My grandson recently reminded me that even children realize that we are all individuals and that treating everyone alike is the same as being fairer to some than to others because we all have differing needs and emotions. (In other words, treating people all the same way, i.e. alike, is not treating them equally because equal means meeting individual needs at the same level, not in the same way. I'm not sure I am making myself clear, but I hope I am. Perhaps thinking about the US constitution would help clarify. It is written there that all people are created equal; it is not written that all people are created the same.)
Anyway, back to my grandson. It seems that his first-grade teacher required the entire class to put their heads down because the class was being too noisy. My grandson acquiesced to the teacher's demand, but at the end of the school day, he approached her and said, "We have to talk."
What he wanted to talk about was the unfairness of treating everyone the same. "You made us all put our heads down for being noisy but I was not noisy," he told her, "and that was unfair. I would like an explanation." (He is an only child and therefore has been raised with adult language that is sometimes a little off-putting.)
The teacher was nonplussed and apparently did not give a reasonable explanation in my grandson's view. "I guess she didn't have a good reason and was afraid to tell me that," he related to his parents.
His father had no right to complain about his son's behavior for he had done something quite similar when he was in the fifth grade. His teacher had become frustrated with some mischievousness among the students in the row in which he was sitting and told the whole row that they had to stay in at recess. My son objected. "You are a group," she told him, "and I expect you to be responsible for each other."
"You chose the grouping, not I," he continued to object, but she would not hear it and insisted that they all stay in at recess.
My son went outside. That frustrated the teacher, who then told him he would have to stay after school for detention.
"Okay," he readily agreed. "That's fair because I disobeyed you."
His teacher was both amused and confused when she related to me what had happened. "How else could I have handled this?" she asked.
I did not have a good answer for her because children do perceive fairness in much more black-and-white terms than do we adults; at least my kids did. It is often difficult to understand that treating everyone the same is not the same as treating them all equally and fairly.
What do y'all think? Same or equal? What can kids teach us in this respect? Any stories from your children, students, grandkids?
And what about this contemporary concept of teaching the group, making the group responsible for the group, even giving one grade for the whole group? That was not part of my experience growing up -- which may explain why I am such an individualist and why I raised an individualist, who is, in turn, raising an individualist. I would love to hear from those who grew up with the group approach to learning -- did it work for you? Why or why not?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Notes from the Land of Splat!
The Land of Splat!, as I describe it in Blest Atheist, is that place where we all find ourselves at times that seems to have no permeable border. Every time we try to cross out of the land of troubles into the land of normalcy, we are sprung back into our troubles (old or new) with a splat!. And so it goes with my life and the life of my children and my friends. We seem to be well settled in the Land of Splat!. Had I had any idea to the contrary, I would have been brought back to the reality of Splat! by the recent birth of my granddaughter. A bit preemie (but not much, five pounds being a good birth weight), she managed to surprise doctors considerably. They had discovered through sonograms that she would be born with hydronephrosis (a kidney condition that could be corrected by surgery--our grandson had the same) and her intestines outside her body rather than inside. She also had a cyst on her spine that they were hoping would not be spina bifida like her aunt (our daughter) has. Those hopes were in vain. She does have spina bifida, but that and the hydronephrosis and external intestines are a small matter compared to what the doctors were presented with at her birth: all her lower organs in pieces (at least, two pieces), some of them (e.g., the colon and rectum) missing, and her body fully open and split in two from the waist down (no belly button would be the result of her birth). The doctors recovered quickly fronm their surprise and immediately went into surgery, rebuilding a little human being. More surgeries and many months of hospitalization are in the offing, but she is fighting to stay alive, looking cute as a button, and garnering a little fan club of doctors and relatives/friends. We look forward to the day that she comes off life support so that we can hold more than her little hand; she curls her fingers around ours so quickly that we know she would love to be held. Nothing is insurmountable even in the Land of Splat!, but one certainly gets to experience unusual and trying moments.
If anyone out there reading this blog has had experiences similar to any of the various problems my brave little granddaughter is experiencing, I would love to hear the outcomes, share strategies, and learn about your coping mechanisms.
If anyone out there reading this blog has had experiences similar to any of the various problems my brave little granddaughter is experiencing, I would love to hear the outcomes, share strategies, and learn about your coping mechanisms.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Abuse, Abused, Abusers
I have met with some interesting reactions to my chapter on "Ma and Dad." I assume that they come from three groups: (1) those who have never been abused and are not abusers, (2) those who have been abused, and (3) those who are abusers.
The first group seems completely mystified by how, after a long childhood of extensive abuse, I can in clear conscience say that my parents were not monsters. Not having been abused themselves, they have likely not had to do the soul-searching and deep analysis that is implicit in forgiving anyone who harms you. With abuse, the harm is severe and multifaceted and affects not only one's physical well-being, but, as well, one's mental state, sense of self-efficacy, security, willingness to take risks, self-confidence, compassion, and even reason and ability to love. Let alone, of course, the ability to forgive. Certainly, my optimism and self-confidence did not come from my parents but evolved from the positive input of others and a sense of well-being and protection that was internal and irrational. Whence came this "salvation?" In retrospect, I can come to only one conclusion: God's protection of the Almighty's least mighty children. If, speaking in terms of reason alone, I conclude that God was the source of my protection, then I am required, at least in my understanding of morality (and fairness/honesty), to accept God's requirement to honor one's parents and to forgive those who offend us ("seventy times seven"). When one forgives, a healing process begins, again at least in my experience, and once that healing process has reached a level where one can confidently move beyond the childhood pain, one can begin to analyze why these sorts of bad things happened. In fact, one feels compel to ask "why" and to try to answer that question. That is what I did, and in the analysis, I finally understood that my parents were not evil creatures who wanted to do bad, but stressed-out, impoverished, "human" (and therefore fallible) individuals who wanted to do right but through their fallibility and status in life were pushed by external forces (the "need" to look good before the community, hormones out of control, a sense of helplessness to improve their comfort level) to lash out in anger and frustration -- all it took was very simple, normal, innocuous-but-undesired behaviors on the part of their children to unleash the emotions that their sense of morality (yes, they had a sense of morality) held at bay all too unsuccessfully. Seeing my parents as victims as much as they were abusers has helped me to understand that they were not monsters although their behavior was monstrous. I am not alone in this experience. Dave Pelzer (A Boy Called It) was treated as abusively by his mother, perhaps even more abusively, and ultimately he found himself able to forgive her. In that forgiveness lay much healing. That is likely why God requires us to forgive.
Those who have been abused (second group) do understand and do empathize. If their abuse was lesser, they realize that any amount of abuse is frightening, and the amount that my siblings and I received is even more frightening in that there was nothing special about them or me or my parents -- such abuse potentially could happen at any time to anyone. The fact that it does not happen more often is perhaps as a miracle, too.
The third group puzzles me. They are the abusers. I assume that the physical abusers, like my parents, have some kind of unmet need, deep-set insecurity, or hormonal/drug-induced chemical imbalance that leads them to do things that in a rational moment they themselves would conclude is wrong. To some extent, I do understand them, but I do not accept their behavior. No one should, and no, I do not condone those neighbors, teachers, and religious leaders who looked the other way in my childhood. I have been reviled by some book reviewers for taking these groups to task, but I stand by my conviction that those who look on and do nothing deserve to be taken to task.
I would hope that readers would realize that we never would have survived if everyone in our lives had been unconcerned, incompetent, and/or abusive. I do point out some who gave us succor in difficult moment. We had some brilliant doctors. Without them, my children would not have lived. Among those brilliant doctors were amazingly compassionate ones, with whom we developed life-long friendships. Likewise, there were a few teachers and educational administrators who did make a difference in our handicapped and gifted children's access to learning (but it would have been nice had these been the majority not the distinct minority). The rote application of learned treatment to all situations regardless of need (typically over the objection of knowledgeable parents) I truly have never understood -- not from the educators and doctors out of whose grasp I have wrestled my children for the sake of their mental development in some cases and lives in other cases.
I would love to hear from those of you who have survived any kind of abusive situation, whether at the hands of relatives, doctors, or teachers, either yourselves or as advocates for your children. What have been your experiences?
The first group seems completely mystified by how, after a long childhood of extensive abuse, I can in clear conscience say that my parents were not monsters. Not having been abused themselves, they have likely not had to do the soul-searching and deep analysis that is implicit in forgiving anyone who harms you. With abuse, the harm is severe and multifaceted and affects not only one's physical well-being, but, as well, one's mental state, sense of self-efficacy, security, willingness to take risks, self-confidence, compassion, and even reason and ability to love. Let alone, of course, the ability to forgive. Certainly, my optimism and self-confidence did not come from my parents but evolved from the positive input of others and a sense of well-being and protection that was internal and irrational. Whence came this "salvation?" In retrospect, I can come to only one conclusion: God's protection of the Almighty's least mighty children. If, speaking in terms of reason alone, I conclude that God was the source of my protection, then I am required, at least in my understanding of morality (and fairness/honesty), to accept God's requirement to honor one's parents and to forgive those who offend us ("seventy times seven"). When one forgives, a healing process begins, again at least in my experience, and once that healing process has reached a level where one can confidently move beyond the childhood pain, one can begin to analyze why these sorts of bad things happened. In fact, one feels compel to ask "why" and to try to answer that question. That is what I did, and in the analysis, I finally understood that my parents were not evil creatures who wanted to do bad, but stressed-out, impoverished, "human" (and therefore fallible) individuals who wanted to do right but through their fallibility and status in life were pushed by external forces (the "need" to look good before the community, hormones out of control, a sense of helplessness to improve their comfort level) to lash out in anger and frustration -- all it took was very simple, normal, innocuous-but-undesired behaviors on the part of their children to unleash the emotions that their sense of morality (yes, they had a sense of morality) held at bay all too unsuccessfully. Seeing my parents as victims as much as they were abusers has helped me to understand that they were not monsters although their behavior was monstrous. I am not alone in this experience. Dave Pelzer (A Boy Called It) was treated as abusively by his mother, perhaps even more abusively, and ultimately he found himself able to forgive her. In that forgiveness lay much healing. That is likely why God requires us to forgive.
Those who have been abused (second group) do understand and do empathize. If their abuse was lesser, they realize that any amount of abuse is frightening, and the amount that my siblings and I received is even more frightening in that there was nothing special about them or me or my parents -- such abuse potentially could happen at any time to anyone. The fact that it does not happen more often is perhaps as a miracle, too.
The third group puzzles me. They are the abusers. I assume that the physical abusers, like my parents, have some kind of unmet need, deep-set insecurity, or hormonal/drug-induced chemical imbalance that leads them to do things that in a rational moment they themselves would conclude is wrong. To some extent, I do understand them, but I do not accept their behavior. No one should, and no, I do not condone those neighbors, teachers, and religious leaders who looked the other way in my childhood. I have been reviled by some book reviewers for taking these groups to task, but I stand by my conviction that those who look on and do nothing deserve to be taken to task.
I would hope that readers would realize that we never would have survived if everyone in our lives had been unconcerned, incompetent, and/or abusive. I do point out some who gave us succor in difficult moment. We had some brilliant doctors. Without them, my children would not have lived. Among those brilliant doctors were amazingly compassionate ones, with whom we developed life-long friendships. Likewise, there were a few teachers and educational administrators who did make a difference in our handicapped and gifted children's access to learning (but it would have been nice had these been the majority not the distinct minority). The rote application of learned treatment to all situations regardless of need (typically over the objection of knowledgeable parents) I truly have never understood -- not from the educators and doctors out of whose grasp I have wrestled my children for the sake of their mental development in some cases and lives in other cases.
I would love to hear from those of you who have survived any kind of abusive situation, whether at the hands of relatives, doctors, or teachers, either yourselves or as advocates for your children. What have been your experiences?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
