Wednesday, February 25, 2004

A Very Special Baby Book Last summer, I wrote about an annual event Jane and I attend called the Flamingo Party.  The reason for that party is a little girl named Leah, who was born into this world with an extra 18th chromosome, and left about three years later, still with that extra 18th and a lot of love from a variety of people.  Her parents throw the Flamingo Party each year on her birthday as a celebration of her life, and I think, of life in general.  Leah helped teach a lot of people a great number of things, some big, some small. Do you ever think about baby books much?  I've had two kids, and I don't think about them at all.  But I know that Jane thinks about them a lot, and most mothers I've known see the baby book as an important way to capture the wonderful and brief time at the beginning of their child's life. One of the unexpected things that Leah taught her mother Rhonda was that they just don't make baby books for babies whose stories might not fit the common mold.  Special needs babies like Leah might not need a page that talks about their first steps or words, for example.  Some babies need a place to talk about the many health professionals who have helped them and their family.  Some babies need a place to talk about their diagnosis, or to talk about the days they had an especially long gaze with their mommy or daddy. Parents of special needs children have the same wants as any other parent, and one of those wants is to complete a baby book, to have something to look back on later in life to make the joy of those early days come alive.  And there is joy, even among the stress and heartache that comes with having a special needs baby.  Joy, and pride, and wonder. So, our friend Rhonda decided she was going to do something about it.  She made her own baby book for her special needs child.  And she didn't stop there.  She decided that there must be mothers and fathers all around who feel the same need she felt to document her baby's life, and so she wrote a baby book.  It's called A Very Special Baby Book.  It features Rhonda's own artwork, and has sections that allow your baby's individual story to be told.  And, because each baby is different, it is not hard-bound, but rather is bound in ribbon, so pages can be taken out and replaced in the order which is most appropriate. I have seen the book--it is beautiful and inspiring.  I have to think there are an awful lot of people out there who would appreciate knowing that there is a baby book for them and their baby.  Currently, Rhonda is in the process of marketing her book.  She's contacting children's hospitals and similar organizations who deal extensively with families of special needs babies.  It is quite an undertaking, but I know she feels it is absolutely worth doing.  I know that people who end up using her book will feel the same way. If you are interested in contacting Rhonda about copies of the book, feel free to drop me a line via Pipeline by clicking on the mail icon to the right, and I will put you in touch with her. 3:37:39 PM    Say what?[]

Stupid Dog, Stupid Doug Last night, Jane was making up some BBQ meatballs to take a function we were having later at Linus's school.  She pulled the pan of meatballs out of the oven, and one fell on the floor.  It had just come out of a 400 degree oven, but this mattered not to our dog Maxine.  Despite warnings from Jane that it was hot (as though she could understand any of that), she immediately wrapped her tongue around the meatball and tried to eat it up.  Oh, but she dropped it fast once it burned her tongue and gums.  But she couldn't resist its' meaty charms, and she gobbled it up anyway before heading over to the water dish to salve her burns.  And as I watched this all happen, I thought to myself, "Dogs are so stupid."  I mean, really.  She knew it was hot.  She's tried to eat hot meatballs before and had her mouth burned.  She should have known better.  And it's not like that meatball was going anywhere, you know?  Dogs are garden-variety stupid, end of story. So then we're at this school function last night.  We're all kind of standing around, waiting for other parents to show up.  I keep looking at the food table, because I'm hungry.  After surreptitiously nabbing a few Cheez-Its, I find that I cannot resist the smoky aroma of the BBQ meatballs, which are for all intents and purposes the only real entree, unless you count the peanut butter and jelly tortilla wraps that some sadistic parent brought, which I do not. I mean, these meatballs are smelling good.  But as they are the only entree, and the number of parents, teachers and children is starting escalate, I'm getting worried that we all might get stuck on something like a four meatball ration.  When you're a 12 meatball guy, as I am, that's ugly math.  I keep looking around, taking a count, wondering when we're going to dig in and get down to dinner.  Meanwhile, I notice that I am edging closer and closer to the Crockpot.  And hey!  What's this in my hand right now?  A toothpick?  And who took the lid off that Crockpot? Turns out it was me.  Was one little meatball going to hurt anything?  I rationalized all of this by telling myself that we had brought the meatballs in the first place, and that there were plenty of other things for other people to eat, whereas I was most likely only going to eat meatballs, and there were probably some vegetarians in the group anyway, and since nobody was looking right at me at that very moment... I furtively plunged my toothpick deep into the rich sauce and extracted a wonderfully round meatball dripping with my favorite Famous Dave's Sweet & Zesty BBQ sauce.  But I had to be quick!  I popped the saucy ball into my mouth and discarded the toothpick in the garbage in one smooth motion. I might as well have stuck a ball of molten lava into my mouth.  I had no idea a Crockpot could make anything this freaking hot.  I don't know why our country is involved in splitting atoms to generate heat power; we ought to just be using Crockpots to heat that water up.  I tried hard not to make a noise, and if I did nobody heard it above the music that was playing.  I tried to let the ball rest on my tongue while I inhaled air in quick bursts to cool it down, but not only did this not work and burn my tongue severely, it made me look like I was in a birthing class.  I looked around for any kind of liquid, but it was all at a table surrounded by parents and teachers, and I was keen on not letting them know I had been cherry-picking the food table.  All I could do was stand there and let my mouth singe.  About 15 seconds later, the few tastebuds I still had savored the meatball.  Naturally, about 20 seconds after that it was decided that we should all start eating.  Somebody said, "Careful, these meatballs are hot!"  My tongue still hurts. 1:01:19 PM    Say what?[]

Our Bad Selves There are a lot of people against gay marriage.  A great majority of them are not evangelical zealots.  They're just normal people in all parts of the country, in all walks of life.  Many of them haven't had a meaningful relationship with an openly gay person, and many of them never will.  Seeing homosexuality on Will & Grace doesn't count, nor do I think seeing real footage of gay couples getting married does much to change a lifetime of bias and perception. Each generation grows up with heirlooms of prejudice, but each successive generation has fewer of them.  I think race is a reasonable comparison.  My grandparents' generation had certain ideas about race, collectively speaking.  By their time of youth, in the '50s, lynching wasn't glorified, and Jim Crow was on the way out.  Desegregation was a reality intruding on their lives, and some people were facing it while others weren't.  But that's a far leap from the previous generation's reality, to be sure.  My parents' generation, which came of age in the '60s and '70s, accepted desegregation and the general notion that the races were equal, despite the fact that there were hangovers from previous generations reflected in views about, for example, interracial marriage.  My generation, collectively, is much more accepting of such things, which is not to say that there is perfect racial harmony today.  These progressing views are held today even by people who may not have much direct experience with people of different races.  It's just a view that takes hold and progresses. My point is that over time, we understand more about people who are different from ourselves, even if we don't necessarily have direct exposure to those people.  This isn't exactly revolutionary thought. And yet, at the same time, I think people often have prejudices which they deep down understand they shouldn't have, and perhaps feel some shame about.  We think things that we wouldn't want our own kids to think.  We want them to be free of the biases and perceptions we haven't been able to shake.  Many of us have a Bad Self which thinks certain things, and we wish that Bad Self wasn't there. Me?  My Bad Self has a visceral and very negative reaction to people who talk about God.  I have had a lifelong struggle to avoid thinking very bad things about people who believe, actively in a Biblical God.  As I have grown older, I've managed to meet some people who have helped me to understand that a lot of people who are Believers may not be all that different from myself.  Often we think about a lot of the same things.  But the bias has never left me.  I have to work hard to be objective, and to remember that Believers come in many different persuasions.  I fight my bias against Faith all the time, and sometimes I fail miserably.  I feel small because of the way I think, and yet I am still convinced of my own Agnostic righteousness. I don't want Linus or Lily to think that way.  I want them to approach Believers and non-Believers alike with objectivity and humanity.  I don't want them to believe out of hand that certain people are ignorant and arrogant. My Bad Self needs to stay with me.  They don't need that part of me.  It will not serve them well. I think when people are talking about their opposition to gay marriage in these polls, many of them are answering honestly.  But I also think many of them, not all, but many, are knowingly expressing a part of their Bad Selves.  They are unapologetically saying that this is what they believe, because they have been asked. But how many of those people are ready to give their Bad Selves a permanent voice, to pass that Bad Self on to their kids, and their kids after that, for what could be a long, long time?  I'm willing to guess it is a number somewhat smaller than the polls might think.  Most of us see the ugliness inside ourselves.  We know what we can change and overcome, and we know what sticks with us, even when we don't want it to.  It is a rare person who wants to knowingly pass that ugliness on to their children.  Rarer still to make it the law of the land. I am confident current generations will choose to suppress their Bad Selves, rather than memorialize them. 12:25:24 PM    Say what?[]

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