If you have a child who has special needs-medical, physical, behavioral, developmental, learning-then you've probably read "Welcome to Holland". Maybe a family member gave it to you, or another mom on your journey shared it. Maybe a well-meaning friend sent it to you as a Christmas card. Maybe you saw it online.
I first read it when I was about 6 months pregnant. We were 2 months into the Spina Bifida diagnosis. I read it and cried. I identified with it. I thought "Yes! This is where I am. Holland! Finally, a place I fit in." I turned to this poem throughout the pregnancy, and for several months of Emily's life.
I had a copy of this poem on my cork board at work. I had a copy on my fridge. When I felt isolated I turned to it and felt embraced by an invisible group of moms out there having the same feelings. We were all together, over in Holland.
But a few months ago this poem started irking me. Bothering me. And I didn't really know why. So I just threw out my copies, and forgot about it.
On Friday I was attending Session II of the Early Intervention Partner's Training Program. They opened by reading this poem. A chance for all 50 of us in the room to look at each other and say "Hi there, my neighbor in Holland!". It was obvious most everyone recognized this poem. By the end of it I was misty-eyed, but not for the reasons I used to be.
In reflecting back on this bothersome feeling that I had with hearing it again, I finally know why I don't enjoy this poem any more.
See, the stewardess is in charge of my destiny. She looks a lot like doctors we've seen, like the ones who told us Emily would never be independent, or self-sufficient. Like the ones who pushed their value system that kids with special needs don't belong in society. She looks like people in society who are scared of special needs kids because they may appear "different". She looks like people who *say* they accept everyone, but who can't make eye contact with someone in a wheelchair, or with delays, or with learning disabilities. She looks like the mommy group that wouldn't allow us to join. She looks like someone who pities us. And I can see beyond her facade of pleasantries and condescending kindness as she tries to tell me what my destination is.
In the poem, I am heading to Italy. But the stewardess TELLS me I no longer belong in Italy. That my place, my child's place, is somewhere else, in Holland. And in the poem, I resist going to Holland, I am sad...but I go because I am lead to believe I don't have any other choice. I must go to Holland, because I can't do any of the things I dreamed I'd do, that my child would do, in Italy. In the poem I secretly long for Italy, but I accept that in Italy I can never be.
Not because I don't want to be in Italy, but because Italy doesn't want me.
This is the fundamental problem I have with this poem. I used to have comfort in knowing there was a place like Holland where we "belonged", but now I see we should "belong" in Italy.
So, we are going back to Italy. I think we've actually been there for a few months already. And, I'm sorry if that makes some people in Italy upset. I'm sorry if they feel uncomfortable with us. But Chris and I belong here, Emily belongs here, every child, with or without special needs, belongs here, or anywhere else they desire to be. I'm tired of Italy excluding people.
To the stewardess who told to us we have to live in Holland: back off. It's 2010. No one should be segregated, singled out, or forbidden from going to the destination of their choosing. Maybe you like Holland, or maybe you wanted to go to France, or Spain. Go!! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. What's important is you choose. We decide for ourselves where we belong.
For us, we are taking in the sights of Italy. We are going to the Coliseum. We always dreamed of taking Em there. It might take us longer to make the trip, and we might need a stander, walker, or wheelchair. Maybe the Coliseum needs to make upgrades so we can access it. We might walk slower in the Coliseum, using braces, or wearing orthopedics. We might even have to explain the history of the Coliseum a few times.
But we'll enjoy the site, and that's all that matters. That right now we are in a place we choose, a place we enjoy.
No matter where that is.
So watch out. Here we are.
I first read it when I was about 6 months pregnant. We were 2 months into the Spina Bifida diagnosis. I read it and cried. I identified with it. I thought "Yes! This is where I am. Holland! Finally, a place I fit in." I turned to this poem throughout the pregnancy, and for several months of Emily's life.
I had a copy of this poem on my cork board at work. I had a copy on my fridge. When I felt isolated I turned to it and felt embraced by an invisible group of moms out there having the same feelings. We were all together, over in Holland.
But a few months ago this poem started irking me. Bothering me. And I didn't really know why. So I just threw out my copies, and forgot about it.
On Friday I was attending Session II of the Early Intervention Partner's Training Program. They opened by reading this poem. A chance for all 50 of us in the room to look at each other and say "Hi there, my neighbor in Holland!". It was obvious most everyone recognized this poem. By the end of it I was misty-eyed, but not for the reasons I used to be.
In reflecting back on this bothersome feeling that I had with hearing it again, I finally know why I don't enjoy this poem any more.
See, the stewardess is in charge of my destiny. She looks a lot like doctors we've seen, like the ones who told us Emily would never be independent, or self-sufficient. Like the ones who pushed their value system that kids with special needs don't belong in society. She looks like people in society who are scared of special needs kids because they may appear "different". She looks like people who *say* they accept everyone, but who can't make eye contact with someone in a wheelchair, or with delays, or with learning disabilities. She looks like the mommy group that wouldn't allow us to join. She looks like someone who pities us. And I can see beyond her facade of pleasantries and condescending kindness as she tries to tell me what my destination is.
In the poem, I am heading to Italy. But the stewardess TELLS me I no longer belong in Italy. That my place, my child's place, is somewhere else, in Holland. And in the poem, I resist going to Holland, I am sad...but I go because I am lead to believe I don't have any other choice. I must go to Holland, because I can't do any of the things I dreamed I'd do, that my child would do, in Italy. In the poem I secretly long for Italy, but I accept that in Italy I can never be.
Not because I don't want to be in Italy, but because Italy doesn't want me.
This is the fundamental problem I have with this poem. I used to have comfort in knowing there was a place like Holland where we "belonged", but now I see we should "belong" in Italy.
So, we are going back to Italy. I think we've actually been there for a few months already. And, I'm sorry if that makes some people in Italy upset. I'm sorry if they feel uncomfortable with us. But Chris and I belong here, Emily belongs here, every child, with or without special needs, belongs here, or anywhere else they desire to be. I'm tired of Italy excluding people.
To the stewardess who told to us we have to live in Holland: back off. It's 2010. No one should be segregated, singled out, or forbidden from going to the destination of their choosing. Maybe you like Holland, or maybe you wanted to go to France, or Spain. Go!! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. What's important is you choose. We decide for ourselves where we belong.
For us, we are taking in the sights of Italy. We are going to the Coliseum. We always dreamed of taking Em there. It might take us longer to make the trip, and we might need a stander, walker, or wheelchair. Maybe the Coliseum needs to make upgrades so we can access it. We might walk slower in the Coliseum, using braces, or wearing orthopedics. We might even have to explain the history of the Coliseum a few times.
But we'll enjoy the site, and that's all that matters. That right now we are in a place we choose, a place we enjoy.
No matter where that is.
So watch out. Here we are.
