I've been away on a business trip the past couple of days; amazing how disconnected I feel after even such a short time. Last night, Jesse handed Isaac the phone and whispered, "Isaac, say hi to Mommy in Boston." "Hi Mommy in Boston," he sang out happily. I tried to suppress the question of whether that was humorous or echolalic--unsuccessfully, as you can see. I could hear his muffled breath through the phone.
Odd, being here. I've spent the entire time in conference rooms, taxicabs and my hotel room, which, after an $11 bowl of oatmeal this morning (good, but honestly) I gazed down at the graves of Samuel Adams and Paul Revere.
Somehow, I don't know how to collect my thoughts today. I've been wanting to write a follow-up to the whole Ransom Notes campaign, but I think I'm still brooding about it. One thing I'll say, though: this experience has been extremely valuable (just not in the way the creators intended) because it has illuminated the incredible complexity of what we're getting into when we talk about disability: who's talking, who's being talked about, who has the microphone, who is the subject, and, most importantly, the fine, shfting line between disability and difference, personality and pathology.
I don't mean to overdramatize here, but I do think we're at the beginning of something critically important. To me, the most telling sign is that this campaign has become a rallying point for many people with autism and a way to get their voices heard; for that I am profoundly grateful.
It's like this, isn't it, when movements gather momentum. It starts with something apparently ordinary, and then it shifts: policemen raid a bar where a few friends of Dorothy are having a drink, a woman refuses to give up her seat on the bus, a few colonists board a ship and dump boxes of tea into the harbor. And we look back, weeks or years later, and realize that this day marked the beginning of something different.
The church bells outside are playing Joy to the World. I take my last sip of coffee. Time to go home.
Very well put, Susan! I hope the fact that NYU has actually listened and stopped the campaign will mark a big turning point, too.
Posted by: NIksmom | December 19, 2007 at 12:48 PM
Come home. Our arms are open.
(And so are our minds, Thank God!)
I love and miss Boston, but I wouldn't want to live there again.
Your peeps are here, waiting for you.
Posted by: drama mama | December 19, 2007 at 09:28 PM