After a recent trip to the park with my mom, Luki came home talking about a boy he’d met there. “He was different,” he told to me. “He was a big kid, but he talked like a baby and he didn’t know how to play the same games as me.”
My mom explained that the boy had a developmental disability; she thinks it was Down ‘s syndrome. She also told me that, at first, Luki acted afraid of the boy and called him a monster because of the way he looked and spoke. She talked to him about the boy’s condition and after some time at the park, Luki relaxed a bit, but he never got comfortable enough to approach the boy and play with him.
- Richard Bailey (from flickr’s Creative Commons file)
I felt terrible. I know it’s typical for almost-4-year-olds to be rash and impulsive, even cruel at times, but I’m always reinforcing the importance of kindness and compassion in Luki. He is, overall, a good kid who shares with others and demonstrates genuine concern when he sees someone hurt or crying. I couldn’t believe he’d called another kid a monster just because he looked and acted differently from him.
Ever since, I’ve had several conversations with Luki about disabilities. On our way to pre-school the other day, we saw a little boy in a wheelchair getting onto his school bus. “What’s wrong with that boy?” he asked. I explained that he couldn’t walk, that he’d probably been born that way.
“So why is he going to school?” Luki wanted to know.
“For the same reasons you go school,” I said. “to learn and to play with his friends.”
“How can he play if he can’t walk?”
“There’s lots of games you can play sitting down,” I said. “Plus he can move around in his wheelchair.”
Luki had a lot more questions about the boy. He wanted to know what he did at home, what he ate, where he slept. I tried to answer them to the best of my ability, but in this area, my ability is limited. I didn’t feel entirely comfortable having the conversation. I didn’t know which words to use. At one point, I said that the boy was sick and Luki got even more confused. “Why don’t his parents they take him to the doctor instead of sending him to school?” he asked.
I realize Luki reacted that way around the boy at the park because he’d never met anyone like him before. There are no children with noticeable disabilities at his school or church and we don’t have any close family friends who are disabled. I’ve been wondering why that is. It could be coincidence, of course. But I think part of it is also that I, like Luki, don’t feel entirely comfortable around disabled individuals. As an adult, I am not as open about my discomfort as Luki was at the park, but when I ran into a group of disabled young men at the grocery store the other day, I found myself staring at them. I also smiled really hard each time we made eye contact, like I was trying to prove to them (or myself?) that I didn’t mind their presence there, something I’ve never felt compelled to do for any other shoppers.
I’d love to hear from readers – especially those who are disabled or have disabled family members – about this issue. How should I speak to my son about persons with disabilities? What is and isn’t OK to say? How does it feel to be stared and smiled at? And, most importantly, how can I teach my children (and learn myself) to show genuine kindness and compassion to disabled individual without being condescending or feeling pity?
This article appears in May 29 – Jun 4, 2013.
My brother has cerebral palsy, so I don’t really notice when there are others around who are disabled. If someone speaks to me directly that is disabled (I’ve worked in several restaurants, etc), I treat them like anyone else unless it’s clear they need me to slow down, explain more clearly, and then I do but not in a condescending way, just as I would with a person who has never been in a Starbucks and didn’t know the difference between a latte and a drip brew. Again, I grew up around not only my brother, but people from his summer camps, Special Olympics teams, etc. so it’s kind of second nature. Also, my kids have been around their uncle since their birth, so they have the same kind of inherent acceptance, I think.
My brother has never commented on what it feels like to be stared at…I don’t know if he even acknowledges or cares. He’s extremely happy and content with life, likes to talk to lots of people, so he works on a college campus where he can meet and talk to lots and lots of people, and he LOVES it. If he’s ever been treated differently or poorly, he’s never ever mentioned it. Like I said, I don’t know if it’s even on his radar is someone is staring.
Don’t pity them. Admire them, and even envy them a little. My brother seems to have sailed through his teens and twenties with an enormous social life with no worry about what he’s going to wear or who’s talking about whom or keeping up on gossip…he’s SO in the moment it’s glorious! He’s never met someone he can’t befriend in just a few moments. His disability seems to break down social barriers and he has a charm that radiates through it so that he can make anyone smile. That’s a gift, and many of his disabled friends are the same way! It’s like…if society didn’t dictate that they were disabled, perhaps we would think they are actually above us in some way, with their endless love and boundless enthusiasm, curiosity, and zest for life!
To help with your kids, see if you can’t volunteer, as a family, with a local Special Olympics or some other event or organization for the disabled. Immersion is key, as I’ve found with my kids…if you plunge them into an environment, they’ll adapt way quicker than you and quicker than you would imagine they could! My kids have volunteered at food banks, shelters, and many other organizations where they are surrounded by people of all different races, backgrounds, etc.
Good luck, and thanks for being sensitive and empathetic enough to reach out and want to help your kids be more compassionate! Great mom!
Thank you so much for your thorough and thoughtful comment msmelrichard! I especially liked what you said about how we’d view these individuals if society didn’t dictate that they were disabled. It’s given me a lot to think about. Thanks again!