Bear

This, Too, Is Ok…

One of my children had a favourite type of toy; a series of multiple sized plastic fish, in a scoop shape so that they stacked together. These ‘fish’ went everywhere. They were the best kind of favourite or security toy as they were able to be washed regularly throughout the day – in the bath, in the sink. Whenever washing of the child took place, so did washing of the fish. Although the washing had to be taught as part of the bathing etc. process, it was not automatic. As I said, the fish went everywhere. Learning to climb the ladder of the slide was done, fish in hand. Swinging was done, fish in hand. The fish went to kindergarten, to church (and tapped out the rhythm of the songs), weddings…everywhere.

It turned out, that the ‘scoop’ shape was a large part of the attraction. As the scoops from the ground coffee made their way into the toy collection, they became favourites as well. As did the washed scoops from the laundry detergent, and eventually we moved on to egg shells. Not plastic, real out-of-the-bum-of-a-chook egg shells. Every time I/we cooked with eggs, the most complete halves of the shells were washed and left on the window sill to dry. As one shell broke, it was replaced with another from the window sill. Eventually, vegetable peelings were the go, and as this one would fall asleep in the car the peelings would collect beside and behind car seats and on the floor.

Though none of these things were a bother to me in themselves (as my son with hair clips and nail polish were not, nor my girls wearing tiaras and wings to church or weddings, and one with band-aids on clothes), I was concerned that some learning was actually hindered by the constant presence of something in the hand, about an obsessive attachment to the objects themselves (which was in the nature of the child in question) and perhaps a few other considerations. So we embarked on a progressive process of experience and detachment.

One step we walked through was to leave the fish in one’s bag at kindergarten, and take them out again for the trip home. Once we got to egg shells, this particular child was part of the cleaning process (though probably only once in a while, I did most of this). We then began to use whole eggs to play with in a bowl. We would practice cracking them open into the bowl with, hopefully, two whole halves. Then my child was allowed to ‘play’ with it all, swishing hands in the raw egg, stirring etc. Once the play was completed, to end the experience the shell was crushed and stirred in as part of the fun. The shell was then known to have been destroyed and told that it could not be repaired. The shells on the sill were still available for a time while this play continued. Eventually I told this child how many shells were left on the window sill, and that once they had all been broken I would not be leaving any more up there. They were counted down as we went through them, giving fair, advanced notice of the time/day when they would no longer be available. The plastic toys were still available until the child grew out of the desire for them, as children usually do throughout their development.

This all happened over some years. It was not accomplished in a week, or a month. It was not begun because I, or someone else, was uncomfortable or embarrassed with this child’s preferred method or objects of play. It was not attended to so that this child would conform and be like any other child (or, heaven forbid, any adult). We took this child’s personality and temperament, age and interests, foreseeable future needs and potential desires into account. Then thought outside of the square, while looking into the child and our own family life.

And the result…a practically grown, independent, well-adjusted young adult – who just doesn’t happen to be able to see.

Don’t fret, be creative and imaginative… this, too, is ok.

Yes I’m Okay.

Guest post poem written by my daughter, Emma-Mae Schmidt. 1/9/2011.

 

Some may not think this,

but lots certainly might.

How do I get on with life,

without any sight?

So I think I’ll sum up,

in a fun kind of way,

exactly what is wrong,

with the sighted world today.

“How are you darl,”

you often say.

Wow, that conversation really made my day!

Please understand,

I’m not three years old.

Oh how many times,

do you have to be told?

You say I’m smart, amazing and clever,

blah blah blah,

yeah righto,

whatever.

But don’t you get it?

I’m just like you.

Every-day things aren’t that hard to do.

And every day,

or nearly every day.

“Are you okay?”

you often say.

Oh just how can I politely say,

yes I’m okay,

please go away.

 

And when you speak in that childish tone,

oh sometimes your heads are as hard as stone.

I want to shout “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

How hard it is to speak in a patient tone.

You just assume it’s help I need,

no matter how I beg and plead.

You take me in your direction,

like a criminal arrested for inspection.

I tell you for the millionth time,

yes I’m fine.

And my body’s mine.

 

What is it? Are you half awake?

How long will all this learning take?

Just give it a break,

for goodness sake!

 

Please, I don’t need your sympathy.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t see.

You’re so thick and you irritate me,

sometimes I wonder,

if it’s you that can’t see.

 

Now the aim of this rave is not to offend,

no. It’s merely to warn you my friend.

My blindness I’d be happy to lend,

if it would make you comprehend.

You ask “how do I live without sight?”

I really don’t want to put up a fight.

So I’ve moaned and groaned the day away,

now it’s time to have your say.

“Are you okay?”

you often say.

Yes I’m okay,

well I am anyway…

But are you okay?