teapot!
Here's the (handwritten) note Julie got from one of the therapists today when she picked up James:
Mrs. Missey,
This morning while playing with James and using his tech-talk with two choices ("teapot" and "gears"), James consistently chose the teapot.
The exciting news is that the first two times James pushed "teapot" on the tech-talk and I said "teapot," James clearly repeated "teapot" as I handed it to him! The 3rd time, he didn't say it, but when I said it again, James said "pot."
As we continued to play and request many more times, James again repeated "teapot" one time. Has he ever said this before? He loves the toy and this was a very pleasant surprise!
The tech-talk she's referring to is James's super-talker which we've been bad about using consistently at home, but they're using at school—you record your voice saying different choices, have an image of what each choice is, and then James can press one side or the other to make his choice with both picture and sound. And no, he's never said "teapot." He will say a very cute "open" if you're playing with him and make the sign for open (pulling hands apart, like a reverse clap), and he likes to put his hands up in the air when you say "up" and slam them down when you say "down." And he's been signing "dad" very consistently lately, though still only when prompted.
Our videocamera is having its microphone repaired. I should have it back in about two weeks, so I'll post video then.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Valentine
James made some Valentines this weekend—below is some video. Unfortunately, the sound on our videocamera isn't working, so you can't hear how the drawing pad plays music whenever James draws. Nor can you quite see, in the compressed video format, how much drawing is on the paper. But while it doesn't look like much, this activity was notable for how little James tossed the crayon—he really seemed to like the drawing!
Monday, February 8, 2010
R is for Rahm
Somehow I had missed this, but saw this article referring to it on Slate.com this week: that White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel has apologized for using the word "retarded" in a 2009 meeting.
Writes the author of the Slate article, Jack Shafer:
The quest to protect the vulnerable from ridicule may be noble, but if a Slate piece from 2001 by John Cook is any guide, it's an impossible quest—and the activists know it. In thrusting public scorn on Emanuel, the activists—no matter how high-minded they might be—are guilty of craven opportunism. Emanuel may have a big mouth, but he is no bigot, no torturer of the defenseless, and the language police that swarmed and handcuffed him, Palin included, should have their badges revoked.
Sarah Palin apparently went after Emanuel on her blog after his use of the word was made public; I suspect that some of Shafer's attack here is motivated by that fact, which leads to the unfortunate (and I think unfair) conflation of the Chief Executive of the Special Olympics and an attention-seeking ex-governor and Vice Presidential candidate. I think a guy like Shriver has earned his "badge"—he makes his living providing opportunities for people with disabilites, unlike Shafer or Emanuel or Palin.
Much as I disagree with Shafer's argument—he thinks it's the language police who have a problem, not Emanuel—he does cite some interesting and even complicating facts from an earlier Slate piece by John Cook. The article notes that, historically, diagnostic language tends to turn into pejoratives; the words "moron," "imbecile," and "idiot" were the official diagnostic terms from 1910 until 1959, when the terms were changed to "mild," "moderate," and "severe" retardation.
I've struggled with what to do when someone says "retarded" around me since James was born. The night we brought him home, I had to run out and look for an obscure breast pump part. I ended up at Best Buy, of all places, where, when I told the checkout guy that my credit card wouldn't run unless they manually entered the numbers first, laughed, "That's retarded."
I remember thinking as I walked out of the store that I'd have to work on my comeback for the inevitable future times when someone said something similar. But it's never been that easy; different people and different contexts usually leave me sort of momentarily paralyzed and then, later, guilty that I haven't said anything. The times when I do say something, I don't usually feel any better; often I feel like the person looks at me like Shafer does Shriver or Palin, as the humorless language policeman.
I know that most people don't intend harm when they use the word. It's also easier to speak up sometimes than others: if I overhear a kid in freshman hallway say it, it's relatively easy to stop and make a point. An old friend at a baseball game, a little harder: does he know he said it? does he feel bad? should I add more discomfort to the moment and say something, or just let it slide and hope he feels bad privately and doesn't say it again? Or have I somehow failed James in that moment of paralysis?
I think I'm trying to work my way around to thinking that, if one of us is going to feel a little bad about the word having been said, it's going to be the person who said it, not me. Still, I'm inconsistent with what I do and how I feel about responding or not.
At least Emanuel apologized, unlike Ben Stiller after his "Never go full retard" character in Tropic Thunder (though DreamWorks did include a public service announcment on the director's cut DVD). Maybe diagnostic language is doomed to morph into insults, but that doesn't mean that those who do the insulting should have carte blanche.
Writes the author of the Slate article, Jack Shafer:
According to a press release put out over [Chief Executive of the Special Olympics Tim] Shriver's name, Emanuel has promised that "the administration would continue to look for ways to partner with us, including examining pending legislation in Congress to remove the R word from federal law." The release also reiterates the activists' ambitions to eradicate the words retard and retarded from everyday speech because they dehumanize the nation's "seven million people with intellectual disabilities."
Sarah Palin apparently went after Emanuel on her blog after his use of the word was made public; I suspect that some of Shafer's attack here is motivated by that fact, which leads to the unfortunate (and I think unfair) conflation of the Chief Executive of the Special Olympics and an attention-seeking ex-governor and Vice Presidential candidate. I think a guy like Shriver has earned his "badge"—he makes his living providing opportunities for people with disabilites, unlike Shafer or Emanuel or Palin.
Much as I disagree with Shafer's argument—he thinks it's the language police who have a problem, not Emanuel—he does cite some interesting and even complicating facts from an earlier Slate piece by John Cook. The article notes that, historically, diagnostic language tends to turn into pejoratives; the words "moron," "imbecile," and "idiot" were the official diagnostic terms from 1910 until 1959, when the terms were changed to "mild," "moderate," and "severe" retardation.
I've struggled with what to do when someone says "retarded" around me since James was born. The night we brought him home, I had to run out and look for an obscure breast pump part. I ended up at Best Buy, of all places, where, when I told the checkout guy that my credit card wouldn't run unless they manually entered the numbers first, laughed, "That's retarded."
I remember thinking as I walked out of the store that I'd have to work on my comeback for the inevitable future times when someone said something similar. But it's never been that easy; different people and different contexts usually leave me sort of momentarily paralyzed and then, later, guilty that I haven't said anything. The times when I do say something, I don't usually feel any better; often I feel like the person looks at me like Shafer does Shriver or Palin, as the humorless language policeman.
I know that most people don't intend harm when they use the word. It's also easier to speak up sometimes than others: if I overhear a kid in freshman hallway say it, it's relatively easy to stop and make a point. An old friend at a baseball game, a little harder: does he know he said it? does he feel bad? should I add more discomfort to the moment and say something, or just let it slide and hope he feels bad privately and doesn't say it again? Or have I somehow failed James in that moment of paralysis?
I think I'm trying to work my way around to thinking that, if one of us is going to feel a little bad about the word having been said, it's going to be the person who said it, not me. Still, I'm inconsistent with what I do and how I feel about responding or not.
At least Emanuel apologized, unlike Ben Stiller after his "Never go full retard" character in Tropic Thunder (though DreamWorks did include a public service announcment on the director's cut DVD). Maybe diagnostic language is doomed to morph into insults, but that doesn't mean that those who do the insulting should have carte blanche.
Monday, February 1, 2010
DSA Conference March 6
This year's Down Syndrome Association conference is on March 6 at Maryville University.
The keynote speaker is an expert on the neurobiology of Down syndrome, and there are three sessions following that. Julie is actually on a panel for one of the sessions with a group of other moms who will be talking about the transition from First Steps to the school system.
We've gone to two of these conferences and found the keynote speaker fantastic both times. The sessions themselves have been mostly helpful. Julie will be there for sure (obviously), and I'll likely go. It is not just for parents. If you see any sessions that look interesting—come and spend part of the day with us!
The keynote speaker is an expert on the neurobiology of Down syndrome, and there are three sessions following that. Julie is actually on a panel for one of the sessions with a group of other moms who will be talking about the transition from First Steps to the school system.
We've gone to two of these conferences and found the keynote speaker fantastic both times. The sessions themselves have been mostly helpful. Julie will be there for sure (obviously), and I'll likely go. It is not just for parents. If you see any sessions that look interesting—come and spend part of the day with us!
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