Creating a Culture of Life that Values Everyone
Kathleen & Julianna
Shortly after my daughter was born and diagnosed with Down syndrome, I learned something that made me physically ill. 80-93% of all children diagnosed prenatally with Down’s are aborted.
The secular world doesn’t find this statistic shocking, and as I’ve grown accustomed to it, frankly, neither do I. As prolifers, we’d like to blame the “culture of death,” and that certainly plays a part. But I think there’s more to it than that.
I was a cradle Catholic, born to prolife work. But knowing abortion is wrong is the simplest part of being prolife. I attended a parochial school that couldn’t handle kids with disabilities. In my first thirteen years I never met a person with a disability, let alone got to know them.
In high school, I discovered I had a Catholic classmate with a physical disability. I should have known him, but I didn’t. And here’s where it gets uncomfortable. I never could interact with him naturally. I believed that a person’s value is independent of his or her abilities, but because I had been isolated from the disabled population, I could not behave accordingly.
To this day I writhe in shame at the ugliness of that statement, but I own it because I suspect I’m not the only one in this position. Something about disability makes us uncomfortable. We’re afraid to touch people with disabilities. Afraid to talk to them, lest in our ignorance and discomfort we make them feel bad. It seems easier to pretend they aren’t there, to let our eyes slide past and not engage. We don’t protest when children are segregated behind the special ed wall. It simplifies life, and besides, kids’ educational needs have to be met, right?
The problem is, we don’t look for other opportunities for our children to interact with their “differently-abled” peers. As a result, generations of people grow up without any meaningful interaction with people who have disabilities.
So it’s not all that surprising that a diagnosis of Down syndrome, with its laundry list of potential medical and developmental issues, so often leads to abortion. After all, so many people have not been steeped in the belief that one’s worth is unconnected to their abilities. If they have no personal experience to offset the “scary bad,” the inertia must seem irresistible.
So now comes the really hard question: what do we do about it? Here are a few ideas:
- Get to know kids with special needs in your children’s schools. Invite them for birthday parties and play dates. Get to know their parents. Be frank about what you do and don’t know. Ask what accommodations need to be made to allow their child positive interactions with yours — and make the accommodations.
- When you see a parent and child at the mall or the playground, interact with them. Occasionally, you’ll be rebuffed, but most parents of kids with special needs are eager to make connections. They know their children’s future depends on others “getting” their kids.
- At church, interact with adults in wheelchairs the way you would with anyone else. If speech is slurred or difficult to understand, slow down and take the time to figure it out. Touch them, shake hands, meet their eyes. This is how we treat them with dignity.
- Support inclusion in your kids’ schools. Not every parent wants it; not every child is best served by it. But a default status in which “normal” kids inhabit one reality and “disabled” kids another breeds isolation and ignorance.
This is hard stuff. I know. Five years ago, every item on this list was way outside my comfort zone. But the way to create a culture that values everyone, regardless of circumstance, is to begin right here, in our own hearts and homes.
Kathleen Basi is a stay-at-home mom, freelance writer, flute and voice teacher, liturgical composer, choir director, natural family planning teacher, scrapbooker, sometime-chef and budding disability rights activist. She puts her juggling skills on display at www.kathleenbasi.com.
Thanks for this great article! What you say is so true.
A great blessing in my family’s life is the Catholic school our daughters transferred to last year after our parish school had to close. Some years ago school the archdiocese runs for developmentally challenged children whose needs could not be met in the mainstream parochial schools moved to share the school buildings with St. David (my daughters’ school). One of the reasons was so that these precious children could have more opportunities to be with typically developing children but the blessings they brought for our St. David’s kids have been many.
The two schools share the school buildings and their facilities. They all wear the same uniforms – just with a different patch to designate St. David or Our Lady of Confidence. They attend assemblies and Mass together. Seeing all the children together celebrating First Friday Mass is a joy indeed.
When we were choosing a new school for our daughters we had the opportunity to speak with staff and students from several different schools. When we asked the St. David kids if they enjoyed their school and did fun things their first reply was the fun they had with their OLC friends.
My daughters, including my 2nd grader, have invaluable opportunites to visit these special needs kids in their classrooms and play with them and work on projects with them. Older students are able help out the teachers and aides in OLC. These are wonderful opportunities for the children in interact and get to know fellow members of the Body of Christ who may be a little different from themsleves but are, as you point out, an improtant part of the rich fabric of our Faith.
One of the most wonderful things to see are the strong, strapping boys in 8th grade who are trusted with the most important job of all. Through the generosity of a special fund established by St. David’s wonderful pastor, OLC also cares who several profoundly challenged young adults who have “aged-out” of the schools and programs where they once attended. When it’s time to attend Mass, these 8th graders go over to their classrooms and push these very special charges over to the church in their wheelchairs along with their IV poles, etc. and back again after Mass over. It’s a very moving sight.
Sorry to have gone on so long but this rare opportunity has been such a blessing to our children that I can’t help but wish it were available to more of our young people.
Mary,
Thanks so much for the great reply and witness. My daughter is just 3, and you bring up great points that my husband and I want and must consider as we select a school for her to attend in the coming years. We are fortunate there are so many good schools in our area!
This sounds so wonderful! We don’t have the same resources–there is a parochial school half an hour away that serves kids with special needs, but we don’t feel like separating that far is going to accomplish our goals. When my daughter starts kindergarten next fall, we’ll do it in the public schools with an eye to transferring to the Catholic school if she can handle the classroom. Lots of uncertainty right now.
Thank you for this post! I had never thought about my children being aware of people with disabilities until we attended a gathering of extended family and one of the distant relatives had a child with Down syndrome. My SIX year old had so many questions and I couldn’t believe that was the first time she had played with a child that wasn’t like her. It was so eye-opening and a learning experience for all of us. I appreciate your ideas!
My older kids started school in a public school that had a lot of special needs kids and did a great job with mainstreaming. My son then moved to a Catholic school–an old school with a three story building and no elevator. My daughter (who was still in public school, in third grade) asked where the elevator was and when told there was none, asked how the handicapped kids got to the upper floors. When I told her that physically handicapped kids couldn’t go to that school, she said “That’s just plain wrong”.
Kathleen, I’m so glad you wrote that. And I agree whole-heartedly. I too find myself uncomfortable at time because I’m not sure how to be normal. My kids, thankfully, have no trouble interacting with “disabled” kids. Their public elementary school has a great mainstreaming program. My youngest has made good friends with a girl with Down’s Syndrome in her kindergarten class. Even my older children know “Anna” and the whole school seems to just love her. Even the children who aren’t mainstreamed full time are brought to interact with their peers during music, art, lunch or other activities. We see several of them at Mass and my 3 always go to say hi during donuts. It gives me great hope that my children and their friends at school will appreciate the richness children who are different from them can add to society and to our lives.
Thanks for this post and for your honesty. I think you are spot on in describing the feelings of someone who isn’t comfortable interacting with disabled people, and generous in sharing your thoughts.
I’m impressed with people who are natural around others who are different and need a little getting to know. When you are raised to be a narcissist (sorry, that would be me :/ ), you just can’t imagine the other person’s feelings. Lots of times you need to experience things yourself to figure it out, unless someone is open enough to explain things. So thank you!
I’m so glad to know it makes a difference! For all of us (even me, even now) it takes an effort.
Julianna (a 7QT post) | So much to say, so little time
[…] I’ve said before how not-diverse my childhood was, and how difficult that made it for me to tr…. My mom says I have a tendency toward “scrupulosity.” In this case, that means I’ve spent my entire life worrying about whether I’m treating people the same regardless of skin color–or, I discovered later, disability. Knowing something in theory is not the same as having the chance to put it into practice when the lessons are being formed. For this reason I say that kids need to be around my daughter at least as much as she needs to be around them. Other kids need that interaction. […]