moreso, given the still-very-relevant issue of in-home supported living versus institutional living -- and knowing something about the political system will help them to be good self-advocates.

None of that matters, though, when confronted with the conversation that happened in my classroom yesterday morning.

For the record, the players involved are Aide T, Earring Twin and Drama Queen (fourth grade girl A).  None of this was prompted.

At all.

Drama Queen:  Is McCain going to the talking thing?

Aide T:  You mean the debate?  We don't know yet.

Drama Queen:  Why not?

Aide T:  Well, there's an important meeting in Washington D.C., and Mr. McCain thinks it's important that he go.

Earring Twin:  Obama's going to the meeting?

Aide T:  We don't know yet.  Mr. Obama thinks it's important that he tell people his ideas.  He wants to have the debate so that he can do that.

Drama Queen:  But McCain wants to go to the Washington meeting?

Earring Twin:  I saw Obama on the TV last night.

Aide T:  Yes.  He thinks it's more important to meet with the other people in Washington D.C.

I would like to point out for the record, given that this is a school, that there were no value judgments inherent in this conversation.

I would also like to point out that I got my kids actively watching the news and then wanting to know more about it.

This is why it matters.

This is why school for kids with moderate to severe disabilities should be more than reading Dick and Jane over and over and over and over until they can finally read that one -- so that -- yay -- they can start the next one.

This is why core content -- even modified core content (you'll note that Aide T kept her explanations very simple) -- is important.

Because they do care.

They are interested.

They might not grasp all the fundamentals and subtleties -- but, really, how many people do? -- but they care.

That is why it matters.

Commercial Pointlessness

Okay, I realize the big digital TV transition is a big deal.

However -- what on Earth is the point of advertising on local cable?  If you have cable you don't have to worry about the digital TV thing in the first place...even the commercial says this.

Also?  The commercial that says the digital TV transition was mandated because -- note that conjuntion...because -- the picture is so much better.

Felgercarb.

The government wanted to auction off the over-the-air wireless spectrum for lots of money.

End of story.

Earth to Crazy Person

So, I've  been reading a really interesting discussion on Peter David's blog about the marriages that began taking place yesterday.

(Most of the pictures here are pretty cool, including a couple more of that couple in their 80s.)

Anyhow, it reminded me of...how to say this nicely....

Okay, I'll go for pure objectivity.

There was coverage on the channel 11 news yesterday of the marriages.  The coverage was largely positive, but they did talk to a protester who was -- well, eloquent she was not.

(Not that I would be if a TV reporter came up to me and started talking to me on-camera, but whatever.)

Anyway, when asked why she was protesting, she said, more or less (slightly paraphrasing from memory, here),  "It's just -- the state of families today -- they're falling apart.  There are so many kids coming from single parent homes!"

At which point, my Earth logic kicked in, and demanded, "Wait.  You're protesting couples formalizing their relationships and becoming legal families because there are too many broken families out there? Bwuah?"

You know, I won't agree with you, but I'd be far more likely to take your argument seriously if you weren't honestly trying to convince me that making 2-parent homes is somehow related to a rise in single-parent homes.

Or, you know, if you employed Earth logic.

Warning: Political Post

I've debated how to discuss this, and came to a few conclusions.

I could discuss the fact that I believe banning same-sex marriage is in direct opposition to Equal Protection under the law, as it prevents a couple from obtaining a marriage license based on the gender of one of the two people applying for such.

But I won't.

I could discuss the fact that marriage, as the state sees it, is a civil contract, and that the state allowing same-sex marriage does not prevent Homophobic Church #4 from refusing to allow same-sex couples to participate in the religious ceremony of marriage if they so choose.

But I won't.

I could discuss the fact there are, no doubt, churches that continue to refuse to marry people of different races, and that that is their right if they choose to do so.  I don't agree with it, but the civil contract aspect of marriage that entitles people to rights, protections, and responsibilities within the federal and state government is entirely separate to the religious ceremony of marriage.

But I won't.

I could discuss the fact that there are not, in fact, a limited number of marriage certificates, and that allowing same-sex couples to apply for, and receive, them does not mean that there will be fewer for heterosexual couples.

But I won't.

I could discuss, in an effort to persuade any reluctant readers, the fact that allowing people to go to city hall and get a marriage license in no way compels you to perceive them as religiously married, nor does it require you to approve of their marriage any more than you are required to approve of any other marriage, whether that's because those getting married are too young, are drug addicts, or in some other way don't meet your requirements for a good marriage.  It is a matter between them and the state.

But I won't.

I could, and someday may, be able to eloquently (I hope) defend, in a calm and rational manner, why I think that the California ruling allowing same-sex marriage is such a wonderful -- long, long overdue -- thing.

But I won't.

I could point out that, while you can go to City Hall and be married in the eyes of the state whether or not you have wedding in church, the opposite is most definitely not true.  The government is not regulating what your church decides is or is not applicable.  It is looking at the City Hall part of the process.

But I won't.

What I will say is simply this:  congratulations.

(P.S.  This picture makes me smile.  So does this one.)

So Close

(The IEP was 95% fine; it turned out as I wrote it that I did, in fact, have all her goals planned...just subconsciously, like normal.  I'd even taken the appropriate data.  I love how my brain works.  The 5% not fine was that the parents were excited to meet the middle school teacher -- who emailed me to let me know that she has been put on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy.  Whoops.)

Anyway.

Picture this.

You're a mostly-shy, mostly-retiring girl who doesn't really enjoy the spotlight of lots of people.  However, you are pretty excited to have a family gathering of both sides of the family to celebrate your sixteenth birthday.  You, by a large margin, don't want to be the sole focus of attention...but it's a fairly small gathering of very familiar people, and you're mostly okay with it.

Except...

...that five days ago, these two people, that you've never heard of, were killed in Brentwood.

And the suspected killer -- who you had also never heard of -- is driving his white Bronco down a local freeway at 35 miles per hour, pursued by every CHP officer in Southern California.

And everyone -- everyone -- is glued to the TV.

You find yourself thinking things like: I know I didn't want to be the center of attention, exactly, but this is ridiculous.  It'd be nice if people actually noticed I existed.

It's not that I'm bitter, per se, it's just --

Okay, I'm a little bitter.

And then I hear that California was going to start issuing same-sex marriage licenses on June 17, and I thought -- finally, something good for people to associate with the day (which, of course, cheerfully ignores that not everyone shares that opinion, but that's a rant for another day).

But then I hear that San Francisco county officials asked if they could begin after the end of business hours the previous day, and so now county clerks across the state have permission to grant same-sex marriage licenses beginning at 5:00 p.m. June 16th.

Dang.

So close....

The Phoenix Has Landed

Without getting into a huge debate over the practicality of the space program (I, personally, think that we're soon going to have several billion folks who need to go somewhere), I just have to say kudos to NASA as Phoenix joins her sisters Spirit and Opportunity.

It hasn't always been easy, but it's been a nifty string of successes y'all have had lately.

As for the debate I don't want to get into:

Say to me, "No more Apollo"

Say to me, "The job is done"

And I say, "Your words are hollow

And our work has just begun"

Say to me, "We need the money

Just to feed the poor"

And I say, "Gee, that's funny

It's for them that we explore."

Say to me, "We should be fighting"

Say to me, "The world's at war"

And I say, "We are uniting

People tired of war and more"

Say to me, "There's too much danger

Say, "We could be lost"

And I say, "I am no stranger to danger

That's the cost"

Say to me, "The world is dying,

Ready for its last hurrah"

And I cry, "Keep on trying,

We must find our Shangri-La."

Say to me, "No more Apollo"

Say to me, "The job is done"

And I say, "Your words are hollow

And our work has just begun

And our work has just begun"

 -- "Apollo Lost," Cynthia McQuillin

Good Versus BADD

I missed "Blogging Against Disablism" Day last year, but here goes...

I kept going back and forth as to whether this would be a "sister" post or a "teacher" post, and it's kind of become both.  It's also something I've briefly ranted about before, so pardon that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was the first or second assembly of the year, during my second year of teaching.  I had a student who could be severely self-injurious (he would hit his head and chin until he bled), but he would be much less likely to injure himself if he had a string of beads to fidget with.

So, I take my motley crew to the assembly.  This particular student squeaked a few times and flicked his beads.  Scissor Girl probably vocalized some.  I wouldn't be surprised if Millionare Boy (the Who Wants to be a Millionaire fan) hadn't, at the least, laughed loudly at the wrong time once or twice.

Meanwhile, the two fourth grade classes (one of whom would become Sixth Grade Teacher JT's nightmare class of last year) were chattering with each other and needing redirections.  Ditto the fifth and sixth graders.

Who knows what the assembly was about?

That has been erased from my mind by what happened next:  Former Principal SW and Sixth Grade Teacher JT both approached me about the student and his beads, saying that they were disruptive and that maybe he shouldn't go to assemblies anymore.

His beads.  His string of costume jewelry beads.

The other kids were loud.

The other kids needed to be shushed.

The other kids were inattentive and difficult.

S did not hit himself.  S did not start crying/moaning as he would do during a panic attack.

S held a string of freaking beads and flicked them up by his right eye.

There's this ridiculous, horrible double standard when it comes to kids with disabilities.  If other kids misbehave at an assembly, they get a talking to -- perhaps even detention or something -- but no one says, "Well, no more assemblies for you."

And yet, if a child with autism, severe developmental disabilities, and an anxiety disorder WHO WOULD HAVE OTHERWISE BEEN BUSY GIVING HIMSELF A CONCUSSION flicks some beads to calm himself, he shouldn't come to assemblies anymore.

It's ridiculous and it's unfair.

And it points to something even more fundamental: people with disabilities are still expected to earn the right to be with others.  S had to earn the right to be at an assembly, and the only way he could do that was to sit at the assembly without any support or accommodations.

The thing is, S had the right to attend the assemblies.  S had the right to sit there with his beads and flick them to his heart's content (to be fair, in the interests of full disclosure, if he'd have had a panic attack, I'd have escorted him outside because that would have been too loud -- and, more to the point, his anxiety would have just increased until he was somewhere with less stimulation).

Let me say that again:  S had the right to be there at that assembly, even if he needed a 99% inconspicuous comfort object to maintain his composure during the assembly.  Would I have let him take something truly loud?  No, but that's my job as a teacher -- to find ways to help him cope that are as quiet and inconspicuous as possible.

For the record, our new principal, Principal SDF, has commented on how much she likes the fidgets bag I bring to assemblies.  And, yes, sometimes someone will put one of our vibrating thingies on the floor and make a little noise (at that point, it's replaced with a different fidget), but no one says anything about it.

But this is an attitude that is still way too prevalent.  It's not expected that kids (or adults) with disabilities are entitled to experiences like that.  It's still something they have to earn -- something others are given as a matter of course.

Disability is often an "accident of birth" -- and as Americans, we should be beyond assigning social categories because of accidents of birth.

See y'all at the next assembly.

Appropos of Nothing

A while back, I posted my incredulousness that a woman was more perturbed that an upcoming surgery might paralyze her than the notion that whatever the surgery was for might kill her.

Well, I watch a lot of science, nerdy type shows. In fact, my suggestions list on my TiVo is full of astronomy specials, history channel specials, and Extreme Engineering (Sky City sounds way cool, and is likely the future of cities).

At one point, I saw a special about a woman who had been born with a condition that required her to have both legs amputated at a very early age. It was...meh. There are lots of more interesting things out there, but when there's nothing else on, there's nothing else on.

Then I saw a preview for some upcoming shows that featured the same woman, who gets around by pushing herself on a skateboard.

She says, "I couldn't imagine being confined to a wheelchair."

Putting aside my issues with the phrase "confined to a wheelchair" for a bit, I have to boggle at that comment. What on earth would the difference be between using a skateboard for mobility and a wheelchair, besides eighteen inches or so?

But, I mean, really, how ingrained in our culture must this notion of wheelchair=bad be for someone who already uses alternative means of transportation (a means that, one could argue, is more unusual-looking than using a wheelchair) to reject it out of hand?

Further googling led to a few people who reacted to the documentary with admiration -- she can drive a car! She has a job! How amazing that she doesn't "allow" herself to be convinced to use a wheelchair!

Um.

Here's a bit of logic for you.

A wheelchair is a four-wheeled device upon which one sits. One propels oneself either manually or with electronic assistance. One uses it to get from one place to another. One does face the inconvenience of being at stomach-level with most people without disabilities.

A skateboard is a four-wheeled device upon which one generally stands, but upon which the aforementioned woman sits. One propels oneself manually. One uses it to get from one place to another. One does face the inconvenience of being at knee-level with most people without disabilites.

I. Just. Don't. Get. It.

It's a thing. It's the short-distance version of a car.

Think about it. You could, if sufficiently motivated, walk anywhere you can go in a car -- but it would take you a heck of a lot longer, use up more energy, and is just not practical.

It gets you from one place to another.

That's all a wheelchair is. It's a thing. It's a device.

And, for many people with physical disabilites, it's a liberating device that's the difference between going places and being stuck in bed at all times.

How pervasive must ableism really be, in our culture, for someone to internalize wheelchair = bad to the degree that a skateboard is the only option, to the extent that she can't even imagine using a wheelchair at all, when she's essentially using a short, homemade wheelchair to begin with?

How pervasive must ableism really be, for people's reaction to the documentary be admiration that she can drive?

No wonder we debate things like the Ashley Treatment. No wonder children like Katie McCarron and Annie Marshall and Tracy Latimer have been killed.

If we view using an assistive device (for the record, I use several: glasses, the ocassional ankle brace, and a specialty keyboard, among others) as OMG THE END OF THE WORLD...

...then people automatically think Ashley's life should be about her parents' convenience, that Annie and Tracy's life was pointless, sad, and hopeless.

It shouldn't even be a question. Of course Ashley is entitled to grow and mature and experience life as an adult. Of course Katie was entitled to life, however it would or would not have been affected by autism. Of course Tracy and Annie deserved to live, to be happy and engaged by whatever made them happy and engaged.

But we can't even discuss these as a society because the majority of people -- likely people who think they have no contact with someone with a disability (I say think because they likely know someone with learning disabilites, someone somewhere on the autism spectrum, someone with dyslexia, and so forth) -- can't even get past the use of a wheelchair.

And what's worse: someone who has disabilities can't even get past the use of a wheelchair.

It's...ridiculous doesn't even cover it.

Spring Fever

I love my 4th, 5th, and 6th graders. I really do. For better or for worse, it's when a lot of things begin to click -- particularly in the late fifth-early sixth graders.

There's just one problem.

The giant cloud of hormones that begins to hover over the room right around this time of year.

Superhero came from home upset but pulled himself together. The Boss was flouncing around. Sleeping Beauty was playing dumb all morning, waiting for people to do stuff for her, and then swinging her jacket around and saying "Toro! Toro! Toro!" to Aide S. Bulldozer was grumpy (but he has a rash all over his body; I'd be grumpy too).

And PH spent all afternoon wailing in his Ridiculous Baby Voice. I mean, all afternoon. Aide S would get him simmered, then he'd ramp right back up again.

However, we continued to work on our presidential primaries book -- we've just now finished with Super Tuesday (yikes) -- and it's been a huge success.

(I'll take what I can get.)

Angel can name (as in, I hold up a picture and ask, "Who is this?") Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, John McCain, Mitt Romney, and Mike Huckabee. She just today identified that Hillary Clinton is a Democrat. We're working on "Republican."

(She also came in today and said, "Did you watch the news on Friday?"

"Probably," I said. "Did you?"

"Yes!" She grinned, all excited. "They said Obama has the most points."

"You mean from the primaries?"

"Uh huh."

"What about Hillary Clinton?"

"She has to get more points or she'll lose."

Squee!!!!

Then, as we were filling out our books today, we came across Mitt Romney several times (still Super Tuesday, ya know).

"But Miss Spoowriter?" she said, frowning. "He quit."

(I, at no point, had told the kids that. Ever.)

"You're right; he did. But these happened before he quit."

"Why he quit? He won a lot."

"You're right; he did win a lot. I'm not sure why he quit."

Double squee!)

PH can name Barack Obama and can find Hillary Clinton.

The Boss and Sleeping Beauty can find a picture of Barack Obama without having one to match, and can name him from his picture.

Bulldozer can identify Hillary Clinton as "The Girl" and can match pictures of all the candidates.

Superhero and M can find Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton versus each other, with prompts (e.g. "Find Hillary Clinton -- the girl.")

Mr. Voice and Elastigirl are both finding the girl consistently, given both blank distracters and other candidates as distracters.

And we've only been doing this for a couple of weeks! Woo-hoo!

Perspective

Like most people, I occasionally use my blog as a place to vent and whine, especially when I don't have time to write creatively.  And I probably will again.

But for my 400th post tonight, I figured I'd go a different route.

I was working on next week's homework on Sparky Jr., my aging PC.  It gave me the predictable "OMG YOU'RE OUT OF RAM" error, followed by the "I WILL NOW USE YOUR HARD DRIVE (a.k.a. "page file") AS FAKE RAM; AS A RESULT, YOUR COMPUTER WILL SLOW TO A CRAWL," followed by the "OMG, I USED ALL YOUR DISK SPACE FOR THE PAGE FILE; PLEASE DELETE FILES SO I CAN USE MORE."

In other words, Sparky Junior is sick.

(Sounds like whining, I know -- just go with me here.)

Instead of getting annoyed, I thought about how my shower doesn't shock me, there are no alligators outside my door, and I can count on electricity any time of the day.

(Huh???? You are now asking.  I know.)

A while back, I mentioned, I think, my surprise at discovering that the girl on Signing Time was none other than the little girl I met when I first started working as an aide, who realized -- at the age of maybe 5 -- that although I sign some, I had no idea what the other kids were saying, and slowly told me her name was L - E - A - H.

Well, I discovered that Leah's mom Rachel has a blog, right around the time she was preparing a trip to Ghana (either with the help of, or in association with, Signs of Hope International -- I forget which).

Yep, Ghana.

Now that they're back, Rachel has been posting a trip report of their trip to Ghana.  It's fascinating, and more than a little sobering.

And then I read Day 8, which contained an account of their tour of a castle built during the slave trade.  They toured places where slaves had been kept, and where difficult slaves were kept.  I don't want to "spoil" it, but suffice it to say, Leah's reaction to the whole thing -- especially her matter-of-fact declaration (reported by her mom, but still) of what she would have done in the same circumstances -- was...well, thought-provoking is putting it mildly.

But it makes you think.  Yeah, Sparky Jr. is about to self-destruct, and, yeah, I've been trying really hard to come down with the flu for the last two weeks...but I'm not going to be shoved into a dark cell and holed up until I die.  I don't have to worry about being eaten by an alligator while I go to get my tooth brush.

I don't even have to worry about my shower shocking me.

We take a lot -- a lot -- for granted, and I think it's good once in a while to think about that.

The Illusion of Security

Note to DHS computer crawlers: Any circumstances described herein are purely hypothetical.

A while back, I promised a post on security at the Happiest Place on Earth, and then promptly got distracted by the usual stuff.  Having been there today, I decided to revisit the topic.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For the descendants of hardy, self-sufficient pioneers who braved treacherous seas and crossed continents on foot, we've become a bunch of chickens.  I mean, read Little House on the Prairie -- any of you crossed a raging river in a covered wagon lately?

I thought so.

Interestingly enough, I think you can still see some of these character traits in the adrenaline junkies of our time -- the ones who climb mountains because they're there...because they want the challenge, the thrill.

And yet.

And yet, when we feel threatened, we're a knee-jerk-reaction society.  It doesn't help that we're litigious as well.

Case in point: we put ridiculous warnings on things that shouldn't require warnings.  Like taking the baby out of the stroller before you fold it.  But someone, somewhere, was dumb enough to do that, so the company went (knee-jerk) ohmigod we'd better tell people not to do that before they sue us (litigious).

So, after the September 11th attacks, people were trying to figure out other places terrorists might target and assumed (rightly; who knows?) that striking Disneyland or Disney World -- places of perceived innocence and channeling your inner child -- would psychologically hurt.

Okay, fair enough.  Reasonable assumption there.

So what do they do?

Set up security stations where they check your bags.

(Except at Disney World, where they -- intelligently -- have a separate "guests without bags" entrance where you walk in as a security guard looks at you.)

But here's the thing.

Actually, here's Thing Number 1:  What's to say someone didn't dig out the innards of that digital camera and replace it with some plastic explosive, anthrax, or other terrorist-like material?  If you just do a visual inspection, what's the point?

And Thing Number 2:  On many occasions, I have walked right into Disneyland wearing a windbreaker with a large pouch in the front, and have not been stopped by security.  That pouch has contained, variously, iPods, digital cameras, iPhones, cell phones, wallets, and various and sundry other things.

Because that pouch was part of my clothing, and not a separate "bag," it was not inspected.

At this point, I say simply:  See Thing Number 1.

And, finally, Thing Number 3:  On other occasions, I have walked right into both Disneyland and Disney World with pockets full of various electronics, medicines, and a variety of other substances that, while perfectly benign while I carried them, could certainly have been something else.

So, I must ask:  What on Earth is the point of all this?  You stand in long lines to have your bags looked through to absolutely no useful security effect.

Why?

Because it makes people -- or, at least, people who don't stop and think about things like this -- feel better.

Just like making people use plastic forks on airplanes makes people feel better, when I could snap off an arm of my glasses and make a perfectly serviceable poking device, useful for inflicting bodily injury on myself or others.

Just like installing security doors in cockpits that only the pilots can open and INCLUDING A FRELLING KEY-LOCK that (I must assume) is pick-able.

Because the illusion -- the appearance -- of safety is all we care about.  We don't think about the uselessness or pointlessness of it all.  We don't think about the fact that terrorism has existed for years and -- while, yeah, it was awful for it to hit us in such a visceral way -- will continue to exist.  We don't think about the fact that flagging one-way tickets is ridiculous, as terrorists would just buy round trip tickets without planning on using the second half.

WE.  DON'T.  THINK.

Instead, we react.  We get knee-jerk-y and emotional.  And we comfort ourselves by making things look safer -- imagine the outcry if Disney hadn't started checking bags (for bombs and poisons and whatnot that STILL BE THERE) after September 11th?

Imagine the outcry if they took the ridiculous security station out now?

And, just imagine what will happen when the next attack comes, and it's a train.  Or a boat.  Or a suicide bomber running into an airport or other crowded place, knowing police are following him and shooting at him and not caring 'cause...well, 'cause he's gonna explode in 30 seconds anyway?

I don't know that there's a good answer, but I do know this: those green-covered tents do absolutely nothing other than placate the masses, and that's sad.  We need to start thinking with our heads again.  We're the country that decided it could go to the moon in a decade and DID, forty years ago.  We're smart.

This isn't smart.  It's an illusion, and if we spend too much time immersing ourselves in the feel-good illusion, we'll be that much more shocked when something else bad happens...assuming we know how to deal with it at all, and I'm not at all sure that we do.

"You either live life -- bruises, skinned knees, and all -- or you turn your back on it and start dying."  -- Captain Christopher Pike, "The Cage."

Zero Means None

While I realize that overwhelming majorities in one small area do tend to accurately predict election outcomes, it puzzles me as to how you can declare a winner (with percentages, no less) if none of the precincts have reported in.

Just sayin'.

The Psychology of Language

I don't often comment on politics here, for a variety of reasons, but I have been growing increasingly distracted while listening to political commentary lately.

Why?

Because people always refer to Senator Obama as "Obama" and to Senator Clinton as "Hillary."

As in, "I'm a Hillary supporter," and "I'm an Obama supporter."

It just strikes me as odd, and it makes the nascent linguist in me wonder: is this laziness (saying "Obama" and "Clinton" would make people want to clarify which Clinton) or is it inherent, deeply-disguised gender bias (it's permissible to be more informal with a woman)?

Or is it something else entirely?