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| Photo above of Megan Conway, and her daughter who is wearing a Santa hat. |
Weak and Lame:
Parenting in the 21st Century
Megan A. Conway,
Ph.D.
RDS Managing Editor
It's not often that a statistical report robs me of my sleep
for a week, but that's exactly what happened when the National Council on Disability (NCD) released its September 2012 report, Rocking the Cradle: Ensuring the Rights of Parents with Disabilities and their Children (http://www.ncd.gov/publications/2012/Sep272012/). The
long-overdue report includes findings such as:
“The child welfare system is ill-equipped to support parents with
disabilities and their families, resulting in disproportionately high rates of
involvement with child welfare services and devastatingly high rates of parents
with disabilities losing their parental rights,” and
“Parents with disabilities who are engaged in custody or visitation
disputes in the family law system regularly encounter discriminatory
practices.”
In my 2 AM weariness and bleariness, I could hear the FBI
pounding on my door, demanding the relinquishment of my seven-year-old
daughter. “But officers,” I would cry, “I carried her for nine months in my
womb just like any other woman!”
“That is no matter, you are not woman enough.”
“I nursed her and
bathed her and held her when she cried!”
“That is no matter, you are not woman enough.”
“I fed her, I clothed her, I protected her and loved her!”
“That is no matter, you are not woman enough.”
“But I agonized
over sending her to public school versus private school…and the local public
school is really rather good…”
"You sent your child to public school? Officers, take this child away!"
Fortunately this is the point where my imagination realizes
it is ridiculous, waking me from my trance. But realities are so much more
sobering.
From the NCD report:
“Parents with disabilities and
their children are overly, and often inappropriately, referred to child welfare
services and, once involved, are permanently separated at disproportionately
high rates. The children of parents with disabilities are removed at
disproportionately high rates owing to a number of factors, including…state
statutes that include disability as grounds for termination of parental
rights…” and
“…[There are] inconsistent state
laws, many that overtly discriminate against parents with disabilities, others
that fail to protect them from unsupported allegations that they are unfit or
create a detrimental impact on their children solely on the basis of
presumption or speculation regarding the parental disability…”
What if my husband’s habit of leaving his socks scattered
all over the house and my habit of rearranging his belongings finally get to be
too much and we should decide to part ways? Would I lose custody of my daughter
because my husband can drive and I cannot? What if someone observes my daughter
taking my arm as we approach the sidewalk curb, saying, “Curb, Mommy,” and
decides my daughter has too much responsibility for a seven-year-old? What if
my tolerance of my daughter's current liking for polka-dot pants paired with
striped shirts is interpreted as negligence rather than parental indulgence?
Observing interactions between parents and their children
has always amused me. Since my daughter's birth, I have had ample opportunity
to indulge myself in this interest. The struggles of the 21st-century parent
never cease to amaze me. My daughter has a friend, “Amy,” who we invited to
dinner. I asked Amy’s mother the obligatory, “Does Amy have any dietary
restrictions?” I received the following instructions:
“Amy will not eat tomatoes of any
kind, cooked mushroom (raw is fine), pasta (except the bow shaped ones), brown
rice, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (unless the peanut butter and jelly
are served on separate pieces of bread that are not stuck together), cheese
(she does like string cheese), meat that is not shaped like a bunny rabbit, nor
mashed, baked or boiled potatoes (french fries :-).”
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| Cartoon above features scene at cafe, family sitting in booth. Waitress: and on the kids menu we have cranky pants french toast or unhappy face pancakes both come with a random tantrum fruit cup. |
Another friend, “Blaire,” has a flair for the dramatic. One
evening as we sat enjoying a glass of wine with Blaire’s parents, Blaire led my
daughter into the living room, both stark naked and giggling, “We are the
forest fairies.” Blaire’s mother jumped to her feet and said, “Oh how cute! Let
me get my camera…”
There is a darling little boy in my daughter’s class who
insists on Kung-Fu-ing every individual who crosses his path. His father
explains with a smile to the individual who is grimacing and holding their
shins, “Oh, he doesn't mean it really. We’re trying to get him to be a bit more
assertive, so he won't turn out to be a homosexual, ha, ha.”
Then there is “Frank,” who just last week, with the
unfortunate perception of all bullies, told my daughter within earshot of her
friends, “Your Mommy is weak and lame!” My daughter came home from school
indignant, telling me what Frank had said. After I had given the maternal pep
talk about how “you and I are stronger than Frank any day of the week,” and
also checked the web for martial arts studios in our neighborhood, I reflected,
“How on earth does a seven-year-old already know how to objectify and demean a
person with a disability?” And a scary thought, “What if little Frank becomes
Judge Frank one day?”
“Mommy,” said my daughter later, “When Frank says mean
things about me it hurts my feelings. But when he says mean things about you,
it hurts me even more.”
My daughter has compassion, the capacity to love and a sense
of responsibility. Where did I go wrong?
