Last night, coming back from taking the dog to the park, I heard NPR's "This I Believe" on the radio. A man whose daughter has Down syndrome was talking about how he'd been afraid based on the results of the amnio, thought he couldn't handle having a daughter with Down syndrome, etc. Of course he came to change his mind, and see his previous feelings as results of his fear. In general, I thought it was good and positive. But something in it caught me:
I distinctly remember saying, "I don't want this." I didn't want this
situation. I didn't want this responsibility. I didn't want to become
one of those parents — the parents of a child with a disability.
I don't have trisomy-21, but I have to say it's really weird to hear someone talk about parents like mine ("the parents of a child with a disability") this way: those parents. As if my parents are weird, strange, not normal because they fought for my life. Because they love me. Because they didn't think twice about whether they wanted me or not and just didn't want to lose me like they lost the other baby.
I know this guy's mind changed, and I respect that. But I have to say that sometimes discovering what people without disabilities think of us is chillingly illuminating. Even our parents -- who can be people without disabilities at all -- are those parents until proven otherwise.
Honestly, I think this "parents" thing is the creepiest part of the talk. I can deal with people having weird prejudices about me myself and I usually, but hearing this about parents just really bothered me. Yeah, there's plenty I can rag on my mom and my dad for, like any other child of anyone ever. But they're my parents! They're not some weird hyperaltruistic aliens, who decided I was worth keeping because they're better, more selfless, more kind than normal humans. They're people. Who had a kid. Who they love.
Last I checked, that right there is the story of a lot of parents out there. No "those" necessary.
