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ninanevermore.
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.
I remember first reading that silly "Welcome to Holland " essay years ago – I think Dear Abby ran it in her column – and thinking it was sweet. I thought of the families I knew who had "special" children and figured it was the kind of nice thing you clip and give to them to make them feel better. But it had nothing to do with me.
If you've never read it (and don't want to read it), it describes having a handicapped child as being like planning a great trip Italy, only to step off of the plane to find yourself in Holland, instead. It goes on to explain that while it takes awhile to get used to, you find your way around and learn to appreciate the charm and beauty of where you wound up, even if it's not where you wanted to go.
In the past few weeks, I have come to realize that sweet only half describes the essay: actually, it is bittersweet. The dawning awareness came as I am starting to grasp that my son's problems are not just a phase he will quickly outgrow, and that there is something seriously different and unsettling about the way my child processes and interacts with the world around him.
But it's a little late for anyone to say "Welcome to Holland" to me. I've been here for two years now. I just never noticed that all the signs around me were in Dutch. It's sinking in now, even as a part of me still keeps saying, Maybe this is just a part of Italy no one else knows about. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, someone will be able to explain why the signs are in a language you don't understand. But that voice is growing more and more quiet and less certain. Maybe? Probably not. I'll shut up now.
In aviation, navigating an aircraft by sight and feel, without any instruments to guide you, is known as "flying by the seat of your pants." Pilots flying a plane without instruments must judge the movement of the airplane by the vibration and shifts in gravity of the chair they are sitting on. It is a nerve-wracking and uncertain means of flying, and any pilot who has done it will tell you that they wished they hadn't had to.
It's one thing to accept that, fine, I'm in Holland and not Italy. The signs are obvious and everywhere. But I don't even know what part of Holland this is. Until I get a diagnosis, I will have to pilot my life by feel alone. I have an appointment with an assessment clinic in March of next year, unless I can convince them to get me in sooner. This will be our second visit. The first visit told us almost nothing.
"Until we see how he acts in a group environment, we really can't come to any conclusions," the doctor told us back in July. "Why don't you come back in 9 months? After he starts school. How about March?"
At the time, March didn't seem like an eternity. I know better now.
We were hoping to get some information before he started school, so we would be prepared for any problems. The medical establishment is not geared toward preventative medicine, though. They are geared toward letting everything go to hell first, and then stepping in after the damage is good and apparent. Intellectually, he tested as normal to above normal. She was a little concerned that when he drew a person he didn't draw a face, but we've seen him draw faces on his pictures before and we told her as much. I guessed he was just feeling "blank" on that day. She didn't like that he couldn't read yet, but we pointed out that he had yet to start school. Neither of us could read before we started school, either. She thought we should have been teaching him at home. We thought she was sweating the small stuff, when we were there to sweat about why the last time he had been in a group environment, things had gone so very, very badly.
For two years, he was not in a group environment, and for two years he did very well. He can function in small groups, with no more than 4 or 5 children. With just a few people around him, he is pretty normal. In a room full of 20 other children, he is anything but.
If I were the parent of one of his classmates, I would not want my son in that class. I would fear for my child's safety, and worry that my child was not in a good educational environment with another child who cannot sit still and who throws things, shouts and hits, bites and kicks people. I would wonder about the home environment that would produce such a little monster, and about the quality of parents raising him and allowing him to be so out of control.
Of all the things I miss about being the parent of a child I thought was normal, I think the luxury of self righteousness is one I miss the most.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I remember first reading that silly "Welcome to Holland " essay years ago – I think Dear Abby ran it in her column – and thinking it was sweet. I thought of the families I knew who had "special" children and figured it was the kind of nice thing you clip and give to them to make them feel better. But it had nothing to do with me.
If you've never read it (and don't want to read it), it describes having a handicapped child as being like planning a great trip Italy, only to step off of the plane to find yourself in Holland, instead. It goes on to explain that while it takes awhile to get used to, you find your way around and learn to appreciate the charm and beauty of where you wound up, even if it's not where you wanted to go.
In the past few weeks, I have come to realize that sweet only half describes the essay: actually, it is bittersweet. The dawning awareness came as I am starting to grasp that my son's problems are not just a phase he will quickly outgrow, and that there is something seriously different and unsettling about the way my child processes and interacts with the world around him.
But it's a little late for anyone to say "Welcome to Holland" to me. I've been here for two years now. I just never noticed that all the signs around me were in Dutch. It's sinking in now, even as a part of me still keeps saying, Maybe this is just a part of Italy no one else knows about. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, someone will be able to explain why the signs are in a language you don't understand. But that voice is growing more and more quiet and less certain. Maybe? Probably not. I'll shut up now.
In aviation, navigating an aircraft by sight and feel, without any instruments to guide you, is known as "flying by the seat of your pants." Pilots flying a plane without instruments must judge the movement of the airplane by the vibration and shifts in gravity of the chair they are sitting on. It is a nerve-wracking and uncertain means of flying, and any pilot who has done it will tell you that they wished they hadn't had to.
It's one thing to accept that, fine, I'm in Holland and not Italy. The signs are obvious and everywhere. But I don't even know what part of Holland this is. Until I get a diagnosis, I will have to pilot my life by feel alone. I have an appointment with an assessment clinic in March of next year, unless I can convince them to get me in sooner. This will be our second visit. The first visit told us almost nothing.
"Until we see how he acts in a group environment, we really can't come to any conclusions," the doctor told us back in July. "Why don't you come back in 9 months? After he starts school. How about March?"
At the time, March didn't seem like an eternity. I know better now.
We were hoping to get some information before he started school, so we would be prepared for any problems. The medical establishment is not geared toward preventative medicine, though. They are geared toward letting everything go to hell first, and then stepping in after the damage is good and apparent. Intellectually, he tested as normal to above normal. She was a little concerned that when he drew a person he didn't draw a face, but we've seen him draw faces on his pictures before and we told her as much. I guessed he was just feeling "blank" on that day. She didn't like that he couldn't read yet, but we pointed out that he had yet to start school. Neither of us could read before we started school, either. She thought we should have been teaching him at home. We thought she was sweating the small stuff, when we were there to sweat about why the last time he had been in a group environment, things had gone so very, very badly.
For two years, he was not in a group environment, and for two years he did very well. He can function in small groups, with no more than 4 or 5 children. With just a few people around him, he is pretty normal. In a room full of 20 other children, he is anything but.
If I were the parent of one of his classmates, I would not want my son in that class. I would fear for my child's safety, and worry that my child was not in a good educational environment with another child who cannot sit still and who throws things, shouts and hits, bites and kicks people. I would wonder about the home environment that would produce such a little monster, and about the quality of parents raising him and allowing him to be so out of control.
Of all the things I miss about being the parent of a child I thought was normal, I think the luxury of self righteousness is one I miss the most.
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-23 07:07 pm (UTC)As far as concentrating to exclusion, not me either. I have to focus and make a point to focus to get anywhere to do that.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-23 07:51 pm (UTC)So much in human communication is non-verbal; people don't say things because they expect everyone to absorb and understand the rules. A typical child watches the adults around him or her and picks up on these rules easily.
However, those with ADD, ADHD, etc. (there are dozens of atypical brain designations I've found in my recent lessons in "Dutch") process the world a bit differently and fail to pick up on the unspoken social rules which are not obvious to them. For this reason, they are perceived as trouble makers by those who do know and follow the unwritten rules. Thus, people don't like them. Why they may not like you, for example.
I am not an expert. I do, however, come from a family where the ADD & ADHD designations are pretty common traits. I have observed people with these traits my entire life. When I say you share a lot of their characteristics, it's just an observation. It may be worth thinking about and looking into, though. If a child is not hyperactive but is attention deficit, it's very easy to assume they are lazy, stupid, or just don't apply themselves. Its very easy to assume this about them when they reach adulthood, as well.
In fact, one of my brother's favorite books on adult ADD is called, You Mean I'm Not Lazy, Stupid, or Crazy? Look it up on Amazon, and you'll find a dozen or more other title on the same subject. One of them may be worth reading, just to see if the shoe fits. :)
(PS: I'm used to people like you and don't make the same judgments that people who aren't. For what it's worth, I like you.)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-23 08:02 pm (UTC)