Where Denial was the Hyatt Regency with Thor waiting on you hand and foot, Blame is a trailer park that rents by the week run by an obese, chain smoking woman named Rhoda. Everyone gets out of Denial eventually. They either leave of their own volition (as I did) or they’re forced out by the realization they could have helped their child and didn’t. But Blame: some sad souls stay in Blame forever. When leaving Denial you realize immediately you’re on the road to Blame and you know it’s gonna suck so you try to drive around it. Unfortunately, Blame is enormous and stretches on for miles. After hours of driving you’re hungry, have to pee, and Kevin is screaming his head off so you give up and pull in. What a dump. There’s not even a welcome sign, just a 2 x 4 stuck in the ground that reads, “This is Blame. Boy are You Fucked.”
For $6,000 a night Rhoda offers you the keys to a filthy, rat-infested trailer that reeks of urine and pot. Unlike your suite in Denial, the trailer in Blame is covered in wall to wall mirrors so you’re forced to look at yourself wherever you go. You’ve aged quite a bit since Kevin was born. Your hair has fallen out in places, you’ve gained 25 pounds, and because you went back to smoking, there are little lines around your vacant eyes and mouth. Then there’s your son. The little boy that seemed so perfect only a few hours ago is now clearly disabled. Although he’s four, Kevin wears leg braces because he can barely walk. He can’t speak more than a few words and is not potty-trained. He flaps, twirls and screams throughout the day for no apparent reason. In addition to all that, he pisses on the walls to punish you for not understanding him on the rare occasion he actually attempts to form a sentence. Yeah, Blame sucks. It smells, it’s dirty and Rhoda is a bitch. Whoever built the trailer park that is Blame knew exactly what they were doing because the very second you check in, all you can think about is how to get out.
And it should be simple right? Just get in your car and drive away? Alas no. As stated earlier Blame goes on seemingly forever with no restaurants, rest stops or even another car in sight. There is no one to help but Rhoda and she’s not going to tell you shit. Why would she? She’s making $6,000 a day renting you that trailer. And though there areother women in Blame, none of them ever come out of their trailers or answer the door when you knock. Even if they did what help would they be? If they knew how to get out, they’d be gone. “So what the fuck do I do!!??” You scream at your reflection. And then comes the revelation: Duh, this is Blame. If I’m ever to escape, I have to find someone to blame for the fact that I’m here.
Now I never tried this myself but I know many women’s initial attempt is to blame their doctors. “Something must have gone wrong during my delivery!” they say. “I’ll start a lawsuit and prove my doctor is to blame!” I personally don’t know anyone for whom this has worked, and I imagine in some cases it’s true, but for 99.9% of Club Members who drive it, this road leads to Bankruptcy, Anger, and then right back to Blame. Next, and I never tried this either, some women blame their husbands. “Yes our son is disabled,” they say. “But if YOU had been more supportive and accepting I wouldn’t have stayed in Denial as long as I did. Thor may have been an illusion but at least he was kind, and told me I was beautiful, and a good mother which is more than you’ve ever done!” Now I don’t pretend to know what this journey is like for men because my husband doesn’t talk about it much and has informed me if I ever discuss him in this blog he will stop having sex with me. However, after watching too many Club Members choose this route, I can tell you it ALWAYS leads to Divorce, Loneliness, and then right back to Blame. Please, even if your husband is a complete dick, don’t try this.
And then comes the saddest, loneliest choice of all: the choice to surrender yourself to your current circumstances, walk back to the trailer, lock the door and blame…yourself. “After all,” you tell your reflection, “It obviously is. You had a glass of wine in your second trimester. You took Tylenol! Everyone on Gohollisticoryourchildwillbeborndeformed.com says Tylenol causes birth defects. Furthermore, you walked past the kitty litter box at least 6 times during the course of your pregnancy and ate soft cheese! Of course you’re to blame!” Occasionally the conversation with yourself is interrupted by a knock at the door from some “newbie” looking for help but you ignore them because you’re too ashamed.
So how did I get out? Kevin’s occupational therapist, Miss Megan. One day back in 2011, Kevin spent the entire hour at OT hitting, kicking and screaming at Miss Megan When I came to pick him up, he was still wildly out of control. As she secured Kevin in a restraining hold, Megan told me what had happened and adamantly refused payment because the session was completely unproductive. I burst into tears. “It’s all my fault!” I cried. “I just know it’s all my fault!!” and by this point I was actually screaming. The sight of me collapsed in a heap crying my heart out stopped both Megan and Kevin dead in their tracks. As Kevin sat there watching us in disbelief, Megan approached me, and in a tone that suggested she was speaking to a COMPLETE idiot said, “Rachel you have twins. One is perfectly normal. What did you do, drink down the left hand side?” And POOF!!! I was out of Blame and on the road to Anger.
Here’s the truth: The ONLY way out of Blame is accepting that no one, especially you, is to blame for your child’s disability. Some people believe their children were born the way they were to serve some greater purpose. Others, like myself, believe there is no reason for their child’s disability. It just happened, because shit does. However, sadly, some women NEVER stop hunting for someone to blame. They try doctors, lawyers, husbands, themselves and when all that fails they blame the one person with the greatest chance of helping them escape Blame forever………their child’s teacher.
This fact pains me deeply because my life was, quite literally, saved by Kevin’s Kindergarten Special Education teacher. They are the kindest, gentlest, most loving people on Earth. I respect them more than I do the goddesses among women and that’s saying a lot. The job of a special education teacher is far more difficult than that of a regular education teacher and I can say that because I’ve taught both. And it’s not, as most people assume, because of the kids: they’re friggin awesome.
When I was a special education teacher I had an autistic student named Houdina. That’s not her real name I’m just calling her that because she was an extraordinarily talented escape artist. No matter where we brought her, Houdina tried to run for the hills. When she got off the bus in the morning and realized it had brought her to school, Houdina would run back on, scream “Traitor!” at the bus driver and hide under the seats. If we brought her to art she’d escape to the library and hurl books at whoever was trying to catch her. My favorite number on Houdina’s greatest hits was the day I announced to the class it was time for math. She screamed, “Help!!!!!!!” and ran out of the classroom. I stood outside the door of the bathroom where she was hiding:
Me: Houdina, you need to come out now
Houdina: I’m not in here!!!!
Me: Yes you are I can hear you.
Houdina: I’m in the other bathroom!!!!
Me: No you’re in this bathrom
Houdina: You can’t see my feet!
Me: No but I can see your face, I’m speaking to it right now get out of that bathroom!
Me: No you’re in this bathrom
Houdina: You can’t see my feet!
Me: No but I can see your face, I’m speaking to it right now get out of that bathroom!
All special Ed teachers have stories like this and it’s part of why they love their job. So what makes it so hard? The parents who are still living in Blame.
Dear Special Education Teachers,
You are wonderful. Many of you are killing yourselves in an effort to please the parents of your students and live up to an unrealistic expectation that you can “fix it”. You are the last person on a very long list of people they have tried to blame for their child’s disability, and they will cling, with all their might, to the conviction that everything would be fine if YOU were doing a better job. Don’t believe it. Accept the reality they refuse to: all you can do is help your students reach their full potential, and though that may never be enough for their parents, it has to be enough for you or the job will eat you alive. Accept that you are working with parents who will NEVER be satisfied no matter how hard you try because no matter what you do, at the end of the day, the child will still be disabled, and someone needs to be blamed for that.
I have often likened special education teachers to Merriweather from Sleeping Beauty. When Maleficent places an evil curse on Aurora, the king and queen turn to the good fairies and ask, “Can you undo this wickedness?” “No sire,” says Flora, “The magic is too strong….. but we can change it a little.” And with that, little Merriweather rolls up her sleeves, pulls out her magic wand, and alters the curse by saying the child will not die, but fall into a sleep only true love can awaken her from. In real life, parents are the source of this true love. It is something YOU can never provide. The curse is lifted when we stop searching for someone to blame, accept our children for what they are, and start fighting for what they can be. Good luck.
