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Zylka
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quote:
I ain't.
I dont/can't feel comfortable around people with mental disabilities. Physical disbilities I can cope with, but retards and such...not. I dont hate them, its just that...I....I....dont even know why. I know 2 people who work with retards 50 hours a week and I cant even start to understand how they do it. I cant help but feel pity and discust for these people at the same time. I know they're probably kind and all but I dont see myself relating to them. What I think I would need to happen for me to be comfortable with them someday is to be stuck with one in a particular situation so that I wouldn't have a choice but to adapt.
You know what I mean people. Example of how I react. The other day, I was at the mall, and this about 6 year old kid was sitting in a wheelchair next to me and his mother. He was smilling at me and was saying stuff. I know he wanted my attention in some way but...His arms couldn't move right, he couldn't speak well and what he was saying didn't make sense to me at all. I smilled back without even answering to the poor kid cuz I didn't know what he was saying. I mean, he should be the uncomfortable one, not me....but it wasn't the case.
And since I just smilled and didn't say anything, cuz, frankly, I didn't know what to say, I felt even worst for the kid cuz all he wanted was to chat a bit....or so I think. I hate being such an un-accomodating jerk with retards but I cant help it.
Are some poly people like me or am I just a retard with retards myself. |
Well funny you mention spec, as it's a wonderful topic in my own current life, as well as excuse for me to talk about myself / recent endeavors
quote:
I cant help but feel pity and discust for these people at the same time. I know they're probably kind and all but I dont see myself relating to them. |
Somewhat understandable, in personal experience: When I was a kid, whee elementary boy - there was an in-school program for those with developmental disabilities, or "retards" called TASK. Along a certain hallway, every now and again (for any normal kids' six year stay at this school) - you would see the telltale "handicaps" of whatever variety lurching along akwardly in compay of their caretaker. You know - the young man in the wheelchair being pushed about with his head lifelessly cocked to the side; arms contorted inwards and back in a seemingly painful, and outright retarded position. The girl disgustingly drooling amongst slurs - her outfit and hair femininely done in a failed attempt to make something which can't possibly be concerned pretty, pretty. The boy repeatedly thumping his chest in mindless persistence - his contorted skull covered in a layered, blue fabric helmet.
The retards of our school not only made for a wealth of ongoing jokes children can't help but make - but my own personal source of actual disgust and growing discomfort with even the thought of their presence. The word TASK and its mention became synonymous with a dull, ugly sort of entity representing a shameful collection of grossities. As observation of the normal children's animosity with the school's retards would inevitably be picked up by the teachers - in school field trips were eventually arranged for each class to visit the TASK program. The children were to close these gaps of ignorance and inner cruelty by the innocent simplicity of student-retard interaction.
At least for myself - this is when the disgust and outright fear was heightened. Today I can remember little more of the day trip then a proclaimed "toy" a TASK teacher shared with the class; one of the retard's collectively favorite playthings - a dull, likely dirt matted ball of peanut butter with honey mixed in to it. Oh yes, those of the task program loved the feel and smell of this ball while rolling it clusmily about their plastic trays, faces, hair and what not. I assumed the worst in imagining the wretched "toy's" travels from hand to retarded hand in an average school year (in the same childish horror also assuming that it was the same ball used every day, every week, every month to year)
What's the point of all this? I don't know. I guess perhaps that I still can't help but slightly shudder when describing the sticky, smelly ball which symbolised TASK. That my disgust and discomfort are arguably still somewhat engrained at a most basic level.
In any case - this part time semester I've had a relatively lax selection of two far reaching Urban Design electives; one of which is a Community Rehabilitation course designed for those specifically seeking social work. A course requirment in such turned out to be 24 hours of practicum work, itself turning out to be my choice to work with developmentally disabled adults (retards) in a literary course at the local college. This, oddly enough - has proven a wonderful experience. In watching the same sorts of innocent simplicity in a new, aged, and perhaps guilt weathered frame of mind - comfort now comes with the thought of seeing "my retards" and working with them again week after week (Yes, there's the horrible term in phrase jokingly used with family)
Every individual being a different case... a different perplexity for your own assumption(s) of perception... a different example of someone experiencing actual happiness while in cognitive "dullness". The jokes they tell, the laughter they give one another, the distance they often go to simply communicate. Selfless work it's not, when in whatever ways it makes you feel a little more emotionaly, when it makes you think you may be doing something good - being for once a good person.
quote:
The other day, I was at the mall, and this about 6 year old kid was sitting in a wheelchair next to me and his mother. He was smilling at me and was saying stuff. I know he wanted my attention in some way but...His arms couldn't move right, he couldn't speak well and what he was saying didn't make sense to me at all. I smilled back without even answering to the poor kid cuz I didn't know what he was saying. |
And why would you have to answer back. The smile is enough, right? When you feel prompted - anything answered is likely to be akward for yourself more than anyone watching. But if you don't feel prompted... perhaps if you WANT to reach out there, then who cares what's said? Just answer as you see fit. Talk down to (him). Talk up to (him). Like to a child, like to an animal who may never understand - to whatever *ing philosophically damaging way you so please. Unkowingly talk to yourself in what you're asking. Just try to honestly communicate, in a most basic way - and you may gain something for yourself. Something of understanding for yourself. Why not
Well the ramble's ending with not much else to really say. Just that it is a personal mystery worth exploring. Back in the days of the TASK program, I also remember an event that went News wide with its' implications
A father of one of the students there, a little Chinese girl handicapped to whatever end - one day decided that it was just too much. In pyschology later explained by the city paper, he had felt unable to live with both responsibility and pain for her condition. Believing also that she'd be unable to "live" with the compounded confusion of why her (loving?) father left her - he turned a shotgun on his daughter before himself.
Whatever assumptions that may stem from that story.. it personally haunts as my first morbid memory; first dark consideration of life, and death. The beggining of why
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Zylka
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Originally posted by Guynemer
You are the same guy who posted a picture of a tiny little figurine poking its head out of a vagina, right? |
That was a BEAUTIFUL APOLYTON MOMENT!
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Zylka
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quote:
Originally posted by Azazel
I am not sure I fully agree with you, though, since it seems that you think that interaction of regular kids with the mentally handicapped at a young age is somewhat of a negative experience, because younger children don't know how to handle this. |
well that's not so much my opinion in Universal template either; just the way it worked out for me. Hey, thanks for the compliments!
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Guynemer
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quote:
Originally posted by Zylka
That was a BEAUTIFUL APOLYTON MOMENT! |
Hey, you aren't going to see me disagree.
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24-03-2005 13:35
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