With Father’s Day having just past, I thought I’d share this memory with you.
Father’s Day is certainly NOT my favourite day of the year when it comes to thinking of my birth father. I’m sure some of my family won’t like, and certainly won’t agree with what I’m about to say, and I understand why, but these are my feelings on the matter.
My biological father and I certainly did not have a good relationship by any stretch of one’s imagination. As a matter of fact, the older I got, the more I became convinced that if there was a store where you could buy your kids, I honestly believe my father would have certainly returned me and demanded a full refund.
Now, as I said, I completely understand why some members of my family (and friends) get really upset whenever I say this. They love me! Furthermore, they can’t even begin to fathom anyone not loving me, never mind my own father. They simply can’t wrap their minds around that whole concept.
Yet for me, I have no doubt that I was not the second daughter that my father had envisioned for himself. First, he was so obsessed with “why HIS DAUGHTER was crippled” that he never allowed himself to get to know the person I am. Add to that, I think I’ve always had a very determined streak. From an extremely young age I never wanted to be coddled, a
nd I can still hear my brother Lloyd telling me, “Hey kid. Maybe you won’t be physically independent, but you better learn how to be mentally independent. Because kid-o, people aren’t going to make it easy for you, so you better figure out your own way in this world. Get use to it kid, ‘cause life’s gonna be tough for you. So you better be tough right back at it.” So as I grew older and became more and more independent in my own thoughts, opinions, beliefs and so on, the tension between my father and I just grew worse and worse, until we couldn’t be in the same room for more than a couple minutes without some negative interaction taking place.
So, this past Saturday, while my attendant, Angara, was helping me get up and the topic of Father’s Day initially brought back my usual less than stellar memories, I found myself recalling a different memory.
This one went back to another conversation I had with Lloyd. I’m no longer sure if I was living in Newfoundland again, or Halifax, but Lloyd was living in Ontario. Still, the story that I’m about to tell clearly reveals beyond a shadow of a doubt that fathers are not fathers because of mere blood, nor biology, but because of an element that goes far beyond any of physiology, and is why, in my opinion, Lloyd has been more of a father figure to me than my father ever was.
So here’s the story…..
One evening several years ago I was having a phone conversation with Lloyd. In our conversation he recalled that at one point in his life he wanted to move to Australia. I always remember him talking about wanting to go visit there, but I never realized he had intentions to move there.
So, I asked: “You wanted to move to Australia??? I mean, I knew you wanted to visit, but I didn’t know you wanted to move there!”
My brother replied: “Oh yeah….. I had every intention to move there.”
So I asked: “So why didn’t you?”
On the other end of the phone, there was silence.
So I asked again: “Why didn’t you move to Australia?
Again a silent pause.
“Lloyd….. why didn’t you move to Australia???”
At this point I began to suspect that I knew why.
After another “Lloyd?” passed before he replied with: “W-e-l-l….. something came up. Something more important, okay?”
I was now becoming really suspicious because I was almost certain I knew where this conversation was going.
So, I asked: “What came up, Lloyd?”
He replied: “Something. It doesn’t matter what. I didn’t go. okay!?”
I kept pressing: “What exactly came up Lloyd?”
At this point Lloyd knew I wasn’t going to let him off the hook, so with some exasperation he said:
“Well, look. It’s like this. You couldn’t go to school in Newfoundland. Those idiots were saying you were retarded. You didn’t have any kind of life there. You needed to move to Ontario. Newfoundland was no place for you. You know what your life was like there.”
“Yeh, I do.” I said.
Lloyd continued: “In order for you to go to Ontario, live there and go to school, you needed a legal guardian in the province. Since you were still a minor back then, I did what needed to be done and that’s that, ok?….. and I’d damn well do it all over again too!”
Sometimes our “‘fathers” are not obvious. They’re not always the stereotype. Yet any man who would set aside his own life plans for the sake of a younger human being – whether it be a sister, a neighborhood kid, or anyone else, in my opinion, that man is most certainly a father – the best kind of father, because that’s the kind of father who really would do anything for his kids and truly love his kids, no matter what.
So now when I reflect on Father’s Day, I can’t help but feel gratitude and proud of my brother. I know that although my biological father failed me miserably in many ways, my “bro-dad” has been the best kind the of father that I could have ever been blessed with. Honestly, I can’t even begin to imagine my life without Lloyd in it. I can’t imagine what would have become of me if he wasn’t who he is. The kind of man he is. I am who I am in no small account because of Lloyd’s faith in me, his belief in me, his love for me, and his genuine acceptance of me, exactly as I am. I will always be grateful and thankful to God for his presence in my life. Still, Lloyd doesn’t take, nor want, any credit for any of my successes.
As he once told me: “All I did was open the door, just a crack. YOU kicked it wide open.”
In the late evening of June 12
th
, 1966, a mother sits at her kitchen table, keeping her weekly tradition of writing alternate letters to her eldest son, and daughter-in-law. She would write her son one week, then her daughter-in-law the next, so that both would receive an equal amount of her time, attention and love.
As she writes though, one would never guess from her upbeat composition that her earthly life is rapidly drawing to a close.
She says that it’s been ages since she’s heard from this son. She writes that early that morning, she told her eldest daughter that she sensed she would hear from him soon. Later that very day, his latest letter arrived.
In her missive, the mother fills in her son on the latest news of her youngest daughter and last child – his baby sister. She describes the child’s excitement of going on another long train trip and even though it’s not outright said, one senses that the mother knows she’ll never see her youngest child ever again, not in this world anyway.
With the many years of battling one Cancer after another, the mother is now losing her hard-fought fight and in her last few months and weeks, she is filled with a great fear of what will happen to her baby girl? Her little one, who had just turned seven, not even two weeks prior to her writing this particular letter.
The thought is always on her mind: Who will look after her? What will become of her? Will people treat her right? After all, this young one needs “extra” help and not everyone will be willing, or even suited, to give it.
The mother has been given many predictions for this child’s future, ranging from bleak, to the bleakest, with a ton of “She’ll never(s)…..” The mother seems desperate to ask pretty much anyone and everyone she can think of to look after her baby girl – friends, family members, neighbours and yes, she likely even asks the mailman, the milkman, the policeman, and the fireman too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May 12, 2019.
Hey Mom. It’s me again – your youngest.
I really wish you hadn’t worried so much about me because I’m doing just fine. I’ve had some of the most amazing, wonderful, kind and loving people put into my life and while no earthly human could ever replace you, I know in my heart that each one of these people has been put into my life by our Lord Jesus Christ. Some of them you knew while you were with us. Others came when I needed them, and only remained while I needed them. Still others are “lifers” – in it for the long haul, but each one a very true blessing.
One of the shortest encounters I ever had was at the airport in Halifax, in March of 1983. During a four-hour stopover. For half of it, I ended up talking to a guy from Ottawa and in those few hours, I believe with all my heart that God knew I needed an empathetic ear.
An even shorter encounter happened in 1994, just two days before Christmas, at the Corner Brook hospital.
Completely unrelated to my reason for my being at the hospital, I had to make a same day decision as to whether or not to press charges against the man who had sexually assaulted me the evening before. I and an unknown woman ended up having the strangest of conversation. Her compassion centered around what she assumed was my medical situation, yet her comments and gentle questions, along with my responses (in my contemplating what to do in terms of pressing charges) fit together perfectly.
Woman: “You seem really concerned…. about the outcome.”
Me (sobbing but trying to smile) “Yeh. Yeh…. I am.)
Woman: “You have a difficult decision to make?”
Me: “Yeh…. I do.”
Woman: “You’re scared? Others may be affected?”
Me: “Yeh. (nodding and sobbing) Yes. People certainly will be affected by my decision.”
She put her had gently on mine. “You are a very strong lady. You’ll get through this.”
As I felt my tears welling up, I looked away to stop them. When I looked back toward her, she was gone.
Without speaking directly of it, gave me the strength and courage to make the extremely difficult decision to follow through with a court case.
And I’m sure you’d be happy and greatly relieved to know that I have been living the most amazing and unpredicted life. I have learned so much and I’ve been so immensely blessed to have opportunities to learn from among those I consider to be the best of the best minds, especially in Theology; and I’m still learning. I hope I always will.
I’ve also travelled and experienced things that no one ever thought I would. I’m now living in my third province, but think this one’s a keeper, for Halifax has captured my heart in a way that no other place ever has and now that Lloyd is living here too, well, that’s just the finest icing on the cake!
No, my life has not always been easy, nor is it always easy now. That’s life. My heart has more than once been completely shattered into a billion unrecognizable pieces, yet I know that our Good Lord has always been right by my side, even in the times when I couldn’t see Him there, giving me the strength and courage to move forward and to see that even from heartbreak, God will make good.
Mom, I’m about to turn 60! Wow! Who saw that one coming eh? In the past few years there’s been a few more “Wow, I didn’t see that one coming either!” – my deciding to divorce after 30 years, abuse and more, but through it all, I’ve become so much stronger and I’m actually pretty content being me now. I’m also now speaking out on such matters and doing what I can to encourage others to be everything they can be, for themselves and for others.
After my divorce, I wanted to take your maiden name. I didn’t want to have Dad’s name again. But it got too complicated because your maiden name was never my legal name. But now that Lloyd’s here, I think of it as our name – connected with him and I’m proud that we once again share the same last name.
I miss you Mom, so much, but I still feel your spirit with me every day. I think (and I hope) that I am a lot like you. As much as I physically can, I love helping people. I love making someone laugh & smile & feel better, even for a brief moment. I feel deeply. I hurt when others hurt and I get frustrated when I can’t stop their hurting. I also get hurt easily – often too easily, although I always try to put on my bravest face and best suit of armour. But I always smile whenever I think of you, (which is still daily) and inside I beam whenever someone tells me they think I’m like you, for I remember your faith in God, your trust in our Lord. I may not have known it was Him at the time, but I first saw Jesus in you – in your kindness, in your caring, in your compassion for others, in
your generosity, and perhaps most endearing – in your joyous laughter. I pray each day that others can see even just a glimmer of your likeness in me.
On April 24th, 2014, the FDA held their first hearing regarding the use of shock devices at the Judge Rotenberg Center. That hearing was the result of decades of advocacy. Every year since then, activists have pushed the FDA closer to releasing a rule to end the use of shock devices on our community members. Thanks to your advocacy, this year the ban is on the FDA’s legislative agenda, and we’re closer than ever to ending electric shock torture at the JRC.
We can’t stop now — we have to keep up the pressure on the FDA until they #StopTheShock for good.
You know what to do! Check out the email below for scripts and tips.
How have you taken an action to #StopTheShock?
Let us know by
tweeting
#WeAreStillWaiting along with what you’re doing to fight back.
Remember, you can spend as little as five minutes or five seconds during your day to help end the use of shock torture against our community members.
Acceptance is an action-we’re counting on you to take it.
———- Forwarded message ———-
From: Autistic Self Advocacy Network
Date: Mon, Apr 1, 2018 at 4:00 PM
Subject: 📣 Acceptance is an Action. #StopTheShock with us this Autism Acceptance Month 📣
Here’s how we’re telling the FDA that we’re watching out for our community members:
Organizing “wait-ins” on April 24th.
This can be anything from setting up an information table in a public place to hosting a letter-writing event, making a poster or art display in a high-traffic area, or asking people passing by to take a selfie and spread the word.
Calling or emailing the FDA
and telling them to release the regulation ending the use of shock devices at the Judge Rotenberg Center.
Writing an op-ed or letter to the editor
for your local newspaper letting your neighborhood know why it is so important to #StopTheShock. We provide a template to help you get started. Be sure to send us the article once it is published!
April 24th will mark five years since the first FDA hearing on electric shock devices. In those five years, our community members have faced torture at the Judge Rotenberg Center.
We are closer than ever to seeing these dangerous devices banned for good, but #WeAreStillWaiting – and so are they.
Join us to #StopTheShock now!
In recognition of our (inter)National Day of Mourning for Disabled Victims of Filicide, I am reposting the following. This is a condensed version of a more in-depth publication, which I am planning to publish later in 2019, under my company, DisabilityPride (Publishing) – DisabilityPride.net. For details on purchasing the full edition, please e-mail: orders@DisabilityPride.net with “What’s One Life Worth” in the subject line, or write to: DisabilityPride (Publishing), Unit 201, 3083 Olivet Street, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, B3L 4R2.
What’s One Life worth?
WARNING: The following is not for the weak of human spirit.
It’s funny, most of the time I simply go about living my life and while doing so I slip into a comfort zone of thinking that all in all, the world is still a pretty nice place to be. Then, when I least expect it, I hear the word euthanasia, or the name Robert Latimer, and instantly I feel as if I am being kicked in the head by the entire human race.
My reaction to the above mentioned name is always intensely negative and with true non-wavering conviction. (By the way, I will not use hiss name again within this publication, because I feel that person received far too much notoriety at the peek of his trial and I will not further heighten his media exposure.)
My contempt for both lies in the fact that I know first hand what it is like to live with Cerebral Palsy. In addition to living with CP myself, I know (and have known) numerous others who live with CP as well. I have also worked for and have been involved with many disability organizations, so I know of what I speak.
One of the biggest reasons why the convicted in the above mentioned case received so much sympathy and support from the general public, is that it was perceived that his daughter, Tracy, was in terrible pain. Through media portrayals, the general public was led to believe that the convicted had become so distraught over Tracy’s supposed pain and suffering that he killed her out of deep compassion and love. However, court documents indicated that the convicted had refused hip surgery for Tracy, largely based on his own phobias of needles and medical treatments. Court documents also revealed that this murder was planned twelve days before it was carried out. Once Tracy had expired, her killer took her body from his truck and laid it in her bed. He then deliberately lied about the circumstances of her death by saying that she had died in her sleep. It was only after carbon monoxide was found in Tracy’s system during an autopsy that a confession was made. In this light, I think it is only reasonable to ask, just who’s pain and suffering did he really end?
The truth of the matter is that Cerebral Palsy does not cause or generate physical pain. It is not a disease, nor is it hereditary or degenerative. People who have CP do not suffer from it. Although there are always exceptions, the vast majority of people who have Cerebral Palsy do not experience severe or constant pain. Therefore, the perception that pain is always associated with CP, is perception only, not reality. Often those who have CP, happen to have spastic – jerky movements, but these characteristics themselves do not cause pain or discomfort.
There is also a common misconception that having CP means not only having physical limitations but mental ones as well. Another frequent characteristic of Cerebral Palsy is having a speech impairment, or being completely non-verbal. Many people in our society interpret this trait to mean a lack of intellect and fail to realize that non-verbal does not mean non-intelligent.
———–continued in full manuscript———–
So why does this subject matter evoke such a vile reaction in me?” The answer is twofold.
First, it is precisely because my life has turned out so dramatically different from what was originally predicted for me. Many doctors and other professionals will often make negative predictions with the intention of giving a “realistic” picture of what is to be expected. Yet the truth is that no one honestly knows what “reality” will be until it arrives. Reality can just as easily turn out positive as it can negative.
In all honesty, the second reason behind my reprehension, is one which is extremely difficult to admit. I suspect it is a reason felt by many people with CP, (and other disabilities) yet it is one not easily spoken of or conceded to. It is intense fear.
Fear – shear terror – is not something that anybody wants to discuss openly. Admitting to it is seen as a sign of weakness and vulnerability. To admit vulnerability is to leave oneself open to harm, mistreatment and possible abuse; and nobody wants to do that. Yet when someone with a disability clearly sees such a magnitude of overwhelming support for a person who pre-meditatively ends the life of a disabled person, when 71% supported the notion of a reduced sentence, and when there the same percentage of people weree willing to do the convicted’s prison time as that person had months to serve, the world truly becomes a very scary place to be for all persons with disabilities.
The endorsement of such an act of murder sends a strong and offensive message to all who are deemed “society’s lesser elements.” When people condone such acts by believing that the act was “justified,” it makes it easier for others to follow suit.
In the fall of 1997, after the first newscast that I had seen on this case, the same newscast held a panel discussion on the topic. On this panel there was a mother of another disabled child, who quite openly admitted: “Yeah, I’ve thought about doing the same thing.” She then went on to say that because of this case, she now felt no shame in admitting it and that if she ever did carry out the deed, it would be justified.
A few days later, my now ex and I ran into another mother of a beautiful blond-headed boy of about 10 years old, with CP. This woman was in full support of what Tracy’s murderer had done and proceeded to tell us so, quite openly, right in front of her son. She also expected my ex to agree with her. When he took the complete opposite stand, she was completely bewildered.
Could Tracy have proven her nay sayers (including her own parents) wrong? I don’t know. I am not suggesting that her life would have taken the same drastic about face that mine did. Yet could she have had a different life than what was predicted? Could she have accomplished some things which would have made her happy and given her satisfaction? We’ll never know will we? Tracy never had the chance to find out. That opportunity was taken from her, by the single act of one man.
It took me some three and a half years before I was able to write anything about the above referred to case. When I first heard about it, my anger and rage kept me bottle-necked from a literary prospective. Every time I tried to write about it, I would get so outraged that I couldn’t get beyond those feelings. But one Saturday night back then, I read such a repulsive letter on the Canoe web site, that I just snapped and consequently started writing on the matter.
“On Saturday Brennan and I were out with our running group and he needed to write something down. We were at his office and he pulls out a familiar note pad from his desk drawer ☺️”
Thanks Victoria!
My day is now made!!! (Notice “Brennan’s notepad!) I’m smilin’!
Ahhh! It’s so nice to know that when you’re in your most vulnerable medical need, our Emergency Health Services (i.e. the paramedics / ambulance) are right there for ya….with a bill – that you can’t afford to pay.
In Nova Scotia, for some bizarre reason, our ambulance service is privatized, which means and depending on where you are when you need an ambulance service, you’re gonna pay for it, and if you’re like the majority of those with a disability who’s on low income, you’re gonna pay BIG!!!
On December 29th, after several days of being sick with Strep Throat plus a severe allergic reaction to the antibiotic for the Strep, I arose with extreme pain in both upper arms. I immediately realized that I could barely drive my power-chair within my apartment, never mind driving to a bus stop, or a long trek (by foot/wheel) to emerge. Still, I needed to know fast what thee hell was happening to my arms! Was this going to be a long term / permanent condition? If so, how the hell would I get around – even in my own apartment?
So at my direction, my attendant called 911. The paramedics were great. Both were very kind and helpful. They got me to emerge quickly. I would like to be able to say that once in emerge all went well, but I can’t. Even though it’s on my medical data that I’m allergic to Sulfa, (and with any allergy, the triage staff always put a red identifying band on your wrist) I unknowingly was prescribed a medication which contains Sulfa. This led to a second allergic reaction, resulting in blisters developing on both wrists for several days.
All this was by no means fun, but it’s life. Shit happens, as they say. But then a short time later, (when I barely had time to start recovering) I get 2 EHS bills (one for going to emerge and the other for going home since I didn’t have my power-chair with me) totaling nearly $300! Ouch man!
I’ve been told in the past, that if you’re taken by ambulance from a public place, i.e. a minor street accident, the EHS is free, but if they’re required from your home, look out for a huge bill.
In thinking about this, the EHS billing criteria seems more than unfair. If you get a few scrapes, you get a free ride – literally, but when you no other means to get to emerge from your home, you pay through the nose.
My hope in posting this little story is that someone within the system will read it, recognize the problem affecting many people in situations similar to mine, and will work on finding a fairer billing fee structure.
I had just finished saying to someone the other day: “No, I think I’m ok attendant wise. I don’t need to put my ad again for a while.” Today, I put my ad back up on Facebook’s Job page.
I’m sure that a good number of people have watched my job ads go on and off DisabilityPride.net like blinking lights on a Christmas tree, or a store sign.
Just before Christmas I had a woman, who doesn’t know me from “Adam,” message me to ask: “What kind of employer are you anyway? You must be awful to work for. You’re always adverting. Why do your staff always quit on you?”
Wow! Not only did this cut me to my core, but it’s sooooo unfair, especially coming from someone who doesn’t know me or my relationships with my staff.
So, why do I sometimes have a significantly high turnover rate? Well, without using names, here are examples of reasons why:
I hire a significant number of students. I love hiring students. I learn from them. They learn from me. We have great conversations. Most students have enthusiasm and energy. We have fun while doing what needs to be done. We laugh a lot. They keep me young. BUT students graduate. They go on school work terms/placements. They go on to other schools. They move away or move back to their home province/country.
Many of my staff have one or more other jobs. Sometimes they get promoted in their other job(s), requiring increased commitment and increased hours. Some need to move closer to their other job, or sometimes their children need to go to a certain public school, which requires the family to reside in that district.
Some, especially students, simply take on too much and suddenly hit a metaphorical brick wall, especially if they’re struggling in a certain subject. I try to watch out for this, but some don’t even know it themselves until it’s too late.
Because of not enough funding, and because I certainly don’t need (or want) an attendant with me all the time, some work hours are short. Actually, they can be as short as one hour, (and yes that’s legal for this type of work) and rarely more than 4 or 5 hours, if people want to earn enough to live on, the need to work several shifts and even split shifts. Some people don’t mind this system. Some even like it. But some find out they don’t.
In this job, it takes time to really see if an attendant and I are a good working fit. Sometimes it can be a rough start, but then we find our groove. Or sometimes we start of great, then fizzle out. It has a whole lot to do with how/if we gel.
People also lie in interviews! “Sure. I love driving from Hicksville to Halifax. I’m always driving back and forth. I do it several times a day – in all kinds of weather. I love it! It’s no problem at all.” Then, the first snowfall happens. “Ohhh! I can’t come! I’m too scared to drive on that stretch of highway!”
Problems in an employee’s personal life can lead to that staff needing sick leave, or a need to leave the job altogether. It’s sad, but sometimes the stresses in one’s personal life can be more than that person can manage. Trying to maintain a job on top of it all is like trying to control a tidal-wave.
And sometimes people just “stay at the party too long.” I read somewhere that employees who stay in one job for more than 4 or 5 years, often end up taking their job and/or employer for granted. They subconsciously (or consciously) think they’ve earned the right to have things their own way, rather than how the employer wants things. I understand “staying at the party too long.” I’m a die-hard. I don’t give up easily. This can indeed be an admirable quality, but it can also lead to a down-slide. Burn-out and resentment can set in, with hostility becoming a pattern. It’s sad but true.
Now, am I “the perfect ‘boss’”? Hell no! In some ways I do expect a fair bit from my attendants. I expect them to be reliable. I expect them to be punctual. I expect them to understand that they’re here to assist me in living my life as I see fit, and that means respecting my preferences and choices. But I also make a point of letting them know that I very much appreciate their help. I thank them often during their shift and most certainly always-always-always, at the end of their shift. Always!
Have I ever had any employees leave on bad terms? Show me an employer who hasn’t. Yet so many of my former (and present) employees are friends with me on Facebook, and 2 of my blog’s Facebook Reviews are written (on their own accord) by 1 past and 1 current attendant. We may not always chat regularly, but they know I’m always here for them.
People outside the inner circle will always make their own assumptions and draw their own conclusions, sometimes incorrectly. I can’t stop them. All I can do is try to be a good employer, in the fairest way I know how.
As for the woman who wrote those opening comments, she also reported me to Facebook as “not being a real person.” Obviously, I am a very real person. Yet it is for that very reason why her remarks cut so deep and still haunt me. I value my staff immensely. I adopt them, care about them always, and my heart often breaks when it’s time for them to move on.
I just logged into
DisabilityPride.net
‘s fb page and received a notice that I had reached 100 followers, but when I looked at my side panel, it’s now at 108 followers!
Yesterday I was at 89. Today thus far 108! This is so incredibly awesome! Thanks so much to everyone for your follows, likes, shares, and comments. I’m so thrilled and humbled that you like what I”m doing.
Don’t forget my “Wednesday Poll” question of the week, starting at noon! Vote! Participate! Have your say! And have a great Wednesday!
Most people who know me know I’m not much of a “TV” watcher. Actually, I don’t even own one. The closest to it is what I consider my very large (27”) computer monitor, which someone close to me bought for me when my (I think it was about 12 years old) monitor finally died. It actually started smoking one evening. At that point, I declared it officially dead!
I don’t know if my friend Dave remembers this, but when I was about to move into my very first apartment, as a young adult, he and Joe offered me a free TV, several times in fact. I wanted NOTHING to do with it.
Now, I’m not saying I NEVER watch anything, but I’m a “doer”. I’d rather be “doing” than watching. I mostly consider TV a waste of time – pretty much for those who don’t have a life. I know that’s awful for me to say, but by and large, that’s my attitude.
But in full disclosure, yes, my main attendant, Kelly and I do watch some stuff on Netflix while we eat supper. It’s “our thing,” and I find with most of my attendants (past and present) we end up having “a thing.” With Cassidy it was Crispy Minis. Courtney and I always made “big breakfasts” and I loved “organizing” stuff with both Courtney and as much, Victoria. Victoria is especially great with helping me organize “officey” stuff – files, etc. Watching stuff with Kelly also kind of forces me to take time to relax and take a breather, which I don’t often do otherwise, and frankly, neither does she.
So in the last few weeks with being so sick, I’ve watched way more Netflix than usual and I’ve gotten into “Heartland” a lot. I’m not going to say a lot about the show itself as that’s not my focus in all this, but on the show, the older daughter, Lou, is/was/is again, a kind of New York business big-wig who returns to live on the family farm, and not really being satisfied just being a farm/horse gal, she takes on various business ventures, and after marrying an oil big-wig and becoming a mother, Lou starts a blog, both as an outlet for her own need to do something “meaningful,” and as a support for other “stay-at-home business moms.”
Now, in a pretty unrealistic manner, her blog becomes “an overnight success” – literally. She gets offered a book deal by a major publisher, gets sent on a book tour, and on and on. (Yeh, right.) But in all this, she then feels she has to “spice up” her stories about her daily family life, which ends up leaving her feeling alienated from her entire family.
So she Skypes with the publisher to pretty much say: “I can’t do this! My family hates me now, because I tried to spice it up for you!” The publisher responds by saying: “I never asked you to ‘spice it up.’ I just want your story – about your life – your experiences – your views on things – your thoughts – in a nutshell, I just want to tell your story, Lou!”
When I started DisabilityPride.net, I’m not sure why, but I felt it should be mainly “newsy stuff”, general items that applies to “the greater good” and not so much about me personally. But more and more the feedback I’m receiving is “I want to know more about your life. When you do guest speaking, please talk more about your life.”
Now honestly, my favourite blog that I read, is
my friend’s (Dave) blog
. He often writes about his every day life, as both a disabled and a gay man. He writes about his experiences in going shopping and dealing with the public. He writes about having to wait seemingly endlessly for a homeless man to get out of the wheelchair accessible stall while Dave is bursting to pee! Dave’s had his blog much longer than I’ve had DisabilityPride.net and he has a huge following worldwide. He does lectures, guest speaking and has written volumes I’m sure.
So on today’s
“Wednesday Poll” on DisabilityPride.net’s Facebook page
, I’m asking for your preference. Would you like me to share my own life experiences, etc., as…..well, just me? Please visit
facebook.com/DisabilityPride.net/
and vote. Thanks so much for participating no matter how you vote.
PS: Lou’s book tour was a complete bust. Lol. She returned home with suitcases full of unsold books, but now sells them in the local diner that she owns, in partnership with her Dad.
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In the late evening of June 12
th
, 1966, a mother sits at her kitchen table, keeping her weekly tradition of writing alternate letters to her eldest son, and daughter-in-law. She would write her son one week, then her daughter-in-law the next, so that both would receive an equal amount of her time, attention and love.
your generosity, and perhaps most endearing – in your joyous laughter. I pray each day that others can see even just a glimmer of your likeness in me.
