Metacognitive dx Narrative

Recap (Warning. Contains spoilers.):

At the end of January of this year, I was diagnosed as an adult-late-in-life on the autism spectrum.

Already have the t-shirt if you read the dx post.

Tonight I shared a narrative that happened inside my head at the consultation when I first heard the information.

Upon reflection, I’m sure you’ll catch on quicker than I did in that dimensional moment, that it’s really a little bit funny.

So, I thought to share the twist here on bh too; shiny shoebeats sway.

Metacognitive dx Narrative

Reader’s Note: Narrative is internal, exclusively inside speaker’s thoughts/mind.

I wish
I had
sat in
the other
chair.

This
one
twists
scoliosis.

He’s got
his
usual
inscrutable
face on,
but,
Oh!
What
big
eyes
he has
today!

I’m
going
to move
to
the
other-

chair.
Can’t
feel
the
shift,
twist
of
bad
chair
under-
neath
me-

Default
+
Shift.

“AdultLateInLife.”

My
subway
reverses
Warp 5
off the
platform.

Shields
U
P
!

Red
Alert!

All
crew
report
to
battle-
stations!

Priority Messages
broadcast
in
full-
4
D
color,
cross-
platform-
sensory-
input-
channels
to
a
hive
of
networked
screens
sim-
ul-
tan-
e-
ous-
ly.

Re.
:
images,
colors,
synonyms,
smells,
idioms/
sounds/
slogans/
slurs/
lyrics/
etc./
associated with/
by/
to/
representative
of/
forecast upon/
hearing
diagnosis:

“AdultLateInLife:”

Stage 4
Adulthood.

Flotsam
gusts
past
me
as fast
as
a murder
of
scared
crows
scan
sonic-
feathered
barcodes.

Scared my crows;

I didn’t hear.

He’d
have
to
go
through
it
all
over
for me
again.

Cancel
Red
Alert.

Wait.

W
A
I
T.

Resume
normal
operation
protocols.

“…on the
autism
spectrum.”

Then,
I
simply,
“Oh,”ed,

a
phoenix
rising
from
the bonfires.

I’ll do my best, it isn’t much,
I cannot see you, so I’ll try to touch,
I’ll tell the truth, I didn’t come to fool you.
And even if
it all goes wrong,
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song,
with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

c. 2017 Not to be reproduced or used without author permission.

precious child

precious child

maestro conductor
she trusts me
innately
to hear
her heart song
and respond
full voice lifted
in harmony
with lyrics
her own
inimitable
love language

my privilege
to be her advocate
her audience
blessed
as she hones herself
and instrument
sacred music

precious child

crescendos
anew
accelerato
her own
cambiare
remarkable
one-of-a-kind
priceless
self

precious child

very bright
intuitively verbal
deciso
keenly empathic
festivamente fusion
keeps step with
family chords
in eternal dance

precious child

embraces
bharat matra
her Nepali culture
as a native born
and carries it back home
in new verse
passionato

precious child

revels in discovery experiences
joyfully nests
with family
extraverted riffs
piece social patchwork
across public venues
as fluid a dynamic
as chain stitches
along the binding
of a handmade quilt
or a the spray of freckles
as distinct as
its own constellation
across the nose
and ruddy cheeks
of jubilant child
mid high swing
in neighborhood parks

precious child

shares her new experiences
like notes
from sheet music
self confidence buds
authentic cameos

precious child

plunders new
experiences,
transplants
mommy & me
moments,
blends
new colors
tangoes tangerine
into her recipe of play

precious child

the musical delta
and daily miracle
gift of God
of her family
each
and all
for all time

But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

c. 2017 Not to be reproduced or used without author permission.

Dx

DX

Even
zen
ranked
by
the
most
gentle,
retro,
revisionistic
rubrics,
despite
socially/
developmentally-
delayed
features;
I am an adult.

Full
disclosure:
at best,
I am
a
youngy-
old
woman.
No
longer
on
the
oldish-
side
of
young,
travel
with
ID
unnecessary;
no
one
cards
me.

Perhaps,
it’s
more
simple
and
I
am
just
another
old
adult,
certainly
past
the
typical
season
for
continental
shifts
in
identity.

Chronology
aside
however,
‘round
about
Thanks-
giving,
2016,
it
occurred
to me,
that
I
couldn’t
pass
as
“normal,”
even
to myself.

Even
though-

I.
Tried.
Everything.
I
knew
or
read
through
systematic
trials.
I
recorded
data,
analyzed
results,
and
controlled
indicated,
variables
to
adjust
test
method
parameters.

Thread
worn
as
baba’s
mop
rag,
I
wrung
every-
possible
suppositional
drop
from
these
experiments.

Perpetually,
I
tried
to pass
as
relentlessly,
and
intensely
I
was
labeled
INTENSE
(not in
a
good way,
mind
you).

Usually,
when
I
really
want
to
create
meaning
to
pattern
change
and
route
exodus
from
conditioned
parameters,
I
produce
results,
however
modest
or
slow
to norm.

NOT
SO
THIS.

A
random,
variable,
X
unelected,
undesired,
outs me
vulnerable.

Despite
therapy,
education,
career,
marriage,
blessed
children,
forever
wanted,
I
could
not
pass.

People
noticed.

Colleagues,
my husband,
our
children,
dear
friends
networked
consensus
as
viral
tumbler
that
confirmed
me
odd.

Random
reblog
notes
something
about
me
off,
and
a
little,
shiny
bit
that
bends
light
in
chaotic
angles
that
sort
‘a
squint
their
eyes
shut.

Not
much
was
said
to
me
directly,
and
yet,
I
could
often
sense
recoil
when
they
reached
for
their
sun
glasses
or
threw
shade.

Such
relational
signals
torqued
my
analysis
into
hyper-
drive.

To
know
why
transformed
want
into
need.

Security
risks
recalibrate
my
research.

Dire
internal,
tornado
warnings
broadcast
evacuation
drills
like
gubernatorial
orders:

Develop
safety
protocols
to
protect
children
from
collateral
damage.

The
nuclear
family
that
raised
me
ran
a
mill,
union-
workers
manned
24/7
shifts.

Its
conversion
process
fed
my
faulty
chips
directly
into
the
assembly
line’s
ravenous
maw
to
produce
pulp
prose
that
proves
there
is
something
wrong
with
me.
Like
an
errant
piece
of
code
that
breaks
the
smooth
build
of
family
unity,
my
bark
rejected
as
unusable
fibres
darken
the
pulp.

Such
systematic
feed
back
loops
identified
me
as
the
system
glitch.

Pop-up-
error-
messages
in
resplendent
bold,
ALL
caps
print
included
stop
signs
to
confirm
same
on
my
laptop.

Their
attempts
to
upgrade
my
operating
system
downloaded
constant
commands:

“If
you
get
your
ass
off
your
shoulders”

“If
you
try
hard
enough,”

and

“If,
and
only
if,
YOU
GET
OVER
YOURSELF
and
LET
IT
GO
ALREADY,
R
E
A
L
L
Y,
For
God’s
Sake,”

“Only
then
will
you
be
normal,
better
company,
and
easier
to
get along
with,”

and

“Clearly,
you
aren’t
REALLY
trying,
or,
at the
very
least,
not
trying
HARD
enough
to
get
it
right.

Over
time,
it
also
became
crystal
clear
that
I never
did.

Get
it
right.

Not
EVER.

Fast
forward:
to
now
and
my
own
family
God
gave:
Our
precious
homestead
no
longer
could
bear
X’s
collateral
damage.

I
wanted
for
my
children
more
of
a
mother
than
what
I
could
tender.

Despite
my
known,
know,
knowing,
knowledge,
discord
clashed
outcomes
I had
methodically
deleted
from
my
user
profile.

So,
I
got
me
a
good
psychiatrist,
who
asked
hard
questions.

I
loathed
my
deficits
more
fiercely
than
my
capacity
to
love
my
husband
beloved,
or
our
four,
precious,
innocent,
children.

Just
this
past
Tuesday,
January
31,
2017,
two
days
shy
of
Punxsutawney
Phil,
Seer
of Sages,
eye-
spied
his
shadow
in forecast
of
six more
weeks
of
winter

Clinical,
empirical,
objective,
reproducible
data…

(_least my
blended
parents
all
believe
I
am
making
this
all up,
again-)

…identified
me
as
an
adult,
late
in life
dx’d
on
the
autism
spectrum.

Relief
drenches
rain
upon
an
arid
oasis,
splashes
reprieve,
and
puddles
tears.

I am
NOT
a
fucked-
up,
broken,
damaged.
not-good-enough,
shameful
excuse
of a
daughter,
woman,
wife,
or
mother.

There
is
a
reason
and
name
for
why
I
cluster
cognition
like
constellations
pattern
stars
across
the
night
sky.

Abject
release
falls
Niagara
baptism
and
washes
me
clean.

I
am
undone
amid
the
rabble
pile
deconstruction,
my
identity.

A new
frame
raises
my barn.

I got
a
lot
to
hammer
out.
Likely
may
whack
an
errant
thumb
along
the way.

Yet,
tonight
Saturday
February 4,
2017,
as I
lay me
down
to sleep,
and
pray
the
Lord,
my
soul
to
keep,
I
lift
prayers
of thanksgiving.

Our
Father,
who
art
in
heaven,
may
it
be
Your will
that
this
dx
allows
me
liberty
to
live
out
and
be
who
You
made
me.

This
changes
everything
I
ever
knew
anew.

I am
more
grateful
than
anything
I can
si-
mul-
tan
e-
ous-
ly-
list
in
metacognitive,
pull-
down-
menus-
streams
list,
or
smells
shout
colors.

I
am
by
Your
design
made;
I
dwell
in
possibilities.

Hallelujah!

c. 2017 Not to be reproduced or used without author permission.

Somethings I Can Do Go-To List

Helen Keller was one of the first heros of my life.  As a young bibliophile, I read every Helen Keller book I could lay my hands on.  By age 10, I had exhausted the modest supply of our local libraries and had seen The Miracle Worker performed locally.

I wrote my favorite Helen Keller quotes in a diary I kept at the time. One of those I recorded as a child, now hangs in our laundry room, above the family bulletin board:

I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do.   Helen Keller

It is there as a reminder for me and my children that we must do what we can do in our work, families and communities.

Another hero from my childhood was Clara Barton. Clara was every inch the quintessential, maverick feminist before the term feminist was even coined. I still imagine she would have gotten around to burning her bra (or corset, I guess) had she not been so busy dodging bullets and tending to Civil War soldiers on active battlefields. Oh, yeah, that and founding the American Red Cross kept her busy.

Like Helen Keller, Clara Barton had much to say. Clara did not hesitate to pepper her comments with iconoclastic sass. Her boldness made people of her day uncomfortable and guaranteed that I fell in love with her. She made the favorite quotes section of my diary too of course:

I have an almost complete disregard of precedent, and a faith in the possibility of something better. It irritates me to be told how things have always been done. I defy the tyranny of precedent. I go for anything new that might improve the past.     Clara Barton

To this day, when I seek humanitarian inspiration, I remember these two quotes and fine women.

They came to mind again today as I considered what I might do for G’s family. For those of you who are not regular readers, G was a husband, father of four, custodial guardian of three nieces, Christian, physician, local philanthropist and community church member who quit his life and died by his own hand two and a half weeks ago.

In situations like these, when the need is so great, and the situation so charged with loss, people may want to do something and feel uncertain what would be helpful or appropriate. Upon contemplation, some people respond to the scope of a circumstance and shut down, knowing that nothing they do will improve the quality of every part of the dynamic. Being only one person, knowing they can not do everything, they instead do nothing, not because they don’t want to help, but don’t know how to offer what they can do.

In regard to service, I am with Clara Barton. She doesn’t want to hear about what I don’t know or can’t do, she has complete faith of something better.

In regard to service, something is better than nothing.

And it’s ok to go outside the box in how you offer help. Defy the tyranny of precedent and trust what you offer might improve the situation of another.

Here then, is a list of things you might do to offer help or support to a person or family in time of need:

Somethings I Can Do Go-To List:

_Prayer_

1. Bring a meal or organize the deliver of a meal from a local restaurant.

2. Clean a room or floor of the person’s home.

3. Bring paper products: napkins, plates, cups, silverware, paper towels, bleach wipes, toliet paper etc. (In times of loss, families often have extra people in and out of their homes.)

4. Bring a bag of board games, art supplies, craft supplies, jewelry kits, etc. for kids and young adults to enjoy.

5. Lend favorite movies, wii games, and computer games for kids and young adults to enjoy.

6. Organize outings and playmates for children of the family.

7. Gas up the family’s vehicles.

8. Detail the family’s vehicles.

9. Bring a guest book for people to sign.

10. Post a chore list that people may sign-up for when they visit.

_Prayer_

11. Order books from Amazon and have them delivered directly to the house.

12. Make a CD of favorite songs and mail to house with card.

13.  Share any photos you have of deceased person. Consider making a Shutterfly book or photo albumn.

14. Write a poem, song or tribute of deceased person.

15. Pedicure gift card.

16. Take family member out for hair cut.

17. Take family member out for lunch or coffee.

18. Bring family member their favorite Starbucks beverage.

19. Drop off ice-cream, toppers, whipped cream and sundae dishes.

20. Restaurant gift cards to family’s favorite place(s).

_Prayer_

21. Whole Foods, Giant, Harris Teeter or Kroger gift cards.

22. Yard Work.

23. Clean gutters.

24. Plant a tree to honor deceased or seed hope.

25. Send scripture, quotes, positive notes via email daily/bi-weekly/weekly.

26. Bring children’s class cupcakes.

27. (If family has young children) Purchase supply of diapers, wipes, ointments, etc.

28. Do family’s laundry.

29. Bring stamps and stationary.

30. Offer to write thank-you notes or acknowledgements.

_Prayer_

31. Weekends are often hardest, visit or plan an outing and/or invite family to spend the weekend in your home.

32. Make or purchase a plaque with a message that would encourage family member.

33. Bring an assortment of teas, juices, sodas. (Drinks are often in shorter supply than food, and often the only thing people in pain consume.)

34. Make a coffee basket with assorted flavored coffees, creamers, sweeteners, and maybe even biscotti.

35. Bring a pamper basket of favorite beauty supplies:  make-up, shampoo, lotion, etc.

36. Find a beautiful bowl or platter and fill it with fresh fruit, cheeses or flowers and deliver to home.

37. Send flowers to home via florist or wire service.

38. Leave notes of encouragement on Post-Its around house or on mirrors in home.

39. Water plants.

_Prayer_

40. Bring over a fix-it box of household stuff.  Change light bulbs, oil door hinges, caulk tub tiles.

41. Lay in a supply of garbage bags and or cleaning supplies.

42. Run errands:  pick up cleaning, return library books, take mail to post office, sort mail.

43. Purchase cinema gift cards and give with movie candy and card.

44. Take kids of family bowling.

45. Go for a hike with family member.

46. Call. Listen.

47. Leave prayer on answering machine.

48. Bring new work-out clothes, free weights, or exercise DVD to family member.

49. Create a blog or web site for updates, communication of needs and messages of encouragement.

50. Tend to the family pets. Bring food, walk dogs, clean litter boxes.

_Prayer_

51. Create your own.

It’s natural and easy not to know what to do when people we love are in need.

These are simply examples of things you might choose to do for others.

I’ll bet you have even better ideas.

I imagine you  have stories about something someone once did for you _something that so filled your heart or served you where you were_ that you remember it to this day.

I would love, love, love if you would leave a comment with you ideas and stories.

It’s something you can do _give another an idea to help them identify what they can do to nurture comfort and offer hope_

I believe a main mission in life is to love one another, develop our talents and share our resources.

Let’s do what we can do.

Let’s deny the tyranny of precedent and give the unexpected.

Let’s love one another intentionally.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen in the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Suicide Ain’t Painless

Hey, my name is jael, and it’s been 3 days since my last post.

Hi, jael.

Hello friends.

I am glad you’re here.

As you know, I’ve been in treatment for over six months now for a broken hallelujah, but since I got the phone call, I’ve been playing hide-and-go seek.

Or maybe dodgeball.

It used to be that what I thought about most, I wrote about least.

brokenhallelujah reframed that for me.  bh carved a space for me to record my process _regardless how raw_ with reverence. It is a place that calls my obedience and lifts my voice in Praise.

Recent events entice recidivism.

I don’t really feel like writing about my process or lifting my voice in hallelujah.

I’ve hidden behind sick kids and dodged the pink elephant in the room.

And that five-toed, pastel pachyderm is suicide.

Suicide tops the long list of things we are socialized not to talk about in mixed company. Suicide is about as taboo as any topic I know. For example, our local paper will not report incidents of suicide as a matter of public policy. Obituaries don’t publish that someone quit their life at the end of a rope or tried to fill the hole in his broken heart with a gun. Often, people fear suicide like a contagion more horrible than the awful flu that’s been going around, and even though most understand that suicidal ideation is neither airborne nor transmittable, fear clings to the topic like static electricity. People worry its very discussion might jump start the idea in another like two evil cables connecting batteries.  As such, suicide is shrouded in myths, misconceptions and shame. Shame is the naughty mistress of all things we are taught not to discuss. What is even more unfortunate is that shame is like the black widow of mistresses. She lures her mate into the shadows and eats it.  Shame shackles Hope.

It is only natural, then, that since I got the phone call about G’s suicide I’ve battled grief and shame. This shame pours bitter dregs from two cups.  The first splashes my own history on today’s canvas as the second makes me feel selfish. The second cup distills more guilt than Worship.

But for the Grace of God, go I.

Shame and myths aside, there are warning signs for suicide.  There are reasons people commit suicide. It’s not only helpful to talk about these warning signs and reasons, it’s preventative.  Talking to a person you fear might be considering suicide does not compel him to take his life, it offers him the relief of being able to be honest about his experience. People who have survived suicide attempts often report that it was not so much that they wanted to die, but that they no longer wanted to continue living their life as it was.  In other words, talking to a person who may be considering suicide invites him to reflect on how he might be able to live his life differently.  And that’s it in a nutshell, if there were an in-between place, a I-don’t-want-to-suffer-like-this-anymore-but-I’m-not-dead-space, I think people would choose it.

That’s the space we need to create in discussions, healthcare, families, treatment, and ideology.  We need to hold that space for people to pause, breathe and heal enough that they can bear their circumstance without lethal measures.

I know it’s not a feel good topic, friends.

But I plan to write a series of posts about suicide.

The focus will be on education, treatment and prevention.

My face will look up to my Portion Deliverer as I research and type.

While I consider hopelessness deep enough to prompt good people to quit life, I will cling unto my Rock.

I will be still, and know that He is God, and His plans are to prosper and not to harm.

There is nothing too big or scary for my God.

I reject the outgrown chains of my history and shame.

Darkness will have no victory in this circumstance or over G’s community.

Nothing will turn me away from the Face of Love.

Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Math Update

According to plan, my daughter went to school yesterday committed to a new kind of behavior count.  She resolved to expect and to record every smile, laugh, greeting, high-five, comment, kind look, and miscellaneous, positive, social gesture.

I can’t measure how much hope actually filled her heart, but she was willing to play the believing game. I drove into the pick-up line with her day on my heart like body armor. The Boy walked up to the car and says, “The Girl’s not coming.” “What do you mean she’s not coming,” I challenged him like a field medic in triage mode, “What happened to her?” “Uh,” he hesitated, catching the peril in the air, “She’s going home with B?” “I thought she said last night she didn’t want to go home with B,” I pressed.

“Dunno,” The Boy grunted in adolescent dismissal. I pulled the car out of line so I could walk over to my daughter. She was like one, big, chillaxed grin. “Mamma!” she gushed, “My day in MATH was great!. I really, really want to go home with B.” That girl has always been quick, quick, quick with math. My heart soars to hope that new Math won’t trip her up like it did me. Her path will undoubtedly be uneven as her teenage years ahead call like a Siren. She will fall again, but she will also rise and lift her own voice in Hallelujah.

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

New Math

One of my daughters and I have been having some intense conversations about Math.

Not the Order of Operations, equivalent fractions, long division kind of Math.

This new Math is way harder and the solutions more elusive.

In fact, this Math rarely divides evenly, and the greatest common factor eats esteem for kicks.

This Math intersects my girl with mean girl dynamics.

My daughter struggles with computation errors.

It doesn’t add up to her that girls who were kind to her yesterday are mean today.

She doesn’t understand why the group has divided and how uncertain she feels about her social position.

She can’t simplify the equation without feeling less than.

She subtracts confidence in her own power when endless study leads to more confusion.

My daughter cannot see the exponential strength of her character that evidences itself through these growing pains.

Tonight we vowed our common denominator would be to count the good stuff and cover the rest in prayer.

Tonight we plotted a new graph with the closed set expectation of joyful relationships.

She looked at me with such adult weariness as I tucked her in, as if she sensed, but did not want to articulate, that there’s no answer key in the back of this textbook.

I have been a Language Arts girl all my life and have had Math struggles of my own.

You know the inevitable watershed assignment when you have to admit to one of your kids you can’t help them with their homework?

I can still help her with her math assignments, but this new Math?  I had to tell her that I kind of suck at new Math.

All I can promise her is that we will work out each problem together as it arises and pray for our daily bread as we cleave unto the Rock.

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to her kitchen chair
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Happy Valentine’s Day! You’re a Blast!

	My heart and Valentine’s Day were not in sync this year. Our body lost one of its Faithful to depression.  He quit his life Thursday. That news reduced everything to the bone. It also distilled how important it is to move forward in Unity, especially when it feels arduous or immaterial. The children handmade their Valentine’s. The Baby was very serious about her penmanship.  As a kindergartener, it was her first, official class-set of Valentines.
	It evolved into a whole family endeavor. The Oldest Girl, The Middle Girl and The Baby chose the design. The Papa shopped at four stores to secure all the necessary supplies.
	We made candy rockets.  The tube of the rocket is a roll of Life Savers; the blast off flame is a red feather (that was The Oldest Girl’s brilliant adaptation as the original plan was to cut construction paper, blast-off flames), and the capsule module is a Hershey’s kiss. Glued on one side of the rocket in red card stock their message shouts, “Happy Valentine’s Day!  You’re a Blast” There is a yellow, To/From snippet each child filled out and decorated for their classmates.
	The Boy unwrapped 82 rolls of LIfe Savers. The Mamma was captain of the glue gun.
	The girls manned the assembly line. Our family worked together to create something beautiful together. Doing so unified us by sharing gestures of love and affection for our family and friends. I never wanted to make Valentine’s less, nor thought they were more worthwhile. The activity magnified the heart.
Well baby I’ve been here before I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew ya I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch Love is not a victory march It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Well there was a time when you let me know What’s really going on below But now you never show that to me do you? And remember when I moved in you? And the holy dove was moving too And every breath we drew was Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

Field Trip Release Form

The following Field Trip Release Form from my daughter’s school did little to inspire my confidence:

Translation:

THE SCHOOL

000 Ways You Can Sue Avenue
City, State, Zip
109.940.0242

FIELD TRIP RELASE FORM

I, the parent/guardian of ____________________________________, wish for my
son/daughter to avoid the social ostrichization of being the only student in his/her class NOT able to attend this field trip unless I sign this snarky, prophylactic document that permits him/her to go to _____________________ on the following date ________________________.

I am aware that we live in the Land of Lawsuits, and potential plaintiffs, em hm, I mean, parents, have been known to sue in response to the wayward goings-on that must have occurred at previous school’s field trips, or we wouldn’t need this form to protect you from further litigation.  I understand that this may well be another one of those off campus excursions wherein a student, potentially my son/daughter, may be injured, maimed, run-over, or fall victim to some other kind of bloody, painful and unexpected bodily harm.  I do hereby expressly promise not to blame your school or peeps if my child is physically or emotionally traumatized as a result of his/her participation on this trip.  I understand that it is entirely possible my son/daughter will experience harm, up to and including apocalyptic doom, during this school sanctioned sojourn, but you’re telling me upfront that were that to happen, it is my problem alone and that you are not to blame, nor will you accept the legal responsibility for the care and protection of my child in your custody.  Furthermore, I understand that if I don’t sign this form written exclusively for the legal protection of you and your school, not my son/daughter or family, you will not permit my son/daughter to travel with her classmates on this trip.

_______________________________________
Signature

________________________________________
Date

_______________________________________
Relationship to Student

*********************************************************************************************

I, the parent/guardian of _________________________________________, submit to the my son/daughter’s participation in this school activity/trip to ______________________________
on the following date ______________________________________.

I consent to any and all emergency medical treatment, as deemed necessary by by the school’s staff or authorized agent being provided for the above child without notice to me and without any further requests for permission from me, because as I was told, this calamity was entirely possible as a result of the school trip, and it’s still not your fault. Furthermore, as you do not take legal responsibility for the parental locus you extend to my child while in your custody, of course you will not guarantee that in the event of an emergency you will contact me in a timely manner to participate in the treatment plan of my injured/slain/comatose son/daughter, neither do you even promise to contact me at all.

You feel no obligation to state that you will make every effort to secure the safety of my child during school related trips, and instead alert me that is it not your job to call me when things to go bad, but I must sign-off on this too, or my kid still can’t go on the class outing, and it makes you mellow to know you’re legally protected before you embark on this endeavor.

And yes, there are better ways to write these forms that might cause less trouble and parental anxiety, but my piece of mind is no more your problem than if my son/daughter gets hurt.

_______________________________________
Signature

________________________________________
Date

_______________________________________
Relationship to Student

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

the Onion Makes Me Cry…

the Onion makes me cry again today with their post New parenting Books Sparks Outrage:  (Their satirically brilliant post below.)

New Parenting Book Sparks Outrage

Last week, Penguin Press published Amy Chua’s book Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother, which criticizes “Western” parenting and advocates an “Asian” approach that includes forbidding playdates and being highly critical of children in order to make them more successful. Here are some other tips from the book:

• Take your children to Chuck E. Cheese’s and let them play any game they choose, then make them watch as you burn their tickets
• Ice cream is a great motivator for kids; promise them that if they do everything you ask, they can have some when they turn 18
• Inform your child that televisions receive all of their power from flawless renditions of Brahms’ Violin Concerto in D
• Only let your children have a pet dog if they can tame the most rabid dog at the pound
• Should your child express interest in spending more time with his or her friends, simply pack up and move several hundred miles away
• To ensure academic excellence, inform your children that there is a mark higher than an A-plus and then shame them for failing to attain it
• Replace their frail little limbs with less fragile prosthetics
• Remember, you may have to put up with one or two suicides before you finally craft that perfect child you’ve always wanted

I love the clipped tonal quality of these outrageous suggestions. I imagine a stiff-lipped, speaker with the impeccable posture only genuine, Zen control can erect from the human spine. Her words intone this clearly elucidated smack from the diaphragm, like a Cambridge neurologist enunciates a prognosis. The tension is delicious, and unsavory enough to make  readers worry if they can get to the potty on time.

Anyone with a finger on the pulse of the media cycle knows Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother did more than strike a vein of controversy, it severed an artery. The blood spray has stained even the coolest of shirts. People are well beyond offended by Chua’s book, commentators are rabid and hysterical.  High pitched and raving, these percussive utterances spit from the throat though loose, moist lips that splatter saliva as rapidly as they shoot words of outrage like machine gun fire.

What exactly has our American, parental panties in such a bundle over this one? Why is everyone so offended?

Why Battle Hymn of The Tiger Mother Sparks Such Outrage

Penguin Press opened Pandora’s box last week with their release of Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother, by Yale University law professor, Amy Chua.  Certainly, Chau unapologetically details how she and her husband chose to raise their two daughters in “the Chinese way,” that emphasizes academic excellence and individual superiority over social engagements and extra curricular activities. However, the backlash of controversy in response to her book exposes the very insecure fish bellies of modern parents.  Here are some possible reasons our American, parental panties are in a bundle:

• We’re more like Ron White than Sartre.  Like yesterday we were snuggling on a beanbag chair naked, eating Cheetos, and we said, “Yeah.  We could make a baby.  How hard could it be?”
• My daughter is the Props Manager of her high school’s Drama Club.
• My daughter plays concert Kazoo.
• My 187 pound, 12 year-old daughter goes to the bathroom whenever she wants, usually during Oprah commercials.
• We wanted our 15 year-old daughter to play Carnegie Hall too, but she had to drop out of school to go to rehab before her baby is born.
• We’re going to get around to teaching our daughter Mandarin Chinese once she brings up her F in English.
• I don’t know which friend’s sleepover my daughter’s attending; she hasn’t been home since Friday morning.

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!