tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25460798003398629042024-03-19T02:40:02.437-07:00Still Life With Sharktedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-8975858498204757582012-06-10T21:57:00.000-07:002012-06-10T22:30:08.423-07:00My Baby Flaps His Hands<br />
The following is from Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders: DSM IV. Diagnostic Criteria for 299.00 Autistic Disorder:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(C) restricted repetitive and stereotyped patterns of behavior, interests and activities, as manifested by at least two of the following:<br />
1. encompassing preoccupation with one or more stereotyped and restricted patterns of interest that is abnormal either in intensity or focus<br />
2. apparently inflexible adherence to specific, nonfunctional routines or rituals<br />
3. stereotyped and repetitive motor mannerisms (e.g hand or finger flapping or twisting, or complex whole-body movements)</blockquote>
<br />
1. If your patterns of interest are abnormal in their intensity and focus, this does not mean you have a mental disorder. This means you are sane. This means you are alive, and you are free. Much more alive and free than most people.<br />
<br />
2. No one but yourself can ever possibly judge whether your routines and rituals are nonfunctional. Maybe your closest loved ones have some insight. No diagnostic and statistical manual created for the convenience of bureaucrats ever can.<br />
<br />
3. Sharky flaps his hands.
<br />
<br />
Sharky does not have a mental disorder. His mentality is very ordered.
<br />
<br />
Sharky does not have autism. Autism doesn't even exist.<br />
<br />
Sharky fits the criteria for autism, and if Sharky needs extra help at school, or help with the development of his speech, or help understanding how to make his body do what his mind wants it to do in a variety of typical life situations, he needs to have autism. He needs to have a mental disorder characterized by abnormality, inflexible adherence to nonfunctional routines and rituals, and hand flapping. Because if he doesn't, people aren't allowed to help him.<br />
<br />
Sharky flaps his hands.<br />
<br />
Many years ago a Doctor and leading expert on autism met Sharky. This doctor is a good man and brilliant physician who has dedicated his life to helping children with autism, and as far as I can tell he has succeeded many many times in achieving the goal of this dedication.<br />
<br />
He told us to do whatever we can to discourage Sharky's hand flapping. He said it reinforced autistic patterns in the mind, and would help to hardwire the brain circuitry in ways that encouraged abnormal intensity and focus, inflexible adherence, etc. Hand flapping, he in essence said, is a nonfunctional routine.It might even be an anti-functional routine.<br />
<br />
I obeyed for a moment. The next time I was with Sharky, he started to flap his hands, a joyful and exuberant act he undertakes when witnessing something beautiful, amazing, and exciting to him. He bounced up and down at the knees, his mouth agape, both hands flapping at his sides as if he fully anticipated he'd fly away at any moment.<br />
<br />
I said to him, "Sharky, stop flapping your hands."<br />
<br />
He looked at me, bewildered, and said, "But dad, I'm just excited."<br />
<br />
That was the quick end to my obedience.<br />
<br />
An unmitigated expression of joy when witnessing something beautiful, amazing, and exciting is not a nonfunctional routine. We humans engage in a lot of nonfunctional routines every day, like going to jobs we hate, having empty exchanges with the people in our lives, surfing the internet to read things we have no interest in, watching TV shows that deaden our souls... But hand flapping in response to truly being tuned in to something? That sounds very functional to me. That sounds like a gift.<br />
<br />
Grunya Sukhareva in the 1920s, and Hans Aspberger in the 1940s, conducted research largely independent of one another and came to develop similar concepts about their child subjects. And their combined work created the original idea of what autism was. And to this date definitions of what autism is derive from their work. In Aspberger's words, these boys afflicted with autistic psychopathy suffered from "a lack of empathy, little ability to form friendships, one-sided conversations, intense absorption in a special interest, and clumsy movements"<br />
<br />
If these are the traits that form the foundation of what we believe to be autism, I believe my son Sharky might be the anti-autist. He stands upside down on the opposite pole of the earth from this.<br />
<br />
But he is non-traditional. He doesn't fit in with the tinker toy constructs of our world. And for people like that, we've got a long list of labels. People who don't fit into convenient and accepted boxes can still get accepted into the culture if they accept a label of the exceptions to the rules. We've got a book with thousands and thousands of these labels. They call it the DSM IV.<br />
<br />
So Sharky, my baby, let's you and me play a fun game. Just for now, let's play a game. Let's turn out the lights, and drape a sheet over our heads, and play a game of make believe. Let's make believe there's something called autism, and let's make believe it's a mental disorder. And let's make believe you have it! There are a whole lot of people out there who love you so much and want to help you, and some of them aren't allowed to unless we pretend you have this make believe thing.<br />
<br />
And it's OK for us to pretend, because it's all just a game. And it isn't our lie, it's theirs. And you and I, all we're doing is finding a way to live with their lie together. And one day, we won't have to play this game anymore. Sound OK to you?<br />
<br />
And also, while we're hiding here under this sheet in the dark, you can flap your hands all you want to.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwyMRjTdV2c74M-9ftEeLxTfXiq8gfO7Xk4voU2TubJWQIir1npGuszTg2gbRrkmUA-g7uY7ODg54AuRGtsTjCdKe5INTgmDAkTNM-NtuxQ0Y7csCHEijrpIHYoPqmsNA0JhpNShntYio/s1600/IMG_20120609_195415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwyMRjTdV2c74M-9ftEeLxTfXiq8gfO7Xk4voU2TubJWQIir1npGuszTg2gbRrkmUA-g7uY7ODg54AuRGtsTjCdKe5INTgmDAkTNM-NtuxQ0Y7csCHEijrpIHYoPqmsNA0JhpNShntYio/s320/IMG_20120609_195415.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-19534937011384310842012-04-09T16:58:00.001-07:002012-04-09T16:58:41.128-07:00Le Mixeur Sharky Nine Stories: Boston, NYC, PDX<div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIglDpjUR8JYJ4DpQzf-SGiT3mQWnv9Jc6yj2kicdOtCTeH0Yk4vNRvFDChX8VAxuNNUBa4Zh5hIoQ5kyhfFfFszOJsE4_6mGWMcmiBbSCNrT0yyNsCp0Q-ohcOWhLm9NxWNDmrNIWPeE/s1600/LMS9S+-+BOSTON+4.10.12.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIglDpjUR8JYJ4DpQzf-SGiT3mQWnv9Jc6yj2kicdOtCTeH0Yk4vNRvFDChX8VAxuNNUBa4Zh5hIoQ5kyhfFfFszOJsE4_6mGWMcmiBbSCNrT0yyNsCp0Q-ohcOWhLm9NxWNDmrNIWPeE/s400/LMS9S+-+BOSTON+4.10.12.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729466006635933602" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px; " /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; "><span style="text-align: left; ">April is officially Shark Month. Well, maybe not officially. I'm not sure how anything becomes official. But April is Shark Month nonetheless, with not one, not two, but three </span><a href="http://lemixeur.blogspot.com/2011/12/le-mixeur-sharky-nine-stories.html" style="text-align: left; ">Le Mixeur Sharky Nine Stories</a><span style="text-align: left; "> happening around the country. And for once in this blog's god forsaken life, I'm going to get right to the important information folks need to know. Here is your breakdown of each event and how to go to there.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BOSTON</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span><b>Date</b>: Tuesday April 10, 2012</span></div><div><b>Time</b><span>: 6pm-9pm</span></div><div><b>Where</b>: <a href="http://www.thehawthornebar.com/">The Hawthorne</a>, 500A Commonwealth Ave, in The Stone Room</div><div><b>Cost</b><span>: $20/person, purchase at the door</span></div><div><b>Your Hosts</b><span>: <a href="http://liquor.com/articles/raising-the-bar-misty-kalkofen/">Misty Kalkofen</a>, <a href="http://stuffboston.com/good/archive/2012/03/23/jackson-cannon-s-stuff.aspx">Jackson Cannon</a></span></div><div><b>Your Money Goes To</b><span>:<a href="http://www.massadvocates.org/donate.php"> Massachusetts Advocates For Children's (MAC) Autism Center</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Nine of Boston's most gifted bartenders have created their own interpretations of JD Salinger's Nine Stories. Your $20 admission grants you tastings of any or all of these nine cocktails, made by their creators. The leadership of MAC will be in attendance to share the incredible work they do.</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to the tastings, Hawthorne manager Jackson Cannon has graciously placed a selection of Le Mixeur Sharky drinks on the bar menu for the evening. Purchase one of the drinks from the bar and the proceeds also will go to MAC.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Since its inception in 2002, (MAC) has become a vital force within the autism community in Massachusetts, providing training, legal assistance, advocacy, and services to thousands of parents and professionals to ensure that children with autism overcome lowered expectations and receive equal educational opportunities."</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcPECo56h08mvzyjIgaHSe70_ywBxDGx2YqoDINeNcxMCoJJ9TQaLrIwCGufoGIBO7PE8uz6zw_PEx4qWMM4u6YxzAYvTAiu5KMwVwgkBRtFdo84SAKv1VVIX-DfDXdxIFeGwRWrwGkc/s400/mac+image.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729464204107109794" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 128px; " /><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NEW YORK CITY</b></div><div><br /></div><div><div><b>Date</b>: Sunday April 15, 2012</div><div><b>Time</b><span>: 5pm-2am</span></div><div><b>Where</b><span>: <a href="http://dutchkillsbar.com/main/">Dutch Kills</a>, 27-24 Jackson Ave, Long Island City</span></div><div><b>Cost</b><span>: per drink, about what you'd figure to spend on a cocktail in NYC</span></div><div><b>Your Host</b><span>: <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/coelicarr/2011/09/06/create-new-revenue-streams-become-your-own-supplier-and-then-supply-others/">The Honorable Mr. Richard Boccato</a></span></div><div><b>Your Money Goes To</b><span>: <a href="http://www.nycacharterschool.org/site_res_view_template.aspx?id=62ba1d5b-d6e1-4355-9768-7041af8d45d7">The New York Center for Autism (NYCA) Charter School</a></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Richie Boccato, a closet Seattle lover, will be offering a selection of the drinks from <a href="http://lemixeur.blogspot.com/2012/01/le-mixeur-sharky-your-date-your.html">the original Le Mixeur Sharky event held in Seattle</a> this past March. These drinks were created by nine of Seattle's best bartenders, each based on an assigned tale from Nine Stories. Proceeds from these drinks will go to the NYCA Charter School, a specialized school for children with autism providing individualized education.</div><div><br /></div><div><span>"The school promotes the achievement of high educational standards and the full intellectual, social, physical, and emotional potential of each of its students. It extends its educational programming beyond the school’s walls through training, consultation, and support for students’ families. The school also offers ongoing professional development opportunities to its staff, as well as to other educators in New York City and the surrounding area."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><span style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; "><a href="http://www.nycacharterschool.org/"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiLp53e4qc2lrWcssEBuZtNmJiN1cpIbgbXr_QMmI3Dc484z7cmIX5Z9v2jcurLK5i8KTlRy2O4Bd4fyGj2ITztOQsZHWBtnuj1diKnN82RVvGCMDxeU7yVH-S3TPVMVgAePsTu9Spu8/s400/NYCA_CONTEMPORARY_03.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729464370240887746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 99px; " /></a></span></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><br /></div><div><b>PORTLAND</b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Date</b><span>: Sunday, April 22nd</span></div><div><b>Time</b><span>: 6pm-10pm</span></div><div><b>Where</b><span>: <a href="http://teardroplounge.com/">Teardrop Lounge</a>, 1015 NW Everett St.</span></div><div><b>Cost</b><span>: $60/person (RSVP required!)</span></div><div><b>RSVP</b><span>: daniel@teardroplounge.com</span></div><div><b>Your Host</b><span>: <a href="http://savoystomp.com/2009/01/11/daniel-shoemaker-part-one/">Preacher Man Daniel Shoemaker</a></span></div><div><b>Your Money Goes To</b><span>: <a href="http://www.autismnwaf.org/support-nwaf/">The Northwest Autism Foundation (NWAF)</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Your $60 admission gets you open bar for the duration of the event, plus food generously provided by Jennifer & Ken Norris (<a href="http://rifflenw.com/">Riffle NW</a>), Scott Dolich (<a href="http://parkkitchen.com/">Park Kitchen</a>), Alex Yoder (<a href="http://www.olympicprovisions.com/">Olympic Provisions),</a> & <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/24/280477/restaurant/Pearl-District/Bridgeport-Brewpub-Bakery-Portland">Bridgeport Brewing</a>. Daniel has recruited nine star bartenders from Portland to create yet another round of boozy interpretations of Salinger's stories. These bartenders will be taking overlapping shifts behind the bar. Representatives of NWAF will be in attendance to talk about their work, so try to stay a little sober. I know there's nine cocktails being served, but...</div><div><br /></div><div><span><span>Note: This event is rapidly approaching capacity, fullness, sold out status, </span>impenetrablity, surrounded by force field, etc. RSVP soon.</span></div><div><span><span></span></span></div><div><span>"The original goal of NWAF was to provide education, resources and information to parents, family, friends, caregivers and professionals treating children on the autism spectrum on a donation only basis. Shortly after its inception, NWAF expanded its goals to include facilitating early diagnosis and effective treatment for individuals with ASD."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><span style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto; "><a href="http://autismnwaf.org/"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaovn69qNNcys3K9NLLurgLi2pOnkYhuQvfwVcgsbqrJH4-djlal99p5xPFNYjD_8TKPuVNKJpywHJjAK1oSB_VpWN0cKDxFk4XaMHFW-CM1sprJMZrlCOeon37LPVcgZxt_QNyWrtRGY/s400/nwaf+image+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729464502078850594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 144px; " /></a></span></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><b>SOME IMPORTANT THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT ALL THESE EVENTS</b></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><ul><li><span>The people organizing these events have done this for no charge out of the goodness of their hearts. And the spaces in which these events will take place have been provided to us for free.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span>The bartenders making your drinks at these events, and the people serving drinks and cleaning tables and taking out garbage and washing dishes have volunteered their time, effort, and skills. Please show your appreciation for them.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span>The expenses of these events have been greatly reduced thanks to many generous donations of product from our sponsors. Please make a note of who they are and think pleasant thoughts of them. Their donations will increase the amount of money we raise for children with autism by literally thousands of dollars.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span>These events are amazing and fun to plan and create. You should totally do one wherever you live. I will help you as much as I can. Email me at t (dot) mixeur (at) gmail (dot) com, or post a comment to this blog if you'd like to host your own version of Le Mixeur Sharky.</span></li></ul></div><div><span></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><b>THE BOSTON MENU</b></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Since Boston is coming up so soon, let's give a little sneak peek. Your bartender lineup for the evening will be (in order of appearance) :</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Sabrina Kershaw of <a href="http://www.citizenpub.com/">The Citizen</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Tyler Wang of <a href="http://www.no9park.com/">No. 9 Park</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>John Mayer of <a href="http://local149.com/">Local 149</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Ted Kilpatrick of <a href="http://www.no9park.com/">No. 9 Park</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Rob Kraemer of <a href="http://www.chezhenri.com/">Chez Henri</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Scott Holiday of <a href="http://www.rendezvouscentralsquare.com/">Rendezvous</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Sean Frederick of <a href="http://www.citizenpub.com/">The Citizen</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>Ted Gallagher of <a href="http://www.craigieonmain.com/">Craigie On Main</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span>John Gertsen of <a href="http://www.drinkfortpoint.com/">Drink</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span>The bartenders will be presenting drinks in the order the stories appear in the book. So you'll begin the night with the overwhelming angst of Seymour Glass in bananafish, but by the end achieve spiritual enlightenment thanks to Teddy (note: my name's Ted, there's two bartenders at this event named Ted, the final drink and story is Teddy, and there's a movie coming out called Ted that Sharky is already campaigning to be allowed to see despite its R rating. Month of the Shark. Year of the Ted.)</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Here's the menu for tomorrow night...</span></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUe8WNrmOI6pELLU1okqCDRujy4m36p4bERsCeCL7P2sgMnWYJGq8-OEORl_3nVKqSjC-ViM7o21cUUORMLREF7LgUXTLYpfYyCuszAijpn6V3FYrJUmgZG_-lnBrrtfGAOheDTa9tY5g/s1600/LMS9S+boston+bookmark1.jpg" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUe8WNrmOI6pELLU1okqCDRujy4m36p4bERsCeCL7P2sgMnWYJGq8-OEORl_3nVKqSjC-ViM7o21cUUORMLREF7LgUXTLYpfYyCuszAijpn6V3FYrJUmgZG_-lnBrrtfGAOheDTa9tY5g/s400/LMS9S+boston+bookmark1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729465086179061874" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXq-IrxMjCfygl7y63A-JAeE4advJMmnpSBA_xrt2IcphDgK8P_4ygIi6xiYbmyye9t-NNX88n3A5TXaOCWklzBs0iV3Ydjdjdzw-Frpi4exU3s1mZvWjLhg4A6LdGfVfYoj2HS8511A/s1600/LMS9S+boston+bookmark2.jpg" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXq-IrxMjCfygl7y63A-JAeE4advJMmnpSBA_xrt2IcphDgK8P_4ygIi6xiYbmyye9t-NNX88n3A5TXaOCWklzBs0iV3Ydjdjdzw-Frpi4exU3s1mZvWjLhg4A6LdGfVfYoj2HS8511A/s400/LMS9S+boston+bookmark2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729465157205538642" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px; " /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oN7BMQnvgHAHntC4VhCA7lRQcy3BvWa6mXN7WD2oUNV46TC-vauMCfr17bQBybSWm1RLcaYMxtCjdG5vtoZheV4zqCUfhyZd_XuVN8LGODgF2RIisKym_Wu3NueDZ30VQQI_VrrFBFM/s1600/LMS9S+boston+bookmark3.jpg" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oN7BMQnvgHAHntC4VhCA7lRQcy3BvWa6mXN7WD2oUNV46TC-vauMCfr17bQBybSWm1RLcaYMxtCjdG5vtoZheV4zqCUfhyZd_XuVN8LGODgF2RIisKym_Wu3NueDZ30VQQI_VrrFBFM/s400/LMS9S+boston+bookmark3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729465267905262786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><span>This version of the menu is designed to be cut up into bookmarks. If you would like to make your own bookmarks as a souvenir of the event, send me your contact info via email or a comment on this blog (which I will not publish) and I'll send you a high resolution version to print and snip.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Well, I guess that's about it. No go part like a rock star and make a difference in the life of a child. Isn't it nice when you can do both at the same time?</span></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline">tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-27283951127142249282012-03-10T23:11:00.001-08:002012-03-10T23:11:58.381-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu - Kevin Langmack: Just Before The War With The Eskimos<div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Look at 'em," he said. "Goddam fools."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Who?" said Ginnie.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"I don't know. Anybody."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Your finger'll start bleeding more if you hold it down that way," Ginnie said.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>He heard her. He put his left foot up on the window seat and rested his injured hand on the horizontal thigh. He continued to look down at the street. "They're all goin' over to the goddam draft board," he said. "We're gonna fight the Eskimos next. Know that?"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"The who?" said Ginnie.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"The Eskimos.... Open your ears, for Chrissake."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Why the Eskimos?"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"I don't know why. How the hell should I know why? This time all the old guys're gonna go. Guys around sixty. Nobody can go unless they're around sixty," he said. "Just give 'em shorter hours is all. ... Big deal."</span></div></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlFPxxJeQzePfYHlrytFrhsfiMBtEwenAK2ZmR4TFEBRWMVPdTl2MRVH7GSq5sH5JxbBtv7hIvVXwEjDeeI8evPh_OH59x3Cs8NtisAKcL-szAotANWrsIO3hfPHIT0T6mfzPcHqoBzg/s1600/9+stories+cover+big+9.jpg" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlFPxxJeQzePfYHlrytFrhsfiMBtEwenAK2ZmR4TFEBRWMVPdTl2MRVH7GSq5sH5JxbBtv7hIvVXwEjDeeI8evPh_OH59x3Cs8NtisAKcL-szAotANWrsIO3hfPHIT0T6mfzPcHqoBzg/s400/9+stories+cover+big+9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718481503712474290" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 400px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></span></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="https://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073">https://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>KEVIN LANGMACK</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Goddammit Kevin's worked at a lot of places in Seattle, for Chrissakes. He's been goin' all over the goddamn place working. Goin' to go work for the Eskimos next. Know that?</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's see, where has he worked? (Remember, research = fascism, fragmented memory = utopia). I remember <a href="http://www.spurseattle.com/">Spur</a>, and <a href="http://sunliquor.com/">Sun Liquor</a>, and <a href="http://www.vesselseattle.com/">Vessel</a>, and <a href="http://www.kneehighstocking.com/">Knee High Stocking Company</a>, and I foresee future Vessel, in 2016 when Vessel reopens. There were others. I know there were. But who cares? Where you worked doesn't define you as a person or a professional. It's your actions, your personality, and most importantly your je ne sais quoi.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kevin's got good actions and personality, but more than anything, homes gots je ne sais quoi out the ying yang. That's right, Kevin's a Taoist I Do Now Know What.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>(editor's note: it is possible, just possible, that the author of this blog is punch drunk from the demands of event preparation and is babbling at this point, but this editor could be misguided).</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>It is a great privilege to have Kevin involved in this project and event. He has quietly been one of Seattle's best bartenders for many years, and one of the Seattle bar scene's most affable and unassuming presences. It's genuinely good to to at long last work with him. It makes me feel all je ne sais quoi and shit.</div><div><br /></div><div>OK, get on with the drink already...</div><div><br /></div><div><u>JUST BEFORE THE WAR WITH THE ESKIMOS</u></div><div>AKA, MILK & COOKIES FOR GINNIE & FRANKLIN</div><div><br /></div><div><div><span>1 ½ ounce Sun Liquor Distillery's Hedge Trimmer gin</span></div><div><span>1 ounce heavy cream</span></div><div><span>½ ounce Vanilla Syrup*</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>shake and strain into a milk glass</span></div><div><span>serve with an assortment of cookies</span></div></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div>*Vanilla Syrup: Combine 1 cup sugar, 1 cup water and 1oz vanilla extract, or steep vanilla beans in a 1:1 simple syrup to taste.</div><div><br /></div><div>Note #1: Kevin was also working on a highly experimental and daring concoction that was unfortunately not perfected due to certain oversights in nuclear physics. But it shall be perfected some day. No more information is available regarding this invention due to patents pending and such.</div><div><br /></div><div>Note #2: Ginnie & Franklin are the two main characters of the story. They both could really benefit from the childlike comfort of cookies and milk, and they both could really benefit from the adultlike comfort of gin.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>HEY, HOW COME GINNIE & FRANKLIN BOTH COULD REALLY BENEFIT FROM THE CHILDLIKE COMFORT OF COOKIES AND MILK AND THE ADULTLIKE COMFORT OF GIN?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>If you're asking me about the story, then I'll tell you. Ginnie is a young teen from New York City, who is tennis partners with Selena. She considers Selena "the biggest drip" at their school, yet plays tennis with her because Selena provides the balls, yet resents Selena's unwillingness to help with cab fare home after tennis. When she addresses this with Selena one day on the way home, it leads to snit fits and Ginnie going home with Selena to collect what she's owed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ginnie's left alone while Selena goes to trouble her poor ailing mother for money. During her time in the living room, she ends up having two separate meaningful interactions that affect her thoughts on the Selena situation and perhaps beyond.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first, and central, interaction is with Selena's brother Franklin. He is odd, an outcast, agitated and sometimes distracted, yet kind and strangely endearing. He would seem to be the type of person Ginnie would dismiss, and at first she attempts to. But she can't for some reason. She learns of his rheumatic fever as a child, which lead to heart problems, which lead to him being unable to serve in WWII and instead working in an airplane factory in Ohio during the war, and of his unrequited love for Ginnie's older sister, now married to a Naval officer. And as they talk, once can sense Ginnie's unquestioning allegiance to the status quo of the adult world and its values melting away, and discovering her own inner qualities, such as compassion and individualism.</div><div><br /></div><div>More happens. But I'm already telling too much. Nine Stories is for sale at Inner Chapters Bookstore and Cafe, and we'll also be giving away a couple of copies as raffle prizes. That way you can read it for yourself. Just try to forget everything you just heard from me. It's all a bunch of crap.</div><div><br /></div><div>But also remember what Kevin told you: gin and vanilla cream, with cookies. All for Ginnie & Franklin.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></span></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-31256597523596360312012-03-10T12:18:00.000-08:002012-03-10T12:19:21.299-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu - Philip Thompson: De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period<div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"The bare truth is as follows: If you do not learn a few more of the rudiments of the profession, you will only be a very, very interesting artist the rest of your life instead of a great one. This is terrible, in my opinion. Do you realize how grave the situation is?"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDIQiqBlBdkqJJ-5-01BL2PpOoRMcM59XIQqM6_JrkmeWKw15rKmSgKsfqIUo9UIE0tsUhOVHaPFeoKREos5PQEGmj4PWtIlI_NM1cCVqPNl_Rpm2CI5YAmXA-rBrqASVsBfKUKhRulY/s1600/273406761_acdda7232f.jpg" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDIQiqBlBdkqJJ-5-01BL2PpOoRMcM59XIQqM6_JrkmeWKw15rKmSgKsfqIUo9UIE0tsUhOVHaPFeoKREos5PQEGmj4PWtIlI_NM1cCVqPNl_Rpm2CI5YAmXA-rBrqASVsBfKUKhRulY/s400/273406761_acdda7232f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718062197845802306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 321px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="https://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073">https://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>PHILIP THOMPSON</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Here's a little lineage that explains Philip Thompson's place in the grand ole scheme of bartending things:</div><div><br /></div><div>1) Philip's first name is the same as the middle name of fellow Le Mixeur Sharky contributor Ben Perri. They even spell it the same way, with one l. In case you have extremely short capacity for thought, the name we're talking about is, "Philip."</div><div><br /></div><div>2) Philip's last name is the same last name as my Barbados brother David, who went with me to my first ever Tales Of The Cocktail , David was a friend of Chesterfield Brown of Mount Gay Rum, who once famously said, "MOUNT! GAY! RUM! WITH COCONUT! WATER!"<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Actually he said it about 20 times, at a seminar at Tales that David Thompson and I were at.</div><div><br /></div><div>3) Philip used to work with fellow Le Mixeur Sharky contributor Nathan Weber, AKA The Laughing Man, at <a href="http://www.tavernlaw.com/">Tavern Law.</a> On more than one occasion while working together, these two mans were seen laughing.</div><div><br /></div><div><span><span>4) Philip now is lead bartender at <a href="http://www.thecoterieroom.com/">The Coterie Room</a>, owned by chef duo Brian McCracken and Dana Tough, who also own Tavern Law, and <a href="http://www.spurseattle.com/">Spur</a>, which is less than a block away from Coterie Room. Fellow Le Mixeur Sharky contributor Marley Tomic-Beard, AKA Uncle Wiggily In</span>Connecticut<span>, used to work at Spur. But neither Philip nor Marley actually has an Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut.</span></span></div><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span>5) Nathan Weber, Dana Tough, Brian McCracken, and Marley Tomic-Beard have never had a blue period. I asked Philip if he has had a blue period. He wouldn't say. That to me sounds like the response of a man who has.</span></span></div><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span>All I'm trying to say is that Philip Thompson is one of the great bartenders in our fair city. He makes wonderful drinks and is an impeccably cordial host. He has excelled in some of Seattle's all too rare establishments where world-class food and world-class drink peacefully co-exist and actually enhance one another. And he has now invented a drink interpretation of De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period. What could possibly be next?</span></span></div><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span>Well, how about the damn recipe?</span></span></div><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span><u>DE DAUMIER-SMITH'S BLUE PERIOD</u></span></span></div><div><span>AKA "Le Chat de Schrödinger"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div>1 ½ ounce of (whiskey or gin or vodka it is not known until it is made)</div><div>½ ounce blue curacao</div><div>½ ounce lime juice</div></span></div><div><span>dash of angostura bitters</span></div><div><span>dash of orange bitters</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>shake over ice and strain into a...</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><b>HEY WHY DID PHIL MAKE HIS DRINK ABOUT THIS STORY SO WEIRD?</b></span></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span>"I went upstairs to my room and lay down on my bed. Some minutes, or hours later, I made, in French, the following brief entry in my diary: 'I am giving Sister Irma her freedom to follow her own destiny. Everybody is a nun.' (Tout le monde est une nonne.)"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period is a story of a precocious 19 year old, recently returned to New York after nine years in Paris, who fibs his way into a job in Quebec providing correspondence art instruction to students of the art school of M. Yoshoto. Unimpressed and mostly depressed by the submitted works of most of his students, he finds himself smitten with the simplistic work of Sister Irma, commissioned to study art by Father Zimmerman at Les Amis Des Vieux Maitres. He </span><span>especially adores her watercolor </span><span>depiction of Christ being carried to the sepulchre in Joseph of Arimathea's garden.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>So inspired is he by her work, he immediately writes her a letter </span><span>even more long-winded than this blog </span><span>about what she must do to refine her painting and achieve genius status. When she doesn't respond and instead Father Zimmerman writes to say he has reconsidered his decision to allow Sister Irma to pursue her art at </span><span>Les Amis Des Vieux Maitres, De Daumier-Smith (not his real name) writes another long-winded letter even more desperate to corral Sister Irma's artistic spirit.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>He then takes to the streets and observes a young woman in the display window of a shop, working hard to re-dress a wooden dummy with a truss. In the course of his observation and interaction with the female stranger, she reacts strongly to his appearance, and he experiences an epiphany. We are not sure what exactly this epiphany is, but when he returns home, in his own mind and diary he permits Sister Irma her freedom.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Mr. Philip Thompson interprets Smith's actions, and his statement "</span><span>Tout le monde est une nonne</span><span>" to mean everyone can make their own choices. And to quote Phil, "De Daumier-Smith came to this conclusion by witnessing an event in which the act of watching affected the outcome."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>And so with the drink </span><span>Le Chat de Schrödinger, inspired by De Daumier-Smith's blue period, everyone can make their own choices. You choose your base, mix with Blue Curacao for your blue, and add in lime and the bitters because, as is always important, it will make it taste good.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Freedom! It tastes good!</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>What does </span><span>Le Chat de Schrödinger mean? I don't know. I think it sounds like it means a cat named by a guy named </span><span>Schrödinger. What's the deeper meaning? I intentionally didn't ask. Now you all have to come to Le Mixeur Sharky and ask Phil himself. He'll make a choice as to how to answer. And each answer will be true.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline">tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-4781416856768082052012-03-07T22:18:00.001-08:002012-03-07T22:18:58.572-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu - Marley Tomic-Beard: Uncle Wiggily In Connecticut<div><span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline">Mary Jane pushed her chin farther forward over the edge of her forearm.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"El. . ." she said.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Why won't you tell me how he was killed? I swear I won't tell anybody. Honestly. Please."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"No."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Please. Honestly. I won't tell anybody."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Eloise finished her drink and replaced the empty glass upright on her chest. "You'd tell Akim Tamiroff," she said.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"No, I wouldn't! I mean I wouldn't tell any--"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Oh," said Eloise, "his regiment was resting someplace. It was between battles or something, this friend of his said that wrote me. Walt and some other boy were putting this little Japanese stove in a package. Some colonel wanted to send it home. Or they were taking it out of the package to rewrap it--I don't know exactly. Anyway, it was all full of gasoline and junk and it exploded in their faces. The other boy just lost an eye." Eloise began to cry. She put her hand around the empty glass on her chest to steady it.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Mary Jane slid off the couch and, on her knees, took three steps over to Eloise and began to stroke her forehead. "Don't cry, El. Don't cry."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Who's crying?" Eloise said.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPhutx_TTNU8_e7wC7hlT8IPsNFv4MioCuzx1eCDj8CLxmVRikNsAugPLWiPWCeSYAH2ikY1tYRrZyUCgYZf49sjL3dKiIT7ko74XvkK0_n211yGHUewOyihYgkA8_4Gfn4c_xTgWyzM/s400/9+stories+cover+blue+red.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717313408010014578" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073">http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span><b>MARLEY TOMIC-BEARD</b></span></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span>As I mentioned in the previous <a href="http://lemixeur.blogspot.com/2012/03/le-mixeur-sharky-menu-ben-perri-for.html">post on Ben Perri</a>, sometimes Seattle gets lucky and a some of the most superest bartenders around move here to Seattle and make really super drinks and act like really super people in public places called bars. And Marley is one of these super types. Since moving to Seattle, most of us first got to know her while she was bartending at <a href="http://www.spurseattle.com/">Spur</a>. Then she started sneaking down the alleyway to <a href="http://bathtubginseattle.com/">Bathtub Gin</a> and making drinks there too. Then she disappeared from Belltown all together and helped open the bar at <a href="http://golden-beetle.com/main">Golden Beetle</a> in Ballard! Oh that mischievous Marley! (It was right at that time we all started calling her "Crazy Marley." We stopped calling her that a few moments later because, well, it was pretty silly.)</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>After proving her point at Golden Beetle, she moved on to create a brand damn spanking new bar program at the brand damn spanking new restaurant and bar <a href="http://www.sextonseattle.com/">The Sexton</a> (at least is was brand damn spanking new at the time. After a few months the city comes out to the restaurant and removes the brand damn spanking seal. Then you're just "new"). There you will find the bar front and center and Marley making delicious drinks, and you will also find a menu of southern-influenced food items that are delicious. And the best part, all you have to is ask for them, and someone brings it right to where you're sitting and you can eat it! Woohoo!</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Marley came to us from Boston, where she was inspired to pursue a craft cocktail lifestyle by<a href="http://www.diffordsguide.com/class-magazine/read-online/en/2011-11-29/page-8/misty-kalkofen">Misty Kalkofen</a>, these days of Brick & Mortar in Cambridge. Misty is organizing a Le Mixeur Sharky event in Boston in April. Marley is contributing to the Le Mixeur Sharky event in Seattle. See how everything is coming full circle? Perhaps it's more like two straight lines going back and forth between Boston and Seattle. But if you push the ends of those lines towards each other, they might bow into two arches, at which point the ends can be welded together to form a circle. Our operatives are working on this as we speak. Bow those lines, m'boys! Bow those lines m'ladies! Raise High The Roofbeam, Carpenters!</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>All I'm really trying to say is, I'm glad Marley's here now.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><u>UNCLE WIGGILY IN CONNECTICUT</u></span></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><div><span>1 ½ ounce Dewar's blended scotch</span></div><div><span>¾ ounce Riesling Simple Syrup*</span></div><div><span>¾ ounce Campari</span></div><div><span>¼ ounce lemon juice</span></div><div><span>2 dashes Laphroaig</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Stir all ingredients in a mixing glass</span></div><div><span>Strain into Collins glass, top with soda and ice</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>*1 part water to 3 parts sweet, aromatic Riesling, heated to boil and then mixed with a 1:1 ratio of sugar. For example: 8 ounces water, </span><span style="font-family: georgia; ">24 ounces Riesling, </span><span style="font-family: georgia; ">mixed with 32 ounces sugar (by volume).</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Marley took </span><span>seriously </span><span>the task of making a drink that relates to its story. Also, her story has some elements that make for guides to the drink. For instance, the two principal characters in the story are described as drinking highballs throughout the afternoon they spend together. Towards the end of the story one picks up a near-empty bottle of scotch, revealing that they've been drinking scotch highballs.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>They also chain smoke throughout the story (as do pretty much all adults in Salinger stories) so Marley adds the dashes of Laphroaig (which worked much better than the original idea to build the drink in a Collins glass over ice and a wet cigarette butt).</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><div><span>So essentially what Marley has done (and I will paraphrase her own description), is to create a scotch highball with nostalgia, love lost or gone up in smoke (the real reason for the smoky Laphroaig). The Riesling syrup represents the s</span><span style="font-family: georgia; ">ugar-coated sophistication, or plastic/candy facade, of the life of comfort that Eloise, the main character leads. The Campari represents </span><span style="font-family: georgia; ">the bitterness of her life, caused by the loss of her true love.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div></div></div><div><span><b>SO IS THIS STORY ABOUT ANYTHING BESIDES DRINKING AND SMOKING?</b></span></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span>Yes and no. It is about two women getting together one snowy afternoon in Connecticut. They were college roommates their freshmen year, and neither one of them would finish school. Both fell into romances instead. Mary Jane ended up a career woman. Eloise ended up marrying a successful man she doesn't love after her true love, Walt, died in the war. Eloise is spirited, sharp, and funny. But she's miserable. She doesn't even seem to like her husband, and her daughter is a source of annoyance and embarrassment for her, despite the fact that she is a sweet child. Eloise complains about the maid, the pillows, the furniture, and anything else that comes up.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>As the afternoon turns to evening and Eloise keeps serving up scotch highballs, convincing Mary Jane to cancel her work appointments and stay with her, the women get more inebriated, the topics of conversation become deeper and more emotional, and eventually it is revealed to us with heartbreaking clarity how Eloise, once a sweet, naive, and fragile girl in love has become lonely, isolated, and bitter woman buried in her Connecticut palace.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>This is my favorite story in the collection, and I don't want to reveal anymore about it here or give any hint as to the meaning of the title. One day, please make yourself an Uncle Wiggily In Connecticut (or go to the Sexton and see if Marley's got some Riesling syrup she can use to make you one), get out a copy of Nine Stories, sip, read, and don't worry. Everything's going to be OK. It really is. You were a nice girl, weren't you?</span></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline">tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-85351623303091555862012-03-07T00:45:00.001-08:002012-03-07T00:45:58.648-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu - Ben Perri: For Esmé - With Love And Squalor<div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Esmé was standing with crossed ankles again. "You're quite sure you won't forget to write that story for me?" she asked. "It doesn't have to be exclusively for me. It can--"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I said there was absolutely no chance that I'd forget. I told her that I'd never written a story for anybody, but that it seemed like exactly the right time to get down to it.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>She nodded. "Make it extremely squalid and moving," she suggested. "Are you at all acquainted with squalor?"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I said not exactly but that I was getting better acquainted with it, in one form or another, all the time, and that I'd do my best to come up to her specifications. We shook hands.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Isn't it a pity that we didn't meet under less extenuating circumstances?"</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I said it was, I said it certainly was.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Goodbye," Esmé said. "I hope you return from the war with all your faculties intact."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I thanked her, and said a few other words, and then watched her leave the tearoom. She left it slowly, reflectively, testing the ends of her hair for dryness.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANVsBkUi0Pc1lgfcPpxlsqgwewXqFw3Cz9MhfHRqmRzvt-PD3q4E_wtBkl4otba1ra7tU85ioAIttEJnx7tOIrhGgWATicODHMqzLu5u_hHmzVoL1HRU_Vzc6xk90l-Gt_FpWvc_gwVw/s1600/tumblr_kug1wm0baE1qzvsijo1_400.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANVsBkUi0Pc1lgfcPpxlsqgwewXqFw3Cz9MhfHRqmRzvt-PD3q4E_wtBkl4otba1ra7tU85ioAIttEJnx7tOIrhGgWATicODHMqzLu5u_hHmzVoL1HRU_Vzc6xk90l-Gt_FpWvc_gwVw/s400/tumblr_kug1wm0baE1qzvsijo1_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717022169057637634" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 400px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073">http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BEN PERRI</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span>"He is perhaps the most graceful, affable, and considerate bartender that I have ever witnessed in action."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>This is what Richie Boccato, the brains behind Dutch Kills, PKNY, Tribeca, Weather Up, and who knows what else in NYC, wrote to me about Ben Perri. I asked Richie if I could quote him in writing about Ben for this event. He didn't respond. I'll take that as a yes.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><i>(editor's note: Richie will be hosting a Le Mixeur Sharky event at <a href="http://www.pk-ny.com/">PKNY</a> and <a href="http://dutchkillsbar.com/main/">Dutch Kills</a> on April 15, more on that to come once the Seattle massacre is done after this weekend).</i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span>Pardon me for belittling the craft of writing, but I'm going to quote myself on Facebook here...</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>"Tonight, at Zig Zag, I asked Autumn to ask Ben for the dirtiest, nastiest, strongest thing he could conjure up... He gave me his phone number."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>True story.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>So Ben is a bartender at the Zig Zag Café. When Murray left Zig Zag, there were those who did a lot of hand-wringing. But there were certain visionaries such as me and Ben and Murray and others who knew it would be a blessing. Ben and the mighty Erik Hakkinen were more than ready to assume front stage and carry on what we'd all loved about Zig Zag. And some of the groupies subsided. And we all lived happily ever after. And so did Murray.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Ben routinely tests my will to not play favorites. The only thing preventing me from saying that Ben is my favorite bartender in Seattle is all my other favorite bartenders in Seattle. Let's just say there's none better. How can we conclude who the best of anything is? As Steven Wright said, a conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>And as Sharky once said, when asked who was his favorite, Batman or Spiderman, "Batman and Spiderman." Or as Sharky once told me, "my favorite color is green, blue, red, yellow, and purple."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Picking favorites is for the weak. Ben Perri is for the strong, strong at heart, strong of spirit, and strong of base spirit. I'm not going to prattle on any longer about the man. Just go to Zig Zag and enjoy what he does for yourself. He is truly a marvel. And even better, a genuinely good human being.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>For Esmé - With Love And Squalor is my mother's favorite story in Nine Stories. I trusted Ben with the creation of a drink in its honor and naturally he did not disappoint.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><u>FOR ESME - WITH LOVE AND SQUALOR</u></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div>1 ounce Evan Williams bourbon</div><div>½ ounce STRONG Earl Grey Tea syrup*</div><div>¼ ounce Cocchi Americano</div><div>¼ ounce Bonal</div><div>dash of Cinnamon</div><div></div><div>stir and strain into flute</div><div>fill with champagne</div><div>garnish with lemon twist</div><div><br /></div><div>*Earl Grey syrup is 2 parts very strong brewed Earl Grey tea, mixed with 1 part rich simple syrup. Rich simple syrup is 2 parts suga' dissolved into 1 part wata'. Wata' is a chemical substance with the chemical formula H2O. A wata' molecule contains one oxygen and two hydrogen atoms connected by covalent bonds. F'shizzle.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>HEY ARE YOU GOING TO TELL US ABOUT THE STORY?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Yes!</div><div><br /></div><div>But not much. It's late and I'm a little drunk.</div><div><br /></div><div>For Esmé - With Love And Squalor is a story about a little girl whose sincerity saves a grown man's sanity in the face of the horrors of war. The man meets her while stationed in rural England, undergoing specialized training before being sent off on some sort of madcap mission in WWII. They have tea, along with her younger brother Charles, and share conversation of an illuminating sort. She shares with him that her father died in the war, and while she puts on a brave face he notes the oversized men's wristwatch on her wrist. He shares with her that he writes stories, and she makes him promise to one day write one for her. She herself promises to write him a letter.</div><div><br /></div><div>The story jumps forward to the officer post-war, still stationed in Germany. He is falling apart. He is now referred to in the story as "X." He shakes uncontrollably, avoids sunlight, smokes constantly, rarely eats, never leaves his room, torments friends who attempt to speak to him, and cannot sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>"When he let go of his head, X began to stare at the surface of the writing table, which was a catchall for at least two dozen unopened letters and at least five or six unopened packages, all addressed to him. He reached behind the debris and picked out a book that stood against the wall. It was a book by Goebbels, entitled "Die Zeit Ohne Beispiel." It belonged to the thirty-eight-year-old, unmarried daughter of the family that, up to a few weeks earlier, had been living in the house. She had been a low official in the Nazi Party, but high enough, by Army Regulations standards, to fall into an automatic-arrest category. X himself had arrested her. Now, for the third time since he had returned from the hospital that day, he opened the woman's book and read the brief inscription on the flyleaf. Written in ink, in German, in a small, hopelessly sincere handwriting, were the words "Dear God, life is hell." Nothing led up to or away from it. Alone on the page, and in the sickly stillness of the room, the words appeared to have the stature of an uncontestable, even classic indictment. X stared at the page for several minutes, trying, against heavy odds, not to be taken in. Then, with far more zeal than he had done anything in weeks, he picked up a pencil stub and wrote down under the inscription, in English, "Fathers and teachers, I ponder `What is hell?' I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love." He started to write Dostoevsky's name under the inscription, but saw--with fright that ran through his whole body--that what he had written was almost entirely illegible. He shut the book."</div><div><br /></div><div>X eventually delves into that catchall for at least two dozen unopened letters and finds one is from Esmé, sent many many months earlier. He reads it. I have so far avoided giving away endings, but I'm going to do it here, because the story at hand is so beautiful. So stop reading now if you want to read the story in its entirety, which I highly recommend, and so does my mother. You need to read the whole story to get the beauty anyway. So you might as well go away now.</div><div><br /></div><div>No. Seriously. Fuck off.</div><div><br /></div><div>Go buy a copy of the book.</div><div><br /></div><div>Impatient? Here's a link to the full text:</div><div><a href="http://www.dibache.com/text.asp?cat=51&id=173">http://www.dibache.com/text.asp?cat=51&id=173</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>OK and now here's the part I wanted to share.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>"DEAR SERGEANT X,</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you will forgive me for having taken 38 days to begin our correspondence but, I have been extremely busy as my aunt has undergone streptococcus of the throat and nearly perished and I have been justifiably saddled with one responsibility after another. However I have thought of you frequently and of the extremely pleasant afternoon we spent in each other's company on April 30, 1944 between 3:45 and 4:15 P.M. in case it slipped your mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are all tremendously excited and overawed about D Day and only hope that it will bring about the swift termination of the war and a method of existence that is ridiculous to say the least. Charles and I are both quite concerned about you; we hope you were not among those who made the first initial assault upon the Cotentin Peninsula. Were you? Please reply as speedily as possible. My warmest regards to your wife.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sincerely yours,</div><div><br /></div><div>Esmé</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. I am taking the liberty of enclosing my wristwatch which you may keep in your possession for the duration of the conflict. I did not observe whether you were wearing one during our brief association, but this one is extremely water-proof and shockproof as well as having many other virtues among which one can tell at what velocity one is walking if one wishes. I am quite certain that you will use it to greater advantage in these difficult days than I ever can and that you will accept it as a lucky talisman.</div><div><br /></div><div>Charles, whom I am teaching to read and write and whom I am finding an extremely intelligent novice, wishes to add a few words. Please write as soon as you have the time and inclination.</div><div><br /></div><div>HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO LOVE AND KISSES CHALES.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a long time before X could set the note aside, let alone lift Esme's father's wristwatch out of the box. When he did finally lift it out, he saw that its crystal had been broken in transit. He wondered if the watch was otherwise undamaged, but he hadn't the courage to wind it and find out. He just sat with it in his hand for another long period. Then, suddenly, almost ecstatically, he felt sleepy.</div><div><br /></div><div>You take a really sleepy man, Esme, and he always stands a chance of again becoming a man with all his fac-with all his f-a-c-u-1-t-i-e-s intact."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJfYAbS4CCff8SGSBQ24W4sgYp-tzG9YrzzWAYTYdSPm7IZhKqGDFPRaxvsxgPjtypyJwsecBYQtWVMiPVi7T2Iai_wqmWZ3F_1Hooql7luMND89BXFot6DKNgekobXBem0B-L1X0KU0/s1600/P6190644.JPG" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJfYAbS4CCff8SGSBQ24W4sgYp-tzG9YrzzWAYTYdSPm7IZhKqGDFPRaxvsxgPjtypyJwsecBYQtWVMiPVi7T2Iai_wqmWZ3F_1Hooql7luMND89BXFot6DKNgekobXBem0B-L1X0KU0/s400/P6190644.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717043889908447954" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And in case you haven't figured it out yet, this story, For Esmé - With Love And Squalor, is the story X promised he would write for Esmé. Duh.</div><div><br /></div><div>And nighty night.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></span></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-63124538078589144072012-03-05T22:27:00.000-08:002012-03-05T22:28:03.713-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu - Nathan Weber: The Laughing Man<div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><span><span><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div>"Actually, I was not the only legitimate living descendant of the Laughing Man. There were twenty-five Comanches in the Club, or twenty-five legitimate living descendants of the Laughing Man--all of us circulating ominously, and incognito, throughout the city, sizing up elevator operators as potential archenemies, whispering side-of-the-mouth but fluent orders into the ears of cocker spaniels, drawing beads, with index fingers, on the foreheads of arithmetic teachers. And always waiting, waiting for a decent chance to strike terror and admiration in the nearest mediocre heart."</span></span><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VBzf_P5194UvlkfifLk3jjaZMWjcSyL0xW6z1Ta6AxGjeDRuZ9ZPbI3sJjRa-qyfi7IulXHO9czo9fOHY9UP0eKKMmSS6z3gQdqIqtVxqRVVrvmm6uoGdqLRMxoJtpGdMuk_nnxgwZs/s1600/P6120590.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VBzf_P5194UvlkfifLk3jjaZMWjcSyL0xW6z1Ta6AxGjeDRuZ9ZPbI3sJjRa-qyfi7IulXHO9czo9fOHY9UP0eKKMmSS6z3gQdqIqtVxqRVVrvmm6uoGdqLRMxoJtpGdMuk_nnxgwZs/s400/P6120590.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716640191959069474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073">http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NATHAN WEBER</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span>Sometimes we here in Seattle get lucky and some really super bartender from another city moves here. And sometimes we get even luckier because that really super bartender gets really even more superer once he or she (for she, stay tuned for soon post on Tomic-Beard, Marley) lives here and tends bar in Seattle.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Of course, it's not luck. Seattle really is just that really super to lure in really super bartenders like Nathan Weber and then use its really superiorness to make him even more really superer.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Are you still reading? If so, let me tell you a little about Nathan. He worked bars in San Francisco. Then he moved to Seattle. When I met him he was working at <a href="http://www.tavernlaw.com/">Tavern Law</a>, where he'd eventually assume bar managerial duties. He probably worked other places in Seattle too, but in keeping with my vow not to ever research anything I write about (research = fascism, as you know), I don't know anything about that, nor would I admit it if I did.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I can remember times when I couldn't get a damn seat at the damn bar at Tavern damn Law because it's so damn popular, but Nathan would manage to make it out to my table to chat about my drink and other things. He always seemed to stand right behind my head where I'd need to basically hold my head upside down in order to make eye contact, and nodding in agreement became an act of gymnastic contortion. I speculate watching me do this made Nathan laugh, and thus, he gets to create a drink for The Laughing Man.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Nathan's now at <a href="http://www.canonseattle.com/">Canon </a>and <a href="http://robroyseattle.com/">Rob Roy</a>. He laughs a lot at both places. Occasionally, a patron says something like, "Hey dickhead, stop laughing and make some drinks!" Nathan just laughs, then mutters under his breath, "Fuck you asshole. I'll laugh all I want. I'm in love, with life, my job, and my fiancee." Then he makes the asshole something awesome. Something like The Laughing Man, also known as Eagle's Blood.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><u>THE LAUGHING MAN, AKA EAGLE'S BLOOD</u></span></div><div><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div><span>Here's the version for making at home...</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div>1 ounce Averna</div><div>½ ounce Ramazzotti</div><div>½ once lime juice</div><div>¼ ounce muscovado syrup*</div><div>dash angostura bitters</div><div>freshly grated nutmeg</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Combine all ingredients with ice in a shaker.</div><div>Shake and strain into a chimney or Collins glass.</div><div>Add ice and top with sparkling wine.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>*Muscovado Syrup is made by combining muscovado sugar and water at a 2 to 1 ratio. Demerara sugar may be substituted.</div><div><br /></div><div>For Le Mixeur Sharky, Nathan "The Laughing Man" Weber is going to carbonate these beverages and bottle them. Like in sealed bottles where carbonation finds no exit. Order one and we'll pop it open for ya.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>SO WHAT DO YOU WANNA TELL US ABOUT THIS STORY ANYWAY?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>The Laughing Man is an incredibly intricate story within a story, so summarizing it in a brief space is a hopeless endeavor. A group of boys called the Comanches revere their male adult leader "The Chief." They engage in many after-school activities but mainly sports, mainly baseball. It is a boys' club. The Chief tells them fantastic and elaborate tales of The Laughing Man, a mythical character from China who was horrifically disfigured in childhood by kidnappers, exiled and rejected by humanity, only to become the world's most cunning thief and criminal mastermind and a hero to many.</div><div><br /></div><div>When The Chief falls for a woman named Mary Hudson, the boys struggle to accept her presence into their boy world, then struggle to interpret and understand their own childlike affection and perhaps love for her. When the romance ends badly, The Chief ends the love affair for all the boys before they have a chance to understand their own feelings. All is made worse by the adults' insistence on ignoring the childrens' questions, on shielding them out of everything that's going on, leaving them to guess and make sense of tiny little fragments.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Chief's broken heart leads him to end the Laughing Man tale heatbreakingly, breaking the hearts of the Comanche children. He was an adult hero to the boys. But he was too weak to acknowledge the fullness of a child's humanity, and too weak to overcome his own romantic frustration in order to nurture the wild and beautiful spirits of the children who counted on him.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Offhand, I can remember seeing just three girls in my life who struck me as having unclassifiably great beauty at first sight. One was a thin girl in a black bathing suit who was having a lot of trouble putting up an orange umbrella at Jones Beach, circa 1936. The second was a girl aboard a Caribbean cruise ship in 1939, who threw her cigarette lighter at a porpoise. And the third was the Chief's girl, Mary Hudson."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"She was a yellow bird and I was a red and blue and green fish. The birds explained to me that only I could save her because we were both humans, except we were also fish and birds. Every day when we were hungry we went to the store, and there was a bear who was the bodyguard. But we were too sneaky for him, and we would sneak past and buy a Hershey bar and a Skittles. And The Special DE Light Force (pandas who had armor on them and didn't like birds or fish) were trying to get her, but she wasn't captured because I had a watch and I turned into Hellboy and saved her. When they were destroyed we were going to another city. There were fish and birds who were going to help us, but there was a shark who didn't want us riding on him, and the fish and the birds were all over him. And then the shark didn't care and decided everyone could ride on him.” -Sharky</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvSjEyeXptn1JRkdQr1Wi85iqpvrWQbXhDW2IGHPitzADohgdKe3hu5K1GnHZBWqcrWICbaeCCuQ4pdZbRc_Qa3P20k6ITX0mwweNkSqFwletPUD-YWdw4MN_xzDTk5ONGyHRRvWe-i0/s1600/invite+ferry+vortex+copy.png" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvSjEyeXptn1JRkdQr1Wi85iqpvrWQbXhDW2IGHPitzADohgdKe3hu5K1GnHZBWqcrWICbaeCCuQ4pdZbRc_Qa3P20k6ITX0mwweNkSqFwletPUD-YWdw4MN_xzDTk5ONGyHRRvWe-i0/s400/invite+ferry+vortex+copy.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716651670551531810" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></span></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-73342628225678283012012-03-05T00:07:00.001-08:002012-03-05T00:08:52.358-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu. Sidonie Rodman: Pretty Mouth And Green My Eyes<div><span>"I start thinking about--Christ, it's embarrassing--I start thinking about this goddam poem I sent her when we first started goin' around together. `Rose my color is, and white, Pretty mouth and green my eyes.' Christ, it's embarrassing--it used to remind me of her. She doesn't have green eyes--she has eyes like goddam sea shells, for Chrissake--but it reminded me anyway ... I don't know. What's the use of talking? I'm losing my mind. Hang up on me, why don't you? I mean it."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>The gray-haired man cleared his throat and said, "I have no intention of hanging up on you, Arthur."</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfi6330uZeEcxtoSEblGnZyVxZphjhFUNrMX0GB9Kda9WKIHBkliuRRMXzDPB9Vfwlwt_M6oUFywfV-vpNssFWLbA1TbhwS7ndhAfjYEA0Dk7s9VqTL6nhGbxd9HTHegGv1VHTLQtPXT4/s1600/Wolfe_NineStories_labeled.jpg" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfi6330uZeEcxtoSEblGnZyVxZphjhFUNrMX0GB9Kda9WKIHBkliuRRMXzDPB9Vfwlwt_M6oUFywfV-vpNssFWLbA1TbhwS7ndhAfjYEA0Dk7s9VqTL6nhGbxd9HTHegGv1VHTLQtPXT4/s400/Wolfe_NineStories_labeled.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716135788036692994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 319px; " /></a></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073">http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>SIDONIE RODMAN</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>Sidonie Rodman is the only Sidonie I've ever met, but there are others out there. If you look the name up, you'll find all sorts of gifted artist-type ladies, such as Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, noted French author of <i>Gigi </i>and many other works, Sidonie Villere, accomplished painter and sculptor, Spanish rock group Sidonie, and Portland-based fine artist Sidonie Caron.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I'm a little jealous. Look up the name Ted and you'll probably just find serial killers, alcoholic dead senators, and washed up sitcom stars.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Sidonie belongs in that group of gifted artist-type ladies. There is definitely an artistry to her drinks, which in my experience lean towards the simple, elegant, and refined. She has an impeccable knack for taking familiar ingredients and formulas and twisting them slightly yet definitively, creating something new that feels, looks, and tastes like a timeless classic.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>That's the arts and crafts portion of the bartending profession, as for the hospitality portion, Sidonie's a notably warm, engaging person with a vibrant personality both behind and away from the bar. She is brimming with passion for what she does, and can get really worked up when talking about it. It's inspiring to witness.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>So naturally, being a twisted degenerate, I assigned Sidonie the story in the book that dwells on people who seem to be victims of their own passions. Adultery, heartache, betrayal abounds. But perhaps it's more the dispassion with which these characters have pursued their passions that has lead them astray. Sidonie would never do that.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>When I first met Sidonie she was working at <a href="http://mistral-kitchen.com/">Mistral Kitchen</a>. From there she moved on to The Four Seasons. I tried to go visit her there but there was no way security was letting a reprobate like me into a swank joint like that. She then had a stint at <a href="http://golden-beetle.com/home">Golden Beetle</a>, bounced around a bit, and now finds herself splitting time between Belltown's <a href="http://www.rabbitholeseattle.com/">Rabbit Hole</a> and <a href="http://www.sextonseattle.com/">The Sexton</a> in Ballard.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Sidonie created just the sort of drink I imagined she would: a spiritous, brown, simple drink that makes sense as soon as its recipe is read, and does exactly what it should once it's in your hand. I don't normally geek out too much about the drinks themselves (which is another way of saying I don't have much of value to say about them), but I will say that this drink discovers some sort of very special relationship between Peychaud's bitters and grapefruit peel.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><u>PRETTY MOUTH AND GREEN MY EYES</u></span></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; ">2 ounces rye (originally created with Rittenhouse 100 but works with Bulleit as well)</span></div><div><div><span>¾ ounce Cynar</span></div><div><span>¼ ounce maraschino liqueur</span></div><div><span>3 dashes Peychaud's bitters</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Stir all ingredients in a mixing glass over ice.</span></div><div><span>Strain into a cocktail glass.</span></div><div><span>Garnish with grapefruit twist.</span></div></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><b>SO WHAT'S THIS STORY ALL ABOUT ANYWAY?</b></span></div><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span>Originally published in the New Yorker in 1951, Pretty Mouth And Green My Eyes is the only story in the collection that involves only adults. In a related note, it is possibly the most unrelentingly grim and dark story in the collection. In Salinger's writing, the adults are mostly hurt, twisted, and spiritually lost. It's only the children that convey any ray of humanity to the scenario.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>The story is basically a phone conversation. A gray-haired man and a woman are in bed together late at night at the home of the man. The phone rings, he answers it, and it is a younger colleague from his work. They were both at a work party earlier in the night, along with the younger man's wife. Now he's home and he doesn't know where his wife is. It's the last straw he says, she's done this too many times before.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>As the conversation continues it becomes harder to deny that the younger man's wife is the woman in bed with the gray-haired man. As this unsettling notion becomes evident, the dialogue between the two men - with the silent observations and subtle movements of the woman - becomes a striking and depressing deconstruction of the politics of masculinity, the calculated and measured way in which we communicate, and the common failure to find genuine compassion and empathy for the people in our lives.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Who else could use a drink? Sidonie has created one that captures that sense of longing and desire that has lead these three people astray, but that twists it into something beautiful and optimistic. No, I'm not kidding. And she's confirmed to be joining us on March 11, and she's bringing her bar tools. </span><span style="font-family: georgia; ">Rose my color is, and white, Pretty mouth and green my eyes. Soon, you'll know in your heart what this means.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; "><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline">tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-13316862507273148322012-03-03T18:58:00.001-08:002012-03-03T19:01:12.736-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky Menu - Bryn Lumsden: A Perfect Day For Bananafish<div><span style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">"That's a fine looking bathing suit you have on. If there's one thing I like, it's a blue bathing suit."</span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Sybil stared at him, then looked down at her protruding stomach. "This is a <i>yellow</i>," she said. "This is a <i>yellow</i>."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">"It is? Come a little closer."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Sybil took a step forward.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">"You're absolutely right. What a fool I am."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggbt5pleNiV2lHNSvkDgMr_YaQfxiq_QMGzO-CiMoSSvQKD3SvHXcJs-siptqHSMu2iiZDnePNiradLBZMavkrRB_AIcL1GMNzM2WDy4UwUIFSFz2PYnzbCDbDWjTJwhPax1MjbpRmims/s1600/apdfb.jpg" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggbt5pleNiV2lHNSvkDgMr_YaQfxiq_QMGzO-CiMoSSvQKD3SvHXcJs-siptqHSMu2iiZDnePNiradLBZMavkrRB_AIcL1GMNzM2WDy4UwUIFSFz2PYnzbCDbDWjTJwhPax1MjbpRmims/s400/apdfb.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715738455042258914" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i>Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories is Sunday, March 11, 5-10pm, at Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe, 419 Fairview Ave N, Seattle. Tickets are $25 (includes 3 cocktails) and should be pre-purchased here: <a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); ">http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/229073</a></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><b>BRYN LUMSDEN</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><a href="http://www.seattlemet.com/blogs/sauced/five-questions-for-the-bartender-bryn-lumsden-april-2011/" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); ">Bryn Lumsden</a>, bar manager at <a href="http://robroyseattle.com/" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); ">Rob Roy</a> in Seattle, was the first person to sign up for Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories. In fact, the original idea was to simply have a soiree at Rob Roy some rainy Sunday afternoon with drinks created by Bryn, Anu Apte, and myself. Then myself started getting funny ideas coupled with delusions of grandeur. Next thing you know myself was throwing a Le Mixeur Sharky with nine stories and referring to myself in the myself person.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Bryn's been bartending in Seattle for about 10 years or so. He is the lone member of the Rob Roy crew to have worked there prior to Anu's purchase of the bar in 2009. So you might call Bryn the world'spreeminent curator of Rob Roy culture. You can find him there on Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. You'll most commonly find me there on Tuesdays, when Bryn's curating Rob Roy culture via his brainchild, Analog Tuesdays. Bryn mixes up fine cocktails while an assistant curator plays good old fashioned phonograph records and the occasional reel-to-reel tape. Patrons are invited to bring in their own records and tapes to be played, though it seems like hardly anyone does anymore. We need to change that.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">I think it's safe to say that over the past two years, no bartender in the world has made me as many drinks as Bryn has. This not an accident, but personal choice. Bryn always makes me something that's perfect for what I'm craving. Plus he always gets the recliner in just the right position for my ailing back.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Oh, and there are a lot of bartenders out there who act like they're rock stars, and who think they're rock stars, there's even some that party like rock stars. But <a href="http://www.myspace.com/brynlumsden" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); ">Bryn really is a rock star</a>. Aside from his ongoing solo career, he once was in a really famous band from Seattle. I'd say the name but we're all tired of hearing about it. Especially Bryn.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Aside from Bryn's fondness for the story, he took on Bananafish (not literally) because of an ongoing interest in creating a drink with banana in it. Here is what he came up with:</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><u>A PERFECT DAY FOR BANANAFISH</u></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">(home version)</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">1 1/2 ounce Zaya 12 year rum</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">1 ounce heavy cream</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">1/2 ounce cream sherry (Hartley & Gibson will suffice)</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">1/4 to 1/2 ounce rich demerara syrup (to taste)</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">ripe banana</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">In a tin, muddle six thinly sliced pieces of banana with the demerara syrup.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Add the rest of the ingredients and shake with ice.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Double strain into a snifter.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Add crushed ice and a straw.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Rich demerara syrup is 2 parts demerara sugar dissolved in 1 part water.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">For Le Mixeur Sharky, we're going with Bryn's alternate instructions for mass production. For this method, combine 6 ounces Zaya, 4 ounces heavy cream, 2 ounces cream sherry, 1-2 ounces demerara syrup, and a whole banana into a blender with ice. Blend! Pour into double old-fashioned glasses. That's right: banana rum milk shakes. Straw 'em up!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><b>SO WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH THIS STORY ANYWAY?</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Perfect Day For Bananafish was originally published in The New Yorker Magazine in January of 1948. It was anthologized first in “55 Short Stories from The New Yorker, 1940-1950." Vladimir Nabokov famously graded all 55 of the stories. He gave an A+ to only two two stories in the entire anthology. One was A Perfect Day For Bananafish by JD Salinger, the other was Collette by... Vladimir Nabokov.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">The story tells us about a young woman named Muriel in a beachfront resort hotel room, talking on the phone with her mother, mostly about Seymour Glass, Muriel's significant other. We learn from their conversation that Seymour's behavior has been erratic for some time. He is unstable since returning from the war. He's openly contemptuous of the world view their wealthy family ascribes to, has no patience for the petty facade of their culture. Muriel defends Seymour and plays down his troubling behavior. Her mother is far less forgiving.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">The scene changes to the beach itself, where Seymour is wrapped tightly in a robe sitting on a chair near the water. A young girl named Sybil, who knows Seymour already, approaches him and they chat. He compliments her on her blue bathing suit and she points out to him that it is yellow. He then assists her in going out into the water on her raft, and tells her to look for Bananafish. It is, after all, a perfect day for Bananafish...</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><div>"They lead a very tragic life," he said. "You know what they do, Sybil?"</div><div><br /></div><div>She shook her head.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, they swim into a hole where there's a lot of bananas. They're very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I've known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas." He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon. "Naturally, after that they're so fat they can't get out of the hole again. Can't fit through the door."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Not too far out," Sybil said. "What happens to them?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"What happens to who?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"The bananafish."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, you mean after they eat so many bananas they can't get out of the banana hole?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes," said Sybil.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil. They die."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why?" asked Sybil.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, they get banana fever. It's a terrible disease."</div></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Why does Seymour think Sybil's yellow bathing suit is blue? For some insight, look to the Salinger novella entitled "Raise High The Roofbeam, Carpenters," in which Buddy Glass tells a story about his brother, Seymour Glass. He says that when Seymour was a child and their little sister Franny (later the title character in Salinger's novella "Franny") was 10 months old, Seymour read her a Taoist story to calm her when she became fussy.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">The story was about a royal man named Duke Mu, who was accompanied by an enlightened man named Po Lo. Duke Mu asks Po Lo to send him a man who could pick him out a superior horse. Po Lo picks a man to do this, and the man selects a horse. When the Duke asks the man about the color and sex of the horse, the man tells him it is a brown mare. But when the horse arrives, it is a black stallion. The Duke is upset that the man is no ignorant that he doesn't even know how to measure the color and sex of a horse. But Po Lo is very happy, and says that the man is able to see the "spiritual mechanism" of the horse. "In making sure of the essential, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses sight of the external."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Blue is frequently used in Salinger's writing as a symbol of innocence. In Bananafish, Seymour Glass is wearing a blue bathing suit. When he looks at Sybil, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses sight of the external.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><b>A RED MONKEY WITH A BLUE HEART</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i>from <a href="http://florriemunat.com/" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); ">Be Brave: A Wife's Journey Through Caregiving, by Florrie Munat</a> (Sharky's grandmother), a not-yet-released memoir.</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i><br /></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">This portion of the story begins with a description of one Christmas day years ago, when the elevator to my mother's 2nd story apartment was broken, and so we had to assist my ailing father in getting out of his wheelchair and up the stairs. Sharky, then three, provided some unexpected assistance...</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><div>I pushed Chuck’s wheelchair into the stairwell, and Ted and I assumed our positions on either side of him. Sharky scampered around the three of us and up the stairs to the first landing where he turned and peered down at us. On the count of three, Ted and I hoisted Chuck out of his seat, and he gamely began to mount the stairs. As Ted and I gripped his arms tightly, our concentration was intense – one slip of the foot could result in a disastrous fall for all three of us. As I pulled on Chuck’s arm and shoved my thigh into his butt in an attempt to propel his body up to the next step, I wondered about the wisdom of our decision.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then we heard a small voice coming from the landing. “You can do it! You can do it! C’mon, Papa, you can do it!” Glancing up, I saw Sharky’s animated face and his arms raised over his head, fists balled like a cheerleader. Then he lowered his arms, and with palms out, he cautioned, “Slow down, slow down. Take it easy.” With his arms over his head again, he resumed the “You can do it!” chant.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the time we reached the first landing, Ted and I were hard-pressed to remain upright – not only because of Chuck’s weight that we were balancing between us – but also because we were giddy and giggling over Sharky’s words. The little guy scooted up the second set of stairs and resumed his exhortations to Papa from the top landing. When at last Chuck had ascended the last step, he did indeed fall into the awaiting plastic chair, weary with effort. Sharky, jumping with glee, patted Chuck’s arm and then to our complete amazement, he put his arms around Chuck’s shoulders and hugged him. Kissing Chuck’s reddened cheek, Sharky said, “Good job, buddy. You did it! Good job, Papa!”</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>I like to think that was a turning point in Sharky’s life. Certainly it was a moment of greater connection with another human being than I had seen in our grandson in many months. There would be, and there continue to be, hurdles in his development. But with the attention of a cadre of devoted teachers and therapists, not to mention his parents, Sharky is now, at age nine, one of the happiest, most well-adjusted and sensitive children in his third-grade classroom. He hugs us, calls us by name, does chores and homework, sleeps well, makes jokes, chats with strangers, loves superheroes and YouTube, and is amazingly empathetic. We could not have imagined such a scenario a few years ago.</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Three and half years after his Christmas Climb, Chuck entered Hospice about ten days before my birthday. Ted asked then six-year-old Sharky what he thought I would like for a present. Without hesitation Sharky replied, “A red monkey with a blue heart.” Father and son drove to a local toy store where, amazingly, they found a stuffed monkey of that description. At least it was a mostly red monkey with a blue tail, a blue-striped leg, blue hands, and a cream-colored face with a kind smile. I told a friend, “They found me a red monkey! Isn’t that amazing? It doesn’t have a blue heart, but that’s okay.” And my friend, who has been a special education teacher for many years, replied, “How do you know? The heart is on the inside. Sharky knows the monkey’s heart is blue.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course he knew the monkey’s heart was blue because he knew mine was. Sharky told me the monkey’s name is George Abberson. George Abberson now lives among the red pillows on my bed.</div></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0TNtB7QbX9zydS_dZO-iz1X3bWWFsRj2UbJw0U0KMsOuHyM2qTWNZt9wGP29L59NMvoKUqft7cb0fFLSPUjENk1CbZbl2yA9vRdtB9X0U5cV0YmVQMkJ65vKOFK-a0kR_dx0AnwNeAM/s1600/sharky+george+and+violet+rose.JPG" style="color: rgb(149, 104, 57); font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0TNtB7QbX9zydS_dZO-iz1X3bWWFsRj2UbJw0U0KMsOuHyM2qTWNZt9wGP29L59NMvoKUqft7cb0fFLSPUjENk1CbZbl2yA9vRdtB9X0U5cV0YmVQMkJ65vKOFK-a0kR_dx0AnwNeAM/s400/sharky+george+and+violet+rose.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715773252264316930" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center; ">Sharky George & Violet Rose</div></div></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-48535295124160833262012-01-24T22:25:00.000-08:002012-01-24T22:27:57.682-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories. Numéro Un D'image<div style="text-align: center;"><span ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Well, what do you know. A Le Mixeur Post with almost no words. Just an image. One of many to come. They say a picture's worth a thousand words. The actual number of words a picture is worth actually varies depending on the country and the current exchange rates, and given the troubled US economy these days, you'd have to think that...</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Shhhhh. No more words. Images only please. Everything is getting very hush.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i>(editor's note: more words to come soon.)</i></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i><br /></i></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i><br /></i></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1Z1IaUjkQK8ri2BgVuTY7VE_LNTulbzWz4VdxCbupM2P_i8SQKg9645ZD36pilpZDdtXgvyiQHO7b3Z0oBvxe1LdjJ81g5bUCZCVq4mN1gduWINB52PuwUXE7llqG2nHlemMuPKNeNk/s1600/invite+eagle+harbour+jpeg.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1Z1IaUjkQK8ri2BgVuTY7VE_LNTulbzWz4VdxCbupM2P_i8SQKg9645ZD36pilpZDdtXgvyiQHO7b3Z0oBvxe1LdjJ81g5bUCZCVq4mN1gduWINB52PuwUXE7llqG2nHlemMuPKNeNk/s400/invite+eagle+harbour+jpeg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701452371068221074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-65823679017605353822012-01-18T14:18:00.000-08:002012-01-18T14:19:01.526-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky - Your Date, Your Location, Your Drinksmiths<i><span>(This is one in a series of posts regarding <a href="http://lemixeur.blogspot.com/2011/12/le-mixeur-sharky-nine-stories.html">Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories</a>, an upcoming fundraising event to benefit my son <a href="http://stilllifewithshark.blogspot.com/">Sharky</a>, who is diagnosed with autism and is no longer receiving any state benefits or medical insurance coverage for speech, physical, or occupational therapies. The event will feature a menu of nine drinks, each created by a Seattle bartender especially for this event, and each based on one of <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/books/98/09/13/specials/salinger-stories01.html">J.D. Salinger's 'Nine Stories.'</a>)</span></i><div><br /></div><div>Dear ones, we have a date. You and we. A date. That date is, March 11th, 2012. This is the date we will hold Le Mixeur Sharky. What time? Ohhh, probably about 5 or 6. We'll let you know for sure soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dear ones, we have a place. You and we. A place. That place is, <a href="http://innerchaptersbooks.wordpress.com/">Inner Chapters Bookstore & Cafe</a>. Where's that? It's on 419 Fairview Ave. N, in the lovely South Lake Union neighborhood of Seattle. ICB&C offers just the appropriate blend of literary atmosphere, running water, and service areas to hold such an event as this. We are grateful to them for the use of the space and excited to collaborate.</div><div><br /></div><div>Many details are yet to be determined. But what has been determined is this: nine of Seattle's finest bartenders are currently working diligently (right kids? diligently? yeah? did you get my last email?) on original drink recipes for the menu, each based on one of Salinger's stories. In the coming weeks, I'll be profiling each of these bartenders and their current place of work, a la <a href="http://www.leftcoastlibations.com/">Left Coast Libations</a>. For the moment, here is a list, including their assigned story and place(s) of work.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i>A Perfect Day For Bananafish</i> – Bryn Lumsden: <a href="http://robroyseattle.com/">Rob Roy</a></div><div><i>Uncle Wiggily In Connecticut</i> – Marley Tomic Beard: <a href="http://www.sextonseattle.com/">The Sexton</a></div><div><i>Just Before The War With The Eskimos</i> – Kevin Langmack: <a href="http://www.kneehighstocking.com/">Knee High Stocking Co</a>, <a href="http://www.vesselseattle.com/">Vessel</a></div><div><i>The Laughing Man</i> – Nathan Weber: <a href="http://www.canonseattle.com/">Canon</a>, <a href="http://robroyseattle.com/">Rob Roy</a></div><div><i>Down At The Dinghy</i> – Evan Martin: <a href="http://babarseattle.com/">Ba Bar</a></div><div><i>For Esmé – With Love And Squalor</i> – Ben Perri: <a href="http://zigzagseattle.com/">Zig Zag Café</a></div><div><i>Pretty Mouth And Green My Eyes</i> – Sidonie Rodman: <a href="http://www.rabbitholeseattle.com/">Rabbit Hole</a></div><div><i>De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period</i> – Philip Thompson: <a href="http://www.thecoterieroom.com/">The Coterie Room</a></div><div><i>Teddy </i>– Anu Apte: <a href="http://robroyseattle.com/">Rob Roy</a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Those savvy among you might note that, with the exception of Anu Apte (my collaborator and instigator of this event, and the only person I could trust with the creation of my namesake cocktail), none of these bartenders were in Left Coast Libations. This was deliberate. It's part of an effort to continue to promote the work of more and more talented bartenders. And had J.D. Salinger compiled a book of eighteen stories, it still would have been too few to include all the worthy bartenders in our fair and currently snow-covered city of Seattle. Which is my way of apologizing to all the other amazing bartenders here who aren't on the list above.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the time between now and March 11th, I will in all likelihood make several clumsy attempts to explain why this event has to be, and why it has to be the way it will be, and what's been in my heart as I slapped together its concept and design. For today, I will do this by including the words of Eudora Welty, who reviewed 'Nine Stories' for the New York Times. In some slightly abstract and perhaps obtuse way, I feel that what she wrote expresses why Sharky and J.D. Salinger had to meet, how much this event means to me, and what gratitude I hold for the bartenders above, and to all those who eventually join us along the way.</div><div><br /></div><div>Without further adieu...</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/books/98/09/13/specials/salinger-stories01.html">Threads Of Innocence</a></div><div>April 5, 1953</div><div>by Eudora Welty</div><div><br /></div><div><div>J.D. Salinger's writing is original, first rate, serious and beautiful. Here are nine of his stories, and one further reason that they are so interesting, and so powerful seen all together, is that they are paradoxes.From the outside, they are often very funny: inside, they are about heartbreak, and convey it; they can do this because they are pure...</div><div><br /></div><div>The stories concern children a good deal of the time, but they are God's children. Mr. Salinger's work deals with innocence, and starts with innocence: from there it can penetrate a full range of relationships, follow the spirit's private adventure, inquire into grave problems gravely--into life and death and human vulnerability and into the occasional mystical experience where age does not, after a point, any longer apply...</div><div><br /></div><div>Death, war, the flaws in human relationships, the crazy inability to make plain to others what is most transparent and plain to ourselves and nearest our hearts; the lack or loss of a way to offer our passionate feeling belief, in their full generosity; the ruthless cruelty of conventional social judgements and behavior; the persistent longing--reaching sometimes to fantasy-- to return to some state of purity and grace; these subjects lie somewhere near the core of J. D. Salinger's work.</div><div><br /></div><div>They all pertain to the lack of something in the world, and it might he said that what Mr. Salinger has written about so far is the absence of love. Owing to that absence comes the spoilation of innocence, or else the triumph in death of innocence over the outrage and corruption that lie in wait for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>What this reader loves about Mr. Salinger's stories is that they honor what is unique and precious in each person on earth. Their author has the courage--it is more like the earned right and privilege--to experiment at the risk of not being understood. Best of all, he has a loving heart.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExIrI3nq1q4WbJEZC1MVlZoYobtndgPlPIFQ2aKwFwvvQWJHzsxJcDaVuuhJvPsH5Epu4_Nkhpn77WGluMN45prZswSgcN7zTabOb3G4xnVWGZvmPw6A-JEk8SUpJn_TpFPwDeidB39M/s1600/P3121167.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExIrI3nq1q4WbJEZC1MVlZoYobtndgPlPIFQ2aKwFwvvQWJHzsxJcDaVuuhJvPsH5Epu4_Nkhpn77WGluMN45prZswSgcN7zTabOb3G4xnVWGZvmPw6A-JEk8SUpJn_TpFPwDeidB39M/s400/P3121167.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699097776001955778" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div><blockquote></blockquote></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-41088105224000208212011-12-20T17:01:00.000-08:002011-12-23T11:42:56.639-08:00Christmas: Then & Now<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WDjhTLpI_Dck4UK1UvIShnKA5Z2XVPb6D1DsBj60IqcapKUr-72ZLyqidKV5OmQOtpo7xddEUlvt6gAHJnOWIxZardKrOOTCzEMVrqTjgxTzJcBXf9_IeJx5W9IJbhehxsYoUlNH6w4/s1600/chuck_17.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 345px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WDjhTLpI_Dck4UK1UvIShnKA5Z2XVPb6D1DsBj60IqcapKUr-72ZLyqidKV5OmQOtpo7xddEUlvt6gAHJnOWIxZardKrOOTCzEMVrqTjgxTzJcBXf9_IeJx5W9IJbhehxsYoUlNH6w4/s400/chuck_17.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689213724142985026" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It turns out I think I might have a favorite Christmas. It was when I was a little bit younger than Sharky is right now. I think I was eight. It was the year my father lost his job.</div><div><br /></div><div>After about a decade of being a high school English teacher in Chicago, he'd been hired in 1969 by The Weekly Reader corporation in Middletown, CT to work for the magazine You & Your World, a publication for teenagers reading at a grade school level. He was extremely passionate for the work. </div><div><br /></div><div>A few years into his tenure there, the company was bought by Xerox. Xerox stood to reap the benefits of many generous federal tax credits and shelters by owning and operating such an altruistic endeavor as You & Your World. Their first creative contribution to the operation was to install an entire level of middle management drones to scrutinize and dominate the daily goings on of the office. Given my father's fiery temperament, and his long-established resentment of all forms of bureaucratic hypocrisy and corporate tyranny, the stage was clearly set for conflict. </div><div><br /></div><div>There were skirmishes over the years. There was the time when the company imposed a 15% increase on the price of the magazine, then braced for the possible fallout, in the form of cancelled subscriptions. When the cancellation rate was only 5%, thus ensuring the price hike would be profitable, there was much jubilation. An office party erupted. He refused to attend, instead staying in his office, working, and grieving over the fact that thousands of youth who benefited from his work no longer would, having been priced out of the market. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not a team player. Not a good company man. </div><div><br /></div><div>There were others. I can't remember them all now. But then there was the end saga. And for that, I'll include an excerpt from <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Florrie-Munat/221352237903836">my mother's</a> yet-to-be-but-we-hope-soon-to-be-published memoir of her life with my father, including her six years of caregiving for him before his death in 2009 at the hands of Lewy Body Dementia. </div><div><br /></div><div><div></div><blockquote><div>"In 1977 Chuck took a year’s social service leave from his writing job – with full pay and benefits – and worked at Long Lane, Connecticut’s only school for adjudicated youth. He established a school newspaper, 'The Nameless News,' so called because the teenagers could not legally be identified by their surnames. He worked to improve public relations with the Middletown community, whose citizens were often not happy about being the home of the state 'reform school.' Chuck counseled, taught, read his students’ thick files, and wept. “Long before they committed crimes,” he said, “crimes were committed against them.” He later said that this year was the best of his life. </div><div><br /></div><div>He had a hard adjustment returning to his editing job and mentioned this fact in an interview that appeared in the New York Times. The publishing company (then owned by Xerox Corporation) didn’t like his attitude, and at any rate he had never been a “company man.” He was guaranteed one year of post-social service leave employment, and when that year ended, he was fired. Management’s explanation for letting him go was that Chuck had used the racist expression, 'eeny, meeny, miney, mo,' in an article he had written about television ratings, and that was unacceptable. If the firing hadn’t devastated him so much, their reasoning would have been laughable."</div></blockquote><div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>It would have been laughable not only because it's laughable, but because while the people who fired him were earning their MBAs, climbing the corporate ladder, and getting their time in at country clubs over the previous 20 years, he'd been dedicating his life to black and Latino youth as a teacher in inner city schools and as the editor of You & Your World. He'd been marching on Washington with Martin Luther King and joining in civil rights demonstrations in Chicago. He'd been getting sprayed with tear gas by police at the 1968 democratic convention in Chicago because he wanted to help bring about justice and equality and an end to the war that was bringing about the deaths of millions, most of them people of color. </div><div><br /></div><div>But on the most hypocritical and absurd of pretenses, in 1979 my father, the sole bread winner of our household at the time, was out of work. His superiors told him to go home and wait by the phone while they decided his fate. They used those weeks to lobby upper management to support their decision, portraying their fabricated version of the events without giving him the opportunity to present his own. </div><div><br /></div><div>They fired him. Ten years of dedicated service. Two weeks severance pay (he then appealed to the CEO of Xerox to save his job, and was instead granted an extra month severance pay). Medical benefits terminated immediately. </div><div><br /></div><div>Naturally my parents did their best to shield me from the harsh realities of the situation. I had no clear conception at the time that I was an eight year old boy whose family had lost its source of income and its medical insurance. But we lived under the same roof. I sensed the stress and sadness. I felt his grief. </div><div><br /></div><div>That year, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, my parents let us kids know that there would be some pretty significant limitations on presents, given the new financial world we found ourselves living in. But on Christmas day, I found under the tree a bounty of gifts. When we went through our ever-so-polite Christmas tradition of going around in a circle and each opening one present at a time, we found that the vast majority of gifts were things he had built for us. I wish I could remember more of what they were. I believe the end tables that brace the sides of my mother's bed to this day were part of it. For my brother Ben he built some wooden crates to house his collection of vinyl LPs. </div><div><br /></div><div>And for me, a few wooden boxes custom designed to hold my collection of NFL trading cards. They even had little dividers and tabs to sort the cards by team, placed in alphabetical order (and in my mind's eye, envisioning these tabs, the team names were definitely written in my mother's handwriting, so I must point out that she too definitely had a hand in all these gifts). Last of all for my gift, somehow, magically and Santa-like, they had actually sorted all my football cards and placed them in proper order into the new boxes. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can assure you this is not a case of me, as a child, thinking a present was lame and then later as an adult deciding it was meaningful because of some context I couldn't appreciate at the time. I cherished those rectangular wooden structures. When I was 17 and my parents made the move to Washington, we sold them off at a tag sale. I was completely unsentimental about this at the time. Now, a pang exists, wishing I'd kept them. But no, no reason. Such a thing becomes a burden when you lug it around with you everywhere. In letting go of the object itself, it becomes more meaningful. </div><div><br /></div><div>So that was my favorite Christmas. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSdIjOfcTbBWmTX06-DQqTwuo0Dbk0GxHPJWuVix61HL32pB5T-5vxt7HQtLDjM_e77F6kZ7QQUXAr27VTWzlvZZ9okwuazrkH5WPxm3z-36VkpFeqnqfVfKNWe6CYmZzgl6Pj2UhHOA/s400/dad+and+baby+me.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It turns out I actually have a least favorite Christmas too. That would be the Christmas I took my son to Children's Hospital. But then again, maybe it's not my least favorite Christmas. Maybe it was better than all the many, many Christmases which none of us can even remember because they were so mundane they weren't even worth remembering. Maybe I'll just be grateful for something to remember.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like many children with autism, Sharky experienced an extreme fear of using the toilet. He was very late to be toilet trained. He refused to use the toilet. There were no issues with ability to comprehend when he needed to use the toilet, or with ability to control the "flow." In fact, it turned out to be quite the opposite. At age 5 Sharky was still in diapers. Every tactic had failed. And so his parents made an ill-fated decision to make this a battle of wills. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't ever have a battle of wills with a 5 year old child with Autism. You will lose. Everyone involved will lose. </div><div><br /></div><div>We decided he would no longer wear diapers. It was time for this to stop. If anything was going to come out of him, it was going in the toilet. His response to this was to concede peeing, which he began to do in the toilet. However, the other matter was out of the question. </div><div><br /></div><div>Estimates on how long this went on vary, and it's too bad we didn't keep a journal. Some say two months, others say two weeks. Looking back, my best guess is that it was approximately one month that he refused to allow himself a bowel movement. His mood deteriorated, his level of physical discomfort visibly increased. </div><div><br /></div><div>And it all came to a head on Christmas day of 2006. We were over on Bainbridge Island at my mother's place. My siblings and niece and significant others were present. My father was home from his nursing home. Sharky did not voice complaints about his pain. But he showed little to no energy. He laid down a lot. Eventually, I laid down with him in the guest bedroom and put on a movie. We both laid there in bed, motionless, staring blankly at a screen, registering no response to what we were watching. We just waited for what would happen next. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then Sharky, softly and without sound, wilted into a tiny ball. He crumpled up, unable to withstand the pain any more. His cheeks flushed. I got up and walked into the living room, where everyone else was gathered around the table eating Christmas dinner. I asked for their help in gathering our things and gifts together, because we needed to leave to go to Children's Hospital. Within minutes there were helpers carrying our things to the car while I carried Sharky, who was unable to walk. </div><div><br /></div><div>I called his mothers to let them know what was happening. Without even the slightest hint of shock or surprise, they said they would meet us there. On the ferry ride to Seattle, I informed the ferry crew that I had a sick child on his way to the hospital, and they made arrangements for us to get off the boat first. They also summoned some paramedics who happened to be on the boat to come talk to me. The paramedics, while sympathetic, told me there was nothing they could do for us there, we'd just have to go to the hospital. </div><div><br /></div><div>I carried Sharky up to the main deck of the ferry and found an out-of-the-way spot for us to sit. I sat in a chair with him draped across my lap in the fetal position. I recall being stricken by his lack of emotion. There was no crying, no whimpering, no fear, no pleas for help. He was as calm and placid as a little baby buddha. I saw this as resignation. It was as if he had accepted this as his fate. Life was a short and bitter battle in which you either release your innards into some horribly scary, vacuous hole, or you bottle it all up inside, crumple up in pain, explode, and die. So it goes. I feel like I have excellent insight into the mind of Sharky, and I am quite sure that on that night he had decided it was his time to die. And while he was not happy about it, he was accepting it. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the hospital, they took x-rays of his rectum. We learned that he had held in his poop for so long that the rectum was now dilated, impacted. Even if he changed his mind and decided he wanted to have a bowel movement, he couldn't at this point. The only solution was an enema. Me, his moms, and the doctor worked together to pin him face down to the hospital bed and shove a tube up his ass. The screams that emanated from him while we did this will haunt me until I die, and perhaps after that as well. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hate... hate, to even bring up terms like this. But it felt like a form or rape. We were violating him. Sure, maybe it was for his own good. But it was a violation nonetheless. And he let us know about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>And it didn't work. So after waiting an hour we did it again. And after waiting another hour we did it again. And after waiting another hour we did it again. And after waiting another hour they sent us home with instructions to do it again over the next few days. </div><div><br /></div><div>I took Sharky home that night around midnight after six hours at the hospital. We stopped at the Bartell Drugs, open 24/7/365, across the street from my apartment. I still wonder what the cashier thought as Sharky and I approached his register, looking beyond haggard, Sharky still wearing his hospital bracelet, and us purchasing a bottle of apple juice, a home enema kit, and a 1.5 liter bottle of cheap white wine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Over the next three days, I spent my lunch breaks from work driving over to the moms' place so me and one mom could pin him face down to the bed while the other mom squirted oil up a tube into his rectum. The screams never diminished. Good for him. He had all the right in the world to protest. </div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually the dam broke. A couple of months later, he had massive dental surgery to repair all the abscesses and cavities he'd developed out of a terror over brushing his teeth. Ever try to forcibly brush another person's teeth? It doesn't work. You can try for three hours locked in a bathroom. It just doesn't work. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oddly enough, once the concrete block was removed from his rectum and the bleeding abscesses were removed from his mouth, everything changed. A couple of weeks after the enema onslaught, Sharky's moms, Paul Nyhan of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (working on an article about us), and a counselor from Seattle Children's Home were all gathered at my apartment. We were laying out a behavioral support plan to deal with Sharky's explosive temper tantrums and aggressive behavior. In the middle of the meeting... I'm just going to put this bluntly... Sharky walked over to his potty chair and took a big old shit. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was kind of nice that in addition to the cheers of me and his moms, we also had the excitement of a behavioral specialist and a member of the press on hand to voice their approval. </div><div><br /></div><div>And so the boy who got kicked out of preschool because he was beating on other kids became the boy the teachers say is one of their best behaved, the sweetheart, the "angel," the "doll." Funny how we can change when we're not in excruciating pain. </div><div><br /></div><div>He's now the sweetest kid ever, but the developmental delays are still there. But these "delays" have their benefits as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the book, Pscyhotherapy East And West, author Swami Ajaya breaks down various paradigms of consciousness. He explains that at birth, we all see the world through the monistic paradigm, in which everything is one. As we are raised, we are taught about opposites, the difference between things. We learn about polarities. We learn about happy vs. unhappy, healthy vs. sick, loved vs. hated, smart vs. stupid, good vs. bad. From this teaching, we come to accept the reductionist paradigm, in which we break things down into separate components. Instead of perceiving things as being one, we sort them out into different, and usually opposing elements. When we perceive everything to be in opposition to one another, naturally conflict ensues. This way of thought is divisive by nature, and it's how most of us think. Through years of devotional meditation, some can escape this reductionist way of thinking, We might call them sages, or buddhas, or saints. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sharky and his "delays" may have provided him (and me) with a short cut. He is now 9, and shows no signs of having any intention of comprehending the reductionist way of life. He will approach me and say things like, "Hey dad, do you know what my favorite color is? Red, blue, green, and black." When people ask him silly questions like, "Who do you like better, superman or batman?" his response is always "superman and batman." </div><div><br /></div><div>This boy experienced an enormous range of happy and sad, pain and pleasure, love and hatred, good and bad by the age of 5. He experienced more of it than most of us experience in a lifetime, before he'd developed the whole reductionist way of thinking. Everything has remained one. </div><div><br /></div><div>Everything is one. Here's hoping that Sharky doesn't have to endure that awkward stage between newly born sage and old man on a mountain with a long beard sage. Let's just hope his life is straight up sage. It will be hard. There's a line of adults out there wanting to teach him the wrong way of thinking. Sometimes I'm even in that line. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPle0AAtX9ULN0BMRFkzLky2mOlzxSxQaaFh6zUIxqLCuoyEeW-eWgSt_vsPlYGR6El3KhqC49llsY0ib-Br8alEH5abdpo3W0g6w8VuYa8l3_s2LBbcIVSrdc6fHUMhzNDMgmsrfSucI/s400/P1000242.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings us to his current state of Christmas. Sharky will indeed, when pressed, tell me what presents he wants for Christmas. He's even figured out that this time of the year is a good time to hit adults up for things. But he's not really that enamored with the whole thing. He has a hard time understanding why this day should be any different from any other day. </div><div><br />And he has a hard time getting this whole Santa thing. Most parents have to deal with the issue of whether or not to lie to to their children and tell them there's such a thing as Santa, and then later how to tell them that they lied to them about Santa. The whole issue never came up with Sharky. Does Santa exist? Of course he exists. People talk about him all the time. They depict him in movies and books and commercials all the time. We think about him. All of that's a form of existence. Sharky has never demanded to know whether or not Santa is "real." Everything is real. </div><div><br /></div><div>But for most kids, there's some concrete form of existence - a fat guy in red and white jammies with a beard slides down my chimney and leaves me presents and eats the cookies and milk I left him... therefore he exists. When it turns out that very specific story isn't true, that means he doesn't exist anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>Existence vs. non-existence. The dualistic paradigm. </div><div><br /></div><div>In Sharky's world, Santa exists. Sharky's happiness and perception of reality in no way hinges upon him. Santa's a beautiful person and a wonderful story living amongst an entire universe of unlimited beauty, which occasionally dispenses a gift into our laps. No need for any arguments. It's all so simple. Why all the hub-ub? </div><div><br /></div><div>Everything that exists is one: The monisitc paradigm. </div><div><br /></div><div>Merry Christmas everyone.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZa1LDG4uN1qD_svGY27ZHkS138xDou7Ei2NTx1Wvn7J1mUqdWDIWEMtZKwMmW1K2LqQI4nRtkeegtXXOT9c-sr_umRTtCPqFb_Te86nTDX_a7wiM-49jQAsdzmXdAr5CPsQBILlxRN0/s400/P1000246.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div></div><blockquote><div><blockquote></blockquote><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div></blockquote><div></div></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-81715573735023230162011-12-19T20:31:00.000-08:002011-12-19T20:35:43.740-08:00Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwkCb5pCXg0EiYIJ7WmS1QehKjyTzvdSJy_D3Riaf6KFf2wXmrNQAdsFQNPHprJyly_c5_Dyh5s7hk-l8JaBcSiJyhL0TxmSazHLSMbf-msFKdMlpeKtExHZlSYnk1QogtWtVKr_mSps/s1600/sharky32.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i>(note: this post was written for the blog Le Mixeur, and re-posted here). </i></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i><br /></i></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><i><br /></i></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">It's been over two years since we held a <a href="http://lemixeur.blogspot.com/">Le Mixeur</a>. And it's been almost that long since I wrote a blog post. That is not a coincidence. <a href="http://lemixeur.blogspot.com/">This blog </a>was created for the purpose of disseminating information about Le Mixeurs, and continued to be driven by Le Mixeurs over the years. Once the Le Mixeurs dried up, so did the blog.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Time for the comeback.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">As many of you may know, my life revolves not around booze or Mixeurs, but around a nine year old boy named Sharky who I am lucky enough to consider my son. As some of you may know, Sharky was diagnosed with Autism about five years ago. And as far fewer of you may know, last August Sharky's insurance company declared that he was no longer eligible for speech therapy coverage. This came on the heels of his insurance company declaring the previous year that he was no longer eligible for physical or occupational therapy. That came on the heels of the state department of social and health services also saying he was not eligible for coverage of speech or physical or occupational therapy. That came on the heels of him never being eligible to receive applied behavioral therapy, or sensory integration therapy, or anything that might actually help him.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Of course, all of that's no big deal. Me and his two mothers raised him without their help. And now he's nine and in my opinion the best person this world ever produced. He's the most amazing person I have ever met. This world, which hasn't offered him much except all the good people in his life, is beyond fortunate for his existence. Every day he is here, he makes the world a better place.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">But he does need help. We need help. We need your help. He has the most beautiful way of expressing himself, and many of you have witnessed this through my ad nauseum posts on facebook quoting him. But learning how to express himself more clearly through speech therapy will not only increase his chances of surviving in society as an adult, but will also make him happier in his relationships with the people he meets in life. He won't always need his dad to interpret what he says.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">So we're going to throw a Le Mixeur Sharky to raise money to pay for those damn pesky $150/hour speech therapy sessions. And we're going to base this Le Mixeur on the works of J.D. Salinger, who wrote so beautifully on the dreams, ambitions, and qualities of children. He wrote so beautifully, and was appreciated so widely, that it's hard to believe we have still managed to conjure up a world in which the help children need is denied, and in which a child dies of starvation somewhere in the world every three seconds. I think of that fact often, and it never fails to remind me of how unbelievably fortunate I am.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories, will feature a menu of nine drinks, each based on one of Salinger's stories from the collection Nine Stories. Each of these drinks will be original creations by some of my favorite Seattle bartenders. Each of these bartenders will be assigned a story. They have the options of a) basing their drink strictly on the title b) basing their drink on the summary and notes I provide them, or c) reading the story and basing the drink on that.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">We will hold Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories sometime in March. Details and specific date are yet to be determined. I will be putting up blog posts on each drink for the menu as they come in, with descriptions of the drink, the story, and the bartender.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">I will be posting the updates on Le Mixeur Sharky: Nine Stories, here and on the blog I once kept about Sharky. It was a blog that briefly garnered a following and, on one occasion with the assistance of my brother Ben, got over 10,000 hits in one day for <a href="http://stilllifewithshark.blogspot.com/2008/10/feeling-savage-and-leary.html" style="color: rgb(71, 54, 36); ">this post.</a></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">I'd like to officially commence this journey by thanking all of you who have been supportive of Sharky and I over the years, no matter the level. The next few months are going to be emotional and meaningful to me because of this project.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); ">OK. Let's do this.</div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><br /></div><div style="background-color: rgb(255, 243, 219); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwkCb5pCXg0EiYIJ7WmS1QehKjyTzvdSJy_D3Riaf6KFf2wXmrNQAdsFQNPHprJyly_c5_Dyh5s7hk-l8JaBcSiJyhL0TxmSazHLSMbf-msFKdMlpeKtExHZlSYnk1QogtWtVKr_mSps/s1600/sharky32.JPG" style="color: rgb(41, 48, 59); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwkCb5pCXg0EiYIJ7WmS1QehKjyTzvdSJy_D3Riaf6KFf2wXmrNQAdsFQNPHprJyly_c5_Dyh5s7hk-l8JaBcSiJyhL0TxmSazHLSMbf-msFKdMlpeKtExHZlSYnk1QogtWtVKr_mSps/s400/sharky32.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688064343394841362" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></a><br /></div>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-74249224424783670932008-12-26T10:10:00.000-08:002008-12-26T10:43:32.042-08:00A Loose End Before The New YearA while back, I received a note via the comments section of this blog, from a parent in Seattle with an autistic child, who expressed interest in being in touch. I'd love to be in touch, but you didn't leave me any means to get a hold of you! If this parent, or anyone else, would like to communicate with me away from the bright lights of the blog, please feel free to email me at slwshark at gmail dot com.<br /><br /><br />Sharky and I just spent a fun. cozy week snowed in together at my house. All rules and structure eroded to nothing by the 4th day. Bed time got later and later until it became virtually an optional occurrence, precious little homework was done, grooming and hygiene routines became spotty to say the least, and I began joking with friends that we were well on our way to recreating Lord of the Flies. Finally, on the 7th day, we strapped into my car, took some deep breaths, and skirted across town on the unplowed roads of Seattle in order to reunite him with his mothers, who would soon be taking him to the airport for a holiday trip to Disneyland.<br /><br />I just got word that Sharky has arrived safely in Los Angeles, a mere sixteen hours after his plane left Seattle. Apparently they were scheduled to land in Salt Lake City for a short layover before proceeding to LA. But Salt Lake was snowed in, and the plane was re-routed to Boise. After several hours sitting on the plane in Boise, they got word Salt Lake City was back in business, but oops, they can't find the fuel truck and they need to gas up. They eventually found the fuel truck, but oops, now the plane has a broken part...a part that had been broken since they left Seattle! Lovely. Eventually they flew to Salt Lake City, where they spent the night on the floor of the airport, before finally getting a connecting flight to LA.<br /><br />This is undoubtedly a cheap shot, but I can't help but wonder if Delta Airlines is managed by the Seattle public school district.<br /><br />Oh yeah, that <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>a cheap shot. It felt pretty cheap.<br /><br />At any rate, Sharky apparently was very successful in entertaining the other children stranded on the plane, and slept comfortably on the floor of the Salt Lake City airport. And now is prepared for his first pilgrimage to Disneyland. Quite an eventful first ever airplane trip.<br /><br />Airplane odysseys and adventures to Disneyland: more things we never would have dared even try a couple of years ago. Now, as my mother wrote me in an email last night: "Sharky will probably do better than anyone else in that he has few expectations and can make the best of what is happening. A lesson for all of us."<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Muqw9aXKD8Y7ok7nAY1G7v5sdsMloqAPFdtRgvWkGLT_0ep21m_e69PsCjbiakb2mILwLkgr5Dy9pE9C_A5gNUQvQ0G01ykVIYQV6LkattFqHi2AXqoeBQ8RwvnXc1ZQohHhjZSflpA/s1600-h/P1000038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Muqw9aXKD8Y7ok7nAY1G7v5sdsMloqAPFdtRgvWkGLT_0ep21m_e69PsCjbiakb2mILwLkgr5Dy9pE9C_A5gNUQvQ0G01ykVIYQV6LkattFqHi2AXqoeBQ8RwvnXc1ZQohHhjZSflpA/s400/P1000038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284170390044099410" border="0" /></a>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-15798599251669961552008-12-20T09:24:00.000-08:002008-12-20T14:39:00.105-08:00Good ThingsThe past months have been good for us. With Sharky's placement at Bagley secure (and I do promise to one day complete the telling of that tale), we've had no need to deal with the school district. Whereas in the past they always insisted on having a district representative present at our IEP meetings, our last one in November was just parents, teachers, principal, and therapists. No one ever even mentioned asking the district to be there.
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<br />Dealings with Sharky's classroom staff have always been positive. They have all, in our case, had Sharky's best interest at heart, and all have worked within the limitations of the system to provide everything they can. There often seems to be an unspoken understanding amongst us all that the district is insane, and we are sharing in our toil under their reign. And many of them clearly have been rooting for us in our battles with the district, believing change will only come from the actions of the parents, not from the faculty.
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<br />Also, as the child of public school teachers, and as a former special education paraeducator myself, I hold a deep affinity and empathy for those who choose this path. It is hard, hard work, with mounds of expectations placed upon you by multiple parties - expectations which are invariably conflicting with one another, and impossible to meet with the resources provided. When my father advocated for his students, he automatically found himself in direct conflict with the administration. Teachers who cow to the administration run the risk of becoming disconnected from their students, and drawing the ire of the parents.
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<br />And it's no secret teachers and paraeducators are not adequately compensated, when considering both the workload and the importance of the positions. Sharky is currently in a Montessori program, which we worked very hard to get him into. In the 1960s, my father was president of the Illinois Montessori Association, and sent my two oldest siblings to a Montessori elementary. Of course, his teacher's salary was not enough to pay the tuition of one child, let alone two. So he took a job as a janitor at the Montessori school, which merited him free tuition for his children. And so a veteran high school English teacher and President of the state Montessori Association spent his evenings cleaning toilets and mopping floors of the Montessori school.
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<br />When I worked as a paraeducator from 2002-2004, my hourly wage was $12.07/hour. Not too bad a rate for Olympia, WA, until you consider it was a contract for six hours per day, 189 days per year. That comes to an annual salary of $13,687. despite the fact that the school year only lasts nine months of the year, the salary is prorated over 12 months. This works out to $1140/month. The district makes no contribution towards health care premiums for dependent children, and Sharky was covered on my plan. After that premium, taxes, and union dues, my take home pay was $740/month. That's less than $9000/year.
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<br />The idea, I suppose, is that while collecting a paycheck in the summer, you still have time to work another full time job, doubling your pay and storing up cash to last the winter. However, what summer jobs are out there that really pay so much as to make this scenario a reality? I worked the summer of 2003 at an inpatient drug rehab clinic for adolescents. It paid $10/hour. I also worked fill-in shifts for an agency providing home support to adults with disabilities, and made $8.65/hour. When the school year started, I hadn't saved any money, and had to keep all three jobs. I'd get up at 6am, be at the school by 7:30, work until 2:30, drive to the rehab clinic, work there from 3:00 to 11:30. I'd get home at midnight, go to bed, wake up 5 or 6 hours later, then do it again.
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<br />On weekends, I'd wake up at 4am, drive 20 minutes to Sharky's mom's apartment, slip into her bed as she slipped out of it without waking Sharky. She'd go to work and I'd stay with Sharky until about noon when she'd get home from work. Then I'd drive home, try to nap for an hour, then go to work at the home care job. This lifestyle lasted a couple of months before my health fell apart, I came down with pneumonia, and quit all three jobs unceremoniously.
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<br />How school districts manage to fill these paraeducator positions remains a mystery to me.
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<br />But hold on, the title of this post is "good things," correct? Let's reset...
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<br />Sharky is thriving in his new school environment. He is in an inclusion program, spending the majority of the day with the general education kindergarten. His academic skills have skyrocketed and are "approaching standard" in most areas.
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<br />More importantly, he is gaining in confidence in being social with people of all shapes and sizes. He stops and chats with neighbors, approaches children at the playground and engages them in play. He greets and interacts with people's dogs, an animal he used to become panic-stricken at the sight of. Yesterday we went for a walk to the playground in the snow, and he spent half an hour with a young couple and their dogs, taking turns throwing squeeky toys to them. As we pull out of the school parking lot after school, Sharky often rolls his window down to call out to various friends. They invariably look up at the sound of his call, smile from ear to ear, wave enthusiastically, and say "see you later Sharky!"
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<br />At the midpoint of the the school semester, the teachers gave each student a "survey" and asked several questions about how the year was going for them. One of the questions asked what student you would like to get to know better. Apparently, the majority of the students in the class responded to this question with "Sharky."
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<br />Sharky had his first school music concert a couple of weeks ago. He took to the stage with considerable aplomb. I could see from watching his lips he was a pretty unsure of the words, but he definitely knew the tune. And not only that, he apparently had either worked out or improvised some intricate hand gestures and movements to the songs. Not a trace of fear at being up on stage under bright lights crept in. He did manage to immediately spot me among the crowd of hundreds, which made for lots of great photos...
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gqphXiS98hABpYT9ftXM-_STBeSS7x536GXfAcdgmojBji0pJulwtHRpxM1xyHcsgQUfTL7wojHiE3j9K2zB8_bc70e-kP6Q_1P_4FkW4ZcJxg63D_DcnZcvvQoN1TXaEls9FjJdquY/s1600-h/P1010858.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gqphXiS98hABpYT9ftXM-_STBeSS7x536GXfAcdgmojBji0pJulwtHRpxM1xyHcsgQUfTL7wojHiE3j9K2zB8_bc70e-kP6Q_1P_4FkW4ZcJxg63D_DcnZcvvQoN1TXaEls9FjJdquY/s400/P1010858.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281948527831864418" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtNldtj08FZpKASQNHJ4yKKpM5zMCLcxX0PZEPe79Ri2ZFikEgFKIfJIi3Asfjws0I70nmhKJCpz1HesLlrhpmTU0zLXSdrrjVB-xSrXK5RZseVZshyN7TGS7jh984dEn3Cjfaiqxn04/s1600-h/P1010859.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtNldtj08FZpKASQNHJ4yKKpM5zMCLcxX0PZEPe79Ri2ZFikEgFKIfJIi3Asfjws0I70nmhKJCpz1HesLlrhpmTU0zLXSdrrjVB-xSrXK5RZseVZshyN7TGS7jh984dEn3Cjfaiqxn04/s400/P1010859.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281949079610859314" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><meta equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 2.4 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> <p style="margin-bottom: 0.2in;">We just received Sharky's report card from the first semester, which included a narrative report in addition to the number grades. Some excerpts:
<br /></p><blockquote>
<br />"Sharky is a kind, confident, and cheerful member of the class. He is having a wonderful start to his kindergarten year in the Montessori environment. His kindness and love of learning is appreciated and recognized by both his classmates and teachers...Sharky has many friends and is always able to make his classmates smile. I really enjoy having Sharky in our class."</blockquote>
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<br />I suppose this sort of praise is music to any parent's ears, but I also believe it is made all the more rewarding given what Sharky has been through. He is described as confident - the boy who had to be pulled from day care after a month because he was spending the entire three hour sessions standing at the doorway, crying, waiting for one of us to arrive and take him home. He is cheerful - the boy whose emotional outbursts were so severe it brought on a call to the police from a neighbor, as was famously documented in the <a href="http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/361730_autism05.html">Seattle PI.</a> He is praised for kindness and love of learning - the boy who, when finding himself unable to follow what was going on during preschool circle time, would take to kicking the children around him for stimulation. He has many friends - a child who, like so many children with Autism, has mostly led a life of isolation, brought on by the lack of daycares, school programs, and social groups that could or would accommodate his behavior.
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<br />When he was two, he'd be playing happily, then suddenly pause, stare off into space, and then drop to the ground...screaming. Blood-curdling screams. Nothing seemed to help, and most attempts to help only seemed to inflame the hysteria. Eventually, something such as placing him in a stroller and going for a walk might bring a sudden end to the outburst, even though attempts to do the same thing moments earlier had been met with kicking and increased screaming.
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<br />When he was three, he would go to sleep at night, then wake up 2-3 hours later, screaming. The only thing that ever calmed him down was getting in the car and driving. We'd drive around for hours, between the hours of midnight and 4 in the morning. Then we'd go home, and as soon as we got out of the car the screams began again. This time, however, the attack would be slowly placated by a Winnie the Pooh movie, which we'd watch as the sun came up.
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<br />To have witnessed these attacks is to know that Sharky has been through a form of hell few of us have, or can even imagine. And out of this fire has emerged a child of such sweet disposition that he charms everyone he encounters almost immediately. And I believe people subconsciously pick up on the wisdom of experience he bears, despite being just six years old.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Some Christmas Recollections, Good and Bad</span>
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<br />In 2005, Sharky was three. We went to my mother's apartment for the occasion. She brought my father home from the nursing home to spend the day with us, only to find the elevator to her building was non-functioning due to a power outage caused by a storm. She only lived on the second floor, but given my father's confinement to a wheelchair, that flight of stairs seemed more than daunting. After some discussion, we decided my mother and I would try to assist him in walking the stairs.
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<br />We were worried that Sharky might get underfoot. or somehow distract my attention from the task of helping my father up the stairs. Yet when we started up the stairs, Sharky immediately recognized the seriousness of the situation, and perched himself a few steps up the stairwell. He looked directly into my father's face, gestured towards him, and said, "it's OK grandpa, you can do it, you can do it..." And as we started up the stairs, Sharky backed his way up ahead of us, maintaining a solid distance, still gesturing, "just slow down, slow down, easy, easy, you can do it, almost there grandpa, that's it, that's it."
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<br />When we reached the top, we placed my father into the plastic chair we'd moved to the stairwell, and scurried back down to fetch his wheelchair. As I was walking down, I turned and looked up the stairs just in time to see Sharky pat grandpa on the shoulder and say, "you did it buddy! Good job! Give me five! Yayyyy!' He then gave grandpa a hug. To this day, recalling this moment will bring tears to grandpa's eyes...every time.
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<br />In 2006, Sharky was four and in the throes of deep anxiety over toilet training. He was peeing in the toilet, but refused to poop. And when we stopped allowing him to wear diapers, figuring he'd then have no choice but to use the toilet, he dug in his heels and just didn't poop...ever...for a month.
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<br />It all came to a head on Christmas day. Sharky was fussy, angry, and having multiple outbursts. Then in the late afternoon he curled up into a ball and winced with pain in his abdomen. He wouldn't move. Christmas dinner was served, and the rest of the family ate while Sharky and I lay in bed.
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<br />When he started crying from the pain, it was obviously time to go to the hospital. I quickly packed our things, called the moms to tell them what was happening, and we left for the ferry from Bainbridge to Seattle. I told the ferry workers I had a sick child I was taking to the hospital, and they cleared things out for us to be the first off the boat. They also fetched an EMT who happened to be on the ferry, but he said there was nothing he could do here, we'd just have to wait until we got to the hospital. I found a seat on the ferry and Sharky laid silently, in the fetal position, in my lap the whole way over. He didn't look upset, or scared. He seemed merely resigned to his fate.
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<br />We had a very quiet, traffic-free drive from the ferry terminal to Children's Hospital. Upon examination there, we were informed that he had withheld his stool to such an extent that the rectum was severely dilated. This had caused impaction to the point that even if he wanted to at this point, he wouldn't be able to have a bowel movement without the assistance of an enema.
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<br />We parents pinned Sharky to the table while the doctor inserted the tube into his rectum. There was incredible screaming, screaming like I've never heard. Screaming as if i might imagine when an exorcism is taking place. After the enema was done, we waited. Nothing happened. So after an hour, we did it again. An hour after that, still nothing, so repeat the process. Through it all was the screaming.
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<br />When still nothing occurred, they sent us home with some home enema kits and instructions on how to do it at home. I took Sharky home with me that night, and we stopped at a Bartell's Drug Store. I still wonder what we must have looked like to the employees and fellow shoppers there that night - 11pm on Christmas night, buying miralax and prune juice for Sharky and a bottle of cheap wine for me, both of us ravaged to our cores, Sharky still wearing his emergency room bracelet.
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<br />The next day Stormy and I held him down multiple times while Lillie inserted the tube and poured in the oil. Eventually, after several more rounds, the dam broke.
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<br />And now in 2008, we have happy school concerts and glowing report cards for the holidays. But through each of these experiences, the song for me has remained the same: no regrets, no wishes for things to be different than they are, just gratitude to have this child, this person, this soul in our lives.
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<br />I am so, so blessed. <p></p>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtBBsHW1QE7yQwv6emCpE3ykC58tnzOWx47eeMrN9ZHQ4LByi2GxCKTJWoF4NP8Fq_vK8wJ-rdxgLilyYsgQYhGoyrVZzRgb7eYP1khJVAMremWDkLjAww8QG03C2SGqT54qf3ZCG0-0/s1600-h/P1010852.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtBBsHW1QE7yQwv6emCpE3ykC58tnzOWx47eeMrN9ZHQ4LByi2GxCKTJWoF4NP8Fq_vK8wJ-rdxgLilyYsgQYhGoyrVZzRgb7eYP1khJVAMremWDkLjAww8QG03C2SGqT54qf3ZCG0-0/s400/P1010852.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282003290773685202" border="0" /></a>
<br />tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-14583695551592783642008-10-20T22:24:00.000-07:002008-10-21T15:09:52.370-07:00Follow up on Feeling....Thank you everyone for your comments, and apologies for not responding individually. This post generated a significantly larger response than I'm accustomed to, so I wasn't prepared to propel the dialog.<br /><br />There are themes that seem to keep coming up that I think need to be addressed. I'm referring to the comparison to ADD, ideas about medication, and insinuations of lazy parenting.<br /><br />The first step in treating a child with Autism is not to medicate them. Nor is it the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th. etc...Autism is not treated with medicine. There is no known "Autism drug." There is no Autism equivalent of Ritalin.<br /><br />My son has never taken any medications. No one has ever suggested that he take any medications. I would sooner spend a weekend with George W. Bush and Michael Savage than see my son put on medication.<br /><br />I have worked with dozens of people with Autism over the years. I have yet to meet one who was on any medication for the purpose of combating autism. Some are on medications to prevent seizures, as seizure disorder can sometimes accompany Autism. Some are on anti-depressants, because they seem to have fewer instances of aggression when taking these. Some might take meds to help them sleep, as Autism can sometimes cause a person to go without sleep for weeks, to where it becomes a serious health risk. None are on medications to make them "less autistic."<br /><br />Autism and medication simply do not go hand in hand in anyone's mind who has any first hand knowledge of Autism.<br /><br />Therefore, claims that people seek out Autism diagnoses out of lazy parenting are nothing if not tragically comical. Any parent who tries to get his or her child branded Autistic out of laziness has a unique and brutal form of comeuppance in store.<br /><br />Upon receiving a diagnosis of Autism, the parent is promptly assigned the task of getting their child into the system of their local Division of Developmental Disabilities, of working with the school system to make their child eligible for special education services, then negotiating an Individualized Educational Program (IEP) and locating a classroom suiting their child's needs. He or she can then move on to the process of researching all the fine print of their own insurance policy, and then the finer print of dozens of other insurance companies, searching to see if his or her child's therapy needs will be covered.<br /><br />Upon realizing that they won't, the parent can then begin researching and networking online with other parents as to where in the country or the world they might be able to move where there will be some governmental support for such therapies.<br /><br />Upon realizing that this place does not exist, the parent can then begin paying out of pocket for extensive therapies - speech, occupational, physical, behavioral, etc. This entails lots of research, phone calls, and visits. Once a therapist is found and wait lists are waited through, the parent is then free to drive their child to random places in the general vicinity of where they live, before or after school to go through the repetitive, often mundane rituals required to improve the cognitive functioning of a child with Autism.<br /><br />The lazy parent is then free to work second jobs in order to pay for all these therapies.<br /><br />The pie in the sky for parents of children with Autism is Applied Behavioral Analysis (ABA) therapy. This is the therapy that supposedly brings about the greatest advancement for people with Autism. This treatment does not involve medication, nor does it allow for laziness.<br /><br />The therapy is intensive, often 30 hours/week. It involves breaking down each task into minute steps. Through exhaustive repetition, combined with consistent encouragement and reward for each proper step the child performs, the child can eventually learn to do simple tasks. Simple tasks that previously had seemed impossible.<br /><br />And none of these therapies involve the therapist doing all the work while the lazy parent convalesces. The therapists merely employ strategies and offer an intensive refresher each time they see the child. These strategies are then placed into the lap of the parent and it is well expected that they work on them every waking moment. Therefore, over the course of a typical week, child, parent, and therapist all engage in an ongoing process requiring utmost patience and diligence.<br /><br />If you stare down a parent of a child with Autism and claim they are lazy, I would encourage you to then go to a zoo, stare down a giraffe, and accuse the giraffe of having no neck. Whether you genuinely believe the giraffe has no neck, or if you simply aim to antagonize the giraffe with your outrageous claims, I can guarantee you will get the same result: the giraffe will continue doing his or her work, pausing only momentarily to give you that inimitable, quizzical, giraffe look of puzzlement.<br /><br />I never want to cast aspersions or hurt feelings, but if you are someone who knows little to nothing about Autism, and your aim is to hurl insults, I urge you to remain silent on the subject. There is a time for speaking and a time for listening. If you fall into this camp, your time for the latter is approximately now.<br /><br />Thank you all again...tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-38629333997258527992008-10-16T09:51:00.000-07:002008-10-18T23:28:55.645-07:00Feeling Savage and Leary<meta equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 2.4 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This has been much written about in many spaces with far greater readership than this blog, but I feel compelled to take a break from my tales of school placements to share some comments that reveal the emergence of an inevitable Autism backlash.
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<br />Michael Savage is a UC Berkley Graduate and former herbalist, turned "Compassionate" Conservative talk show host. In 2003, he was fired from his show on MSNBC for the following rant after a caller insulted him, then identified himself as being gay:
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<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"Oh, you're one of the sodomites! You should only get AIDS and die, you pig! How's that? Why don't you see if you can sue me, you pig? You got nothing better than to put me down, you piece of garbage? You got nothing to do today? Go eat a sausage and choke on it. Get trichinosis. OK, got another nice caller here who's busy because he didn't have a nice night in the bathhouse and is angry at me today?"</span>
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<br />He later defended his actions by claiming he didn't realize he was on the air when he said it. Savage has waged a long-term (and still ongoing) assault on the gay and lesbian community, often referring to "the gay mafia," likening the legalization of same-sex marriage to making it legal to marry a horse or a mule, and comparing flamboyant homosexuality to the excesses of the Weimar Republic, which he claims gave rise to Hitler and the Nazis.
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<br />Despite having lost his show on MSNBC, Savage remains one of the most popular radio talk show hosts in the world. His show is broadcast on 350 stations, with 8.25 million listeners.
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<br />On his July 16th show, Savage took time out from the gay-bashing to unleash a sickening attack on some old standby targets of conservatives - minorities and the poor - and also upon two new targets: asthmatic children and children with autism.
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<br />From the July 16 edition of Talk Radio Network's The Savage Nation:
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<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">'Now, you want me to tell you my opinion on autism, since I'm not talking about autism? A fraud, a racket. For a long while, we were hearing that every minority child had asthma. Why did they sudden -- why was there an asthma epidemic amongst minority children? Because I'll tell you why: The children got extra welfare if they were disabled, and they got extra help in school. It was a money racket. Everyone went in and was told [fake cough], "When the nurse looks at you, you go [fake cough], 'I don't know, the dust got me.' " See, everyone had asthma from the minority community. That was number one.
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<br />Now, the illness du jour is autism. You know what autism is? I'll tell you what autism is. In 99 percent of the cases, it's a brat who hasn't been told to cut the act out. That's what autism is.
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<br />What do you mean they scream and they're silent? They don't have a father around to tell them, "Don't act like a moron. You'll get nowhere in life. Stop acting like a putz. Straighten up. Act like a man. Don't sit there crying and screaming, idiot."
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<br />Autism -- everybody has an illness. If I behaved like a fool, my father called me a fool. And he said to me, "Don't behave like a fool." The worst thing he said -- "Don't behave like a fool. Don't be anybody's dummy. Don't sound like an idiot. Don't act like a girl. Don't cry." That's what I was raised with. That's what you should raise your children with. Stop with the sensitivity training. You're turning your son into a girl, and you're turning your nation into a nation of losers and beaten men. That's why we have the politicians we have.</span>
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<br />It can be daunting, even awe-inspiring, to stare straight into the face of such galactic proportions of stupidity, wretchedness, and depravity as these comments. There's also a temptation to just ignore it. After all, why even dignify such pap with a response?
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<br />But consider this: 8.25 million listeners. And consider this: now we have "comedian" Denis Leary joining in on the fun in his newly released book:
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<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">“There is a huge boom in autism right now because inattentive mothers and competitive dads want an explanation for why their dumb-ass kids can’t compete academically, so they throw money into the happy laps of shrinks . . . to get back diagnoses that help explain away the deficiencies of their junior morons. I don’t give a shit what these crackerjack whack jobs tell you - yer kid is NOT autistic. He’s just stupid. Or lazy. Or both.”</span>
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<br />Pardon me for the jarring juxtaposition, but let's go straight from Savage and Leary to a slightly more enlightened human being, Martin Luther King:
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<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">“Cowardice asks the question, 'Is it safe?' Expediency asks the question, 'Is it politic?' But conscience asks the question, 'Is it right?' And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but because conscience tells one it is right.”</span>
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<br />And let us make no mistake about it: the Savages and Learys of the world are cowards. They are cowards, and thus the question "is it safe?" comes up. Sadly, they don't even need to consciously ask this question any more. Of course it's safe. Assaulting children is always safe. Persecuting those without a forum to defend themselves - whether they be children, people with disabilities, the impoverished, the sickly, or some blessed combination of these - is always safe.
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<br />And there's no doubt it is all expedient and politic. It is vitriol such as this that fuels the allegiance of the "Savage Nation," keeping the ratings up. And as far as Leary, the "edgy" persona he cultivated in order to propagate his comedic career has now expeditiously found a tow hook in the form of Savage.
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<br />And so where does conscience and what is right enter in? Sadly, it once again is left to the muted voices of those who are being attacked, those voiceless people that bullies like Savage and Leary delight in piling on. Usually, those people consist of people of color, homosexuals, immigrants, poor folks, Muslims, or some combination of the above.
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<br />Today, as a parent of a child with Autism, it's my turn.
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<br />Let's start with what is not right.
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<br />The assertion that minority children fake asthma in order to garner excessive welfare benefits - even when divorced from the repugnant and typical insinuations that people or color are lazy free-loaders who devote their lives to exploiting "the system" - is inane.
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<br />According to a study conducted by the National Institute of Health (NIH), low-income children with diagnosed asthma, compared to children generally, suffer disproportionate levels of hardships such as gaps in insurance coverage, housing problems, and insufficient food <i>after </i>diagnosis.
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<br />Furthermore, the children most likely to experience hardships are those afflicted with severe asthma. In fact, 78% of low-income children with severe asthma experienced one or more of the above-mentioned hardships, compared to 64% for children with mild to moderate asthma.
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<br />And, in spite of this obvious need for services, according to NIH, "children with severe asthma were no more likely to use housing, childcare or SSI benefits, and were less likely to get WIC benefits than children with less severe asthma."
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<br />So not only are children with asthma not reaping untold fortunes from the debilitated social welfare system of the United States, they are actually suffering most from its failures. And the more severe their condition, the less assistance they are likely to receive.
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<br />The reason minority children are suffering disproportionately from asthma is because minority children are suffering disproportionately from poverty. And with poverty comes greatest exposure to the side-effects of our corporate, toxic culture.
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<br />Environmental Racism. What could possibly be more tragic than the fact that such a phrase needs to exist? Yet it exists out of perfectly legitimate reasons. Our society, as presently constructed, necessitates the creation of massive quantities of filth and toxicity, and all that toxic mire must be generated, exploited, and dumped somewhere. And you can rest assured that isn't going to happen in an affluent white community. It's going to happen somewhere where the people are poor, powerless, and disenfranchised. It is going to be inflicted upon the same people that the Savages and Learys of the world inflict their vitriol.
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<br />Take an extreme case for example. East St. Louis. East Saint Louis is 98% African American. It has one of the highest rates of child asthma in America.
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<br />The people of East St. Louis are impoverished and powerless, as is the City itself. Most rely on welfare to survive, as local commerce and industry are almost non-existent. Even the city government has laid off most of its employees over the last 20 years due to lack of funds.
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<br />East St. Louis lies in the Mississippi River's floodplain, surrounded by the Illinois Bluffs. The bluffs, predominantly white and middle to upper class, have never been compelled to pay taxes to assist with flood control, despite the fact that it is their drainage that floods the floodplain and East St. Louis. East St. Louis lacks the funds to be able to pay for this itself.
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<br />The flooding in East St. Louis is especially problematic, because the deficient sewage systems of the town are entirely contaminated with the toxins of the chemical plants that surround the town. When flooding occurs, the poison in these sewers flows through the streets and the homes of East St. Louis.
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<br />Monsanto and Pfizer have maintained chemical plants here for years. Apart from the release of toxins into the sewer system (not to mention the soil and the drinking water), the plants release a steady stream of smoke that literally forms a perpetual cloud over all of East St. Louis. From time to time, the plant emits a blast considered to be toxic, at which time an alarm sounds. People who have breathed the smoke get a payment of a few hundred dollars, if they first sign a release relieving the company from liability. The companies that operate these plants have formed small incorporated areas, outside the jurisdiction of East St. Louis, and therefore are exempt from paying any taxes to the city.
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<br />So, to recap: affluent white communities on the bluffs are excused from assuming fiscal responsibility for the preventable occurrence of the flooding of East St. Louis. Multinational corporations, earning billions of dollars in revenue, are excused from taking responsibility for preventing the release of their toxic chemicals upon the environment and the residents, and from cleaning up the released toxins. The voiceless people of East St. Louis absorb all the misery that comes from all this, and their children become afflicted with asthma and other diseases, such as lead poisoning, liver tumors, and abscesses.
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<br />But heaven forbid a mother in East St. Louis, out of desperation, should ever once coach her child to fake a cough in the misguided hope that this will somehow derive them an additional benefit of some sort. For this act will surely be noted by the ever-observant, astute mind of Savage, who will quickly pass it along to his 8.25 million "listeners" as evidence that their bigotry is actually righteousness.
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<br />As for Leary...Diagnoses of Autism tend not to come from a "shrink," or a "crackerjack whack job" as he so assonantly describes them. Perhaps Leary has not heard, but Autism is not a psychological or psychiatric condition. It is a neurological disorder. Diagnosis, in our case, initially came from a medical practitioner, with the advisory of licensed physical, occupational, and speech therapists. Eventually, a proper diagnosis should come from a neurologist, a process we have yet to go through, but will likely have to if we ever hope to receive a state-provided benefit.
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<br />Between the two of them they did say something that is right. That would be Savage. He is right that Sharky - a child diagnosed with autism - lacks a father who calls him an idiot, a moron, a putz, a dummy, a brat, or a fool. He is right that Sharky lacks a father who tells him not to cry, not to act like a girl.
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<br />Savage claims to have a father who told him all these things, and out of cowardice proclaims his father was right, and begs us all to not deviate from his father's methodology, perhaps out of some desperate dream that universal adherence to this cancerous way will somehow vindicate it, and provide Savage with a specious peace in the sewage-flooded nest he has sought shelter in.
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<br />Despite his venom, despite his daily efforts to seduce 8.25 million listeners into his own cauldron of hell, I feel genuine compassion and pity for him. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Years ago, in his HBO special, “No Cure For Cancer,” Leary spoke – touchingly in fact – of his tough Irish father, and the understood rule that even a small child was not permitted to cry, even upon having an arrow lodged in his head. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I feel genuine compassion for him as well.
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<br />I cannot, however, adhere to the path they beckon us toward. I will never do my child like that, and I trace it back to a lunch break years ago at a Wendy's in Bellingham, Washington.
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<br />I was working as a barista, and if I neglected to bring a lunch with me to work, the only place I could make it to during my 30 minute lunch break was the Wendy's adjacent to the the coffee shop. I sat there one day, eating a salad, and noticed my place mat was adorned with rows and rows of pictures of children.
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<br />I read that these children were all foster children, and we fast-food eaters were being asked by the Wendy's corporation to consider adopting one of them. About 3 rows down, slightly to the right of center, my eyes locked in on one of the photos. Even in small size, on a fuzzy printout discolored slightly by my soda's condensation, this child's eyes burned. The look was simply, purely, unmistakably one of wounded pride. The child was cooperating with the adults around him by posing and smiling for the picture, perhaps realizing that the emotions he exuded for this photo could very well dictate whether or not he found a home to live in. And at the same time, he seemed fully aware of how wrong this all was.
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<br />This child, as all children, had an innate sense of the promise of existence, and consequently knew that this promise had been broken. Born a proud warrior, and now, by the age of 8, disillusioned and hurt. Wounded pride.
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<br />And I thought to myself right then and there, that should I ever have a child I will fight with everything I have to make sure this never happens to him. And years later, when I found out I was to be a father, I made this vow to myself and to my unborn child:
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<br />Whatever happens, no matter how tired, frustrated, or desperate the challenges of raising you make me, I will never shame you. I will never insult you. I will never, ever do anything to take away your pride. If I ever were to do this to you, it would be a violation of what is right, and it would be a betrayal of you. And should I ever betray you as such, I would not at all blame you if you found it difficult to ever trust another soul. And my apologies would then go out to the world for having cast another lost, hurt, betrayed soul into its midst.
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<br />And I thought clearly of what my hopes were for my child. And they were simple. I hoped that I would have a healthy, happy child. And I hoped that my child, both from his own innate strength and from my support, would have the self-confidence, pride, and strength of character to be his own person, to follow his own path, and withstand any indignities the world might throw at him and stay true to himself.
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<br />That, to me, is what it means to be a man (not a beaten man: Savage and Leary are the beaten men). And at the same time, let's not draw lines along gender. Sharky is a boy, and so I talk in terms on what it means to be a man. But truth be told, this is what it means to be human. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There exists a higher plane of being, one that transcends this messy matter of arguing with the crippled and wounded thinking of Savage and Leary. Having just now sufficiently vented my spleen, I now am on this plane, and I find myself – oddly yet comfortably – capable of devoting the same vow I gave the unborn Sharky to Savage and Leary.
<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Savages and Learys, when taken in proper context, are our Bodhisattvas, always nudging us closer to enlightenment. Their attacks on children with Autism, people of color, the poor, and homosexuals, have reawakened me to the presence of all of these communities within me.
<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I am the parent of a child with Autism, and am raising that child with a lesbian couple. I am the child of a man who grew up in abject poverty, suffering all the hardships outlined in the NIH reports. The same man spent the better part of his adult life as a devoted teacher and advocate for low-income youth, incarcerated youth, and miseducated youth - the vast majority of whom were people of color.
<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">All of these communities come together within me, just as many communities come together within most of us. And as the attackers grow bored with their usual punching bags, their expedience and cowardice compels them to seek new targets that they perceive to be voiceless. But with each new community they attack, they step upon the sacred grounds of more and more of these "voiceless." And in doing so, they awaken us to our commonality, they drive us towards the realization that we are all together. And perhaps this realization will give us our voice.
<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For Savage and Leary, I truly have the same hopes as I do for Sharky, just as I hope for this for myself, just as I hope for this for all of you. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Really now, what else could I possibly hope for? </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.”</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: italic;"> - Mohandas Gandhi</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: italic;">
<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: italic;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2u2OsYjUImy3eWVIZO2cONS-UHzJ1niQ7eRkWNRXEz14nNw_is_Y0k7t0TC_aDl_mK4kVX8jn-aAgHFqtDvOo5vaoN36nzyl3Y-Lhkq19dfC2fjEvon07oukVLY7U8sgvRYKNMnShwE/s1600-h/on+the+play+boat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2u2OsYjUImy3eWVIZO2cONS-UHzJ1niQ7eRkWNRXEz14nNw_is_Y0k7t0TC_aDl_mK4kVX8jn-aAgHFqtDvOo5vaoN36nzyl3Y-Lhkq19dfC2fjEvon07oukVLY7U8sgvRYKNMnShwE/s400/on+the+play+boat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258699160083762850" border="0" /></a></p> <ul><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p></ul> tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-1870260222850245762008-10-12T09:38:00.000-07:002008-10-12T13:57:56.010-07:00Citizen Complaint 08-22...Part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCOhdW0o0XD9nid88PYQxda-GZ2KjCaOTiD_D5rQ11si3UpEnkO-XTf3OCsZ1JiAtIGajlgHyu3iBN7x3N1_a1lbzS3WncFSDG-LaZ-2UPkVpWhCFrI1rSfmM0UHQuGzL6ebrTZ3mnZI/s1600-h/P1000044.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCOhdW0o0XD9nid88PYQxda-GZ2KjCaOTiD_D5rQ11si3UpEnkO-XTf3OCsZ1JiAtIGajlgHyu3iBN7x3N1_a1lbzS3WncFSDG-LaZ-2UPkVpWhCFrI1rSfmM0UHQuGzL6ebrTZ3mnZI/s400/P1000044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256373823187880818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />April and May of 2008 were dark days at the EEU. The hallways and side rooms were like impromptu group therapy sessions. It seemed like each corner you turned brought you face to face with a parent weeping, spitting with rage, or both at the same time. Networks of information exchange formed spontaneously, with each parent sharing with the others what little crumbs of information they'd managed to learn. The sum of all our combined knowledge, however, still left us all bewildered, confused, and frustrated.<br /><br />Each state in the US, as far as I know, has some sort of office that oversees public education in all of the districts. In the case of Washington, it is called the <a href="http://www.k12.wa.us/">Office for the Superintendent of Public Instruction </a>(OSPI). OSPI has various resources available regarding dispute resolution, including <a href="http://www.k12.wa.us/SpecialEd/mediation.aspx">the Citizen Complaint.</a><br /><br />The use of the Citizen Complaint is explained as such on the OSPI web site:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Any individual or organization may file a citizen complaint if it believes a school district, another public agency serving special education students, a private agency under contract with a public agency to serve special education students, an educational service district, or the state has violated federal or state laws or regulations implementing IDEA. The complaint must be in writing and it must be signed.</span><br /><br /><br />It was awkward writing my complaint, because due to the district's secrecy and lack of communication I didn't really know what I was complaining about. So my goal was to lay out the results of whatever went on - the dozens of special education students without placements - and also make the district's lack of communication an integral part of the complaint.<br /><br />In the portion of the form that requires a statement of the violation, I wrote:<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I believe the District violated <a href="http://idea.ed.gov/explore/home">Part B of the IDEA</a> by:<br /><br />The school district has failed to provide a seat in any of the three choices for schools presented by our IEP team, or to place our son in any program currently in existence. We did not receive notice of this fact until April 25, 4 weeks after placement letters were mailed out. The district intends to create a new program somewhere in the district to place him in. They will not provide us with any information as to location, classroom staff, or program model until after the placement has already been made. They will not inform us of the placement until June 1. They have, in effect, eliminated any possibility of input from the parents and IEP team in determining placement, and cut into our window for appealing the placement by two months. There apparently are 35 students in the same predicament as our son – and nine in his current classroom alone – so it is obvious the district has made a serious error in evaluating the space needs in the district's classrooms.<br /><br />I believe an investigation should be launched that seeks answers to the following questions:<br /><br />1)How did the district come to miscalculate the demand for seats to such an extent?<br />2)How did these students without placements come to be the ones left out? (My son and I live 8 blocks from our first choice school, yet were unable to get a seat. Were there actually children his age with Autism seeking Autism Inclusion program model classrooms who lived closer than us?)<br />3)How could it be that 9 out of 35 students without placement are from the same classroom, room 129 at the EEU?<br />4)Why was my son not even placed on a waiting list for any of the 3 schools we listed on our preference form?</span><br /><br />At the end of the form, the complainer is asked, "What would you like to see changed?"<br /><br />My response:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I would like to see a special education department that is competent enough to ensure students all receive school placements at the time they are supposed to.<br /><br />I would like to see a department that cares enough about families to actually be proactive in informing them when a problem such as this arises, or at the very least responds promptly to phone messages and emails from parents asking for information.<br /><br />I would like for staff in charge of answering phones at the enrollment and special education offices to be trained well enough to provide accurate and helpful information when parents call with concerns (and in particular, I would very much like it if EVERY employee at the enrollment office was fully aware that they are responsible for the enrollment of special education students as well as general education students).<br /><br />I would like for the date of placement letters to be changed to after spring break so in the ensuing period of time there are actually administrators at their desks, rather than on vacation, to answer parent's questions.<br /><br />I would like a process put in place where if, for some reason, a student such as my son does not get any of his three choices for schools, we have the opportunity to reassess the situation with our IEP team and make further preferences known, rather than being randomly assigned to whatever school the district's computer determines, or being left with no school at all.<br /><br />In general, I would like to see the school district held somewhat accountable for their actions and mistakes.</span><br /><br />The next step was to exchange phone calls and emails with the OSPI investigator, providing her with additional explanation, as she attempted to determine whether or not they would conduct an investigation. Her principal question to me was if I was alleging that procedures were violated, or that my son had been discriminated against. My response? Both.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">...My son has been in the Seattle school district system for about a year and a half now, and it has been one continuous struggle. When we have attempted to speak with people at the district about problems in the past, we have never been able to get even the simplest questions answered. When we attempted to question placement procedures that we felt were unfair from last year's placement process, the district abruptly canceled an upcoming meeting with us and said they would need to reschedule for a time when their legal counsel could be present. They then forbid our son's teacher from meeting with us without theirlawyers there. It is a shameless cycle of deceit followed by intimidation.<br /><br />My main hope in filing this complaint is that some of these issues are brought to light and an external entity can take steps to hold the Seattle school district accountable for their actions. I believe that if a large number of parents of children with disabilities were given the opportunity to tell their stories of what they've gone through with this district, it would raise a lot of eyebrows.<br /><br />I'm uncertain as to where this leaves us. I do not know if it is a matter of discriminatory policies that leads to all of these serious problems, or if the issue is the presence of an ineffectual and callously indifferent group of administrators mismanaging the policies. My inclination, however, it to believe that it is both.<br /></span><br />She responded to this email by informing me that they would proceed with the investigation through the IDEA provisions regarding placement. She later explained to me that I could pursue allegations of discrimination through the Office of Civil Rights.<br /><br />The next step was for OSPI to inform the district that the investigation was being conducted, present them with the complaint, and give them three weeks to respond. The district was to investigate the complaint themselves, and send OSPI a written report of their findings. Seems a bit like the fox guarding the chicken coop, but oh well.<br /><br />The district's general counsel instead sent OSPI a letter, stating the investigation should be called off, because my complaint was "premature."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">To accommodate a systemic capacity issue, the District is in the process of creating six additional special education programs for students in the primary grades the 2008-2009 school year, as well as creating general<br />education kindergarten classes. The District believes that it is important to note that there are general education families who are in the same position as Mr.Munat as a result of capacity concerns. The District is<br />attempting to resolve these capacity concerns for all impacted students as quickly as possible.</span><br /><br />I was actually disappointed at how poorly done this letter was. I thought their legalese (systemic capacity issue? will probiotics help with that?) was transparent and easily dismantled. I also thought it odd that they seemed to be defending themselves against a discrimination claim (all the mentioning of how general education students also were without placements too - in this excerpt and elsewhere in the letter) when clearly the OSPI investigation was regarding procedural practices.<br /><br />OSPI gave me the opportunity to respond to this, and give them reason as to why they should in fact continue with their investigation. I decided my response should first off blow apart their legal speak. This would, I reasoned, not only reveal the emptiness of their arguments, but also send a message to all parties involved that I am no dummy, and they are going to need more than sleight of hand tricks to veer me off course.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Dear (OSPI),<br /><br />I received your letter, along with the letter you received from (the district's counsel) regarding the district’s claim that the Citizen’s Complaint I have filed is “premature.” Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I have some comments on the subject.<br /><br />To begin with, I’d like to take a moment to analyze the phrase used by(the district's counsel), “a systemic capacity issue.” This term is folded neatly into the language of the letter, and seems to imply that the systemic<br />capacity issue is a naturally occurring event, one which the district is now working to “accommodate.”<br /><br />As I understand it, the complaint I filed, and the correlative OSPI investigation, seek answers as to the cause of this systemic capacity issue. Therefore, the concept that the district is implying here is specious at best. It has not been established that the systemic capacity issue is something for which no fault or blame can be attributed, because the investigation has not yet been conducted.<br /><br />(The district's) description of their efforts to “accommodate” the systemic capacity issue is therefore based upon the assumption that the issue is in fact a situation lying outside the realm of the district’s<br />responsibility. In so doing, she attempts to relegate the systemic capacity issue to being a closed chapter of the past, while at the same time claiming that a proposed investigation into that same issue is “premature.”<br /><br />The capacity issue exists now, and has existed since at least March 28th, when placements were made for the coming school year. Therefore, investigating why and how the issues came about is not premature. Regardless of whatever efforts the district is making to create new programs, significant damage has already been done.<br /><br />I can’t help but wonder if it had been members of the school district who had anxiously awaited the arrival of a placement letter for weeks, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, before eventually having the worst confirmed, if they would still consider a complaint on the issue to be “premature.” Had it been they that made dozens of phone calls and emails, queried fellow parents and school staff, only to be told nothing, or told<br />inaccurate things, or to be completely ignored, would they still feel it is premature to complain? Had they watched as possibilities for private school options went by the wayside as classes filled and deadlines passed,<br />all the while still waiting for word from the public school system, would they still feel this was a premature time to act?<br /><br />Had they been the ones to spend countless hours researching, touring, and visiting schools, then hours more discussing options with their children’s I.E.P. teams, only to have the child denied access to any of the schools<br />considered, and consequently find themselves on the outside looking in without input as to what happens next to their child, would they still at this point consider objections premature?<br /><br />This describes only a fraction of the stress and anxiety my family, and the other families I have spoken to in our situation, have been experiencing over the past six weeks as a result of the so-called systemic capacity issue. Our plight is a living, breathing reality, not doublespeak, and the cause of it deserves to be investigated as soon as possible.<br /><br />The district casts itself in the light of an entity attempting to “accommodate a systemic capacity issue,” and “resolve…capacity concerns.” What are the causes of these issues and concerns? That is what this investigation is about, and there is no need to wait to see how the district responds to the issues and concerns before looking into what caused them in the first place.<br /><br />(The district's counsel) closes her letter by stating that “Mr. Munat can again raise the issue if he still has concerns regarding the process for his son’s assignment” after a placement has been made. This statement makes me suspect that the district’s true motivation in seeking to delay the investigation lies in the belief that a placement will pacify me. This is incorrect. My motivation in filing the complaint is not to compel the district to give my son the placement of our choosing. Rather, it is to illuminate any deficiencies in the placement process that could potentially continue to bring harm to special education students and their families in the future. In short, I want to make sure that my family, and other families of children with disabilities in Seattle, do not ever have to go through this again. The district has offered no such assurance.<br /><br />I would be happy to discuss this matter in greater detail with you if you feel it would be helpful in making a decision as to whether to proceed. Please feel free to call me or write at any point between now and the May<br />16 date of your decision. Thank you again for keeping me included in the process.<br /><br />Yours truly,<br /><br />Ted Munat</span><br /><br /><br />I really don't communicate in this manner in real life. Whenever I read these letters I'm always a little shocked: "did I write that? goodness that's pretty blunt!"SPS just brings it out in me, particularly when discussing my all time favorite past time, "systemic capacity issues."<br /><br />I received this response from OSPI a day or two later, and so did the <a href="http://www.seattleschools.org/area/sup/index.dxml">Superintendent of Seattle Public Schools</a>...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Dear Dr. Goodloe –Johnson and Mr. Munat:<br /><br />I received a letter from (district counsel) raising an issue regarding whether or not this complaint was premature, and response from Mr.Munat regarding this issue. I spoke to them both today, regarding this issue.<br /><br />After discussing the issue with both, we have determined that OSPI will proceed with the complaint. The due date for the district’s response would have been May 25, 2008. The due date for the District’s response is extended to June 10, 2008. We are not extending the date for the decision at this time.</span><br /><br />So, I win a round. The investigation proceeds. Of course, the district has accomplished its everlasting goal, detailed on this blog before, of stalling. They got themselves an extra 16 days to conjure up a response. That extension also takes it past the June 1st promised date of informing us of Sharky's school placement.<br /><br />Onward we plunged...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRqQC1FdDjNuwpR7AlwjIS4Uh8ekXjEYBaSXq2WX17Rvtuvp9-YHLW-LwN-HLaJ3w9IEXpF7FV8h1-Z0fodULQHGce_acxjSIXDiXdDYHfQT6_VNB3fLsy7Ez1RJ0nalaiy1tVhqdSqE/s1600-h/P1000040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRqQC1FdDjNuwpR7AlwjIS4Uh8ekXjEYBaSXq2WX17Rvtuvp9-YHLW-LwN-HLaJ3w9IEXpF7FV8h1-Z0fodULQHGce_acxjSIXDiXdDYHfQT6_VNB3fLsy7Ez1RJ0nalaiy1tVhqdSqE/s400/P1000040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256374255121717202" border="0" /></a>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-89896374590166921762008-10-09T14:50:00.000-07:002008-10-11T23:09:23.454-07:00Return of the Living Dead Shark Blog!Yes, it's been a long time since this blog was added to. Call it summer vacation. But rather than dwell on any reasons for the absence, let's get right back to it. I'm here, I'm ready to go again, there's much to tell, I still love my son and I'm still a disgruntled dad. So without further ado...<br /><br />I had left off with <a href="http://stilllifewithshark.blogspot.com/2008/06/victory.html">the battle we had just to get an IEP meeting to discuss placements </a>for the 2008-09 year. It was a bruising heavyweight bout, but it ended seemingly happy. We had three solid choices of schools. Choice 1 was Bagley, which is a great school with the unique element of an Autism inclusion program meshed with a Montessori model classroom. Choice 2 was a return to the EEU, which we love for too many reasons to outline in this space. Choice 3 was North Beach, a blended kindergarten that was not as distinctly excellent as the others but still some place we'd have been more than happy to have Sharky attend.<br /><br />We also felt confident that we'd get one of these. Bagley is 8 blocks from my home and distance is one of the first determiners for placements. EEU is further away but is an "all-city draw," so distance ceases to be an issue, and Sharky had already demonstrated that he thrived in that environment (and the bureaucrats care about such things right? right?). North Beach was about 1 mile from my home.<br /><br />Plus in a karmic sense we just kind of figured they'd give us one. Just this once.<br /><br />They did not give us this one just this once.<br /><br />March 28th was the date for placement letters to be sent out. The day came and went. No letter for us. Several more days went by without word. Finally, about a week later, I started making phone calls.<br /><br />Now this brings us to a lovely tradition employed by the district. March 28 is the day before spring break. They send out the placement letters (or in our case they don't) and then they all flee for the hills. They carefully select the most incompetent and socially inept employees to remain in the office to dispense as much misinformation as possible to any hysterical parents who call up with questions such as, say, why haven't we gotten any word about where, or if, our son is going to go to school in the fall.<br /><br />You see, the district is all about stalling. In the previous post about this whole sordid affair I described the hand behind the back game. Once that runs out, there's the run for the hills and hide game. The more stalling, the less time there is to file appeals, complaints, or other quests for justice. Also, the more stalling there is the more likely the parent just gives up, unable to sustain the level of rage that was initially fueling their actions.<br /><br />I called the enrollment office. The person who answered the phone asked me for my son's name. She looked it up and said "Oh. He's special ed." I replied that yes indeed, he was enrolled in special education. She then informed me that "special ed. kids don't get their placements sent out at the same time as the rest of the kids."<br /><br />I found this rather difficult to believe, but nonetheless I asked her when the special ed. kids did get their placement letters. She told me, "I have no idea, we have nothing to do with that."<br /><br />Apparently, the district's enrollment office staff does not realize they have responsibility for enrollment of my son or the hundreds of other children in special education. I informed the EEU principal of what had been said, and she emailed me back to say simply: "they're wrong."<br /><br />In fact, the placement letters for special education students ARE sent out at the same time as everyone else's, and their enrollment IS handled by the enrollment office.<br /><br />But this keeper of the phone lines did manage to delay my attempts to figure out what was going on by at least 12 hours. Excellent stalling. Mission accomplished.<br /><br />I tried calling the special education department. They did nothing to refute the absurd notions the enrollment department had imparted upon me, and were equally unhelpful and rude. When I mentioned Sharky was at the EEU this year, she transferred me to the line of the consulting teacher for the EEU.<br /><br />This didn't make much sense, since the consulting teacher responsible for his current placement is not necessarily going to be the authority on his placement for next year. It made even less sense considering that she transferred me to the former consulting teacher for the EEU, not the current one.<br />Apparently the folks who work the phones over spring break at the special education department missed a memo. And of course, the former EEU consulting teacher was out of the office for break anyway. I left a voice mail. One that was never returned.<br /><br />It was not until the following Tuesday, April 8th, that I managed to speak with the appropriate consulting teacher. She said she would look into it and get back to me, which she did. She informed me that Sharky was one of a group of special education students who did not receive a placement.<br /><br />She explained that there had been a shortage of seats for Autism Inclusion programs and some other models as well. But they had approval from the district to open more classrooms. She had no further information for me.<br /><br />In the ensuing weeks, I learned that there were 35 kids at or around Sharky's grade level, with IEPs, without placements. Oddly enough, 9 of those students were currently enrolled at the EEU. So out of dozens of K-1 special education classrooms in the district, more than a quarter of the unplaced children were from one school.<br /><br />At the very least, it seemed as though the district's failure to adequately estimate the demand for seats bordered on criminal. Throw in the fishiness of that ratio of unplaced kids at the EEU, and I suspected something very wrong had gone on, and the district was frantically working to cover its own ass - working so frantically on that, in fact, that there was apparently no time available to actually meet with the families of children without placements and address our concerns. And the concerns were many. They included:<br /><br />Why did we spend all those hours upon hours evaluating schools, going on tours, meeting with teachers, culling down a list of our preferences, only to be denied them all? Where exactly do they intend to stick my child? Do I get any more say in the matter? Will this school they put him in be anywhere close to my home, or will he be on buses for hours per day? How can a classroom they throw together at the last minute possibly be adequate? Who will staff it? What space will be available – will it be in some portable unit dropped next to the parking lot behind the school building? Will the administration of the school embrace this last minute program, or will they resent having this put upon them?<br /><br />But instead of allowing us to dialog with them about this, they hid out, and sent a form letter written by their legal department three weeks after we all had expected to be getting placement letters. The letter carefully avoided any wording that conceded errors in any way. In fact, it didn't even acknowledge that there were students who had ended up without placements. It just said the district was working diligently to create seats and would have them for us by June 1st.<br /><br />June 1st.<br /><br />I'd had enough. I spoke with a lawyer, and on her advice I filed a citizen complaint with the WA State Office for the Superintendent of Public Instruction (OSPI). Then I did the same with the Federal Government's Office of Civil Rights (OCR).<br /><br />With OSPI, they can investigate a complaint to see if procedures laid out by IDEA were properly followed. With OCR, they can investigate to see if the children were discriminated against by the district because of their disabilities. In my case, the claim I made was that the district's placement procedures are inherently discriminatory against students with disabilities.<br /><br />Which brings us to the next phase of the saga, which I will cover in another post, which I promise will be coming henceforth!<br /><br />Thank you for coming back!tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-64866342975063465212008-06-15T19:25:00.000-07:002008-06-15T19:36:04.388-07:00Happy Father's DayMy mother asked we children to write something to our father this Father's Day, to let him know how we feel about him. This was my official submission...<br /><br /><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Happy Father's Day Dad!</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I want to share a few things with you. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I don't know if you remember this, but a while back you expressed to mom that you felt like your life had become meaningless, because you were not doing anything productive. You felt like you had nothing to offer. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">First of all, the fact that you felt this way proves some very nice things about you. It proves that deep within you burns an intense desire to do good work, to do good deeds, to make the world a better place. This desire has been passed along to all of your children, and I'm sure has inspired many other people you have touched during your journeys.</p><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlne_kmg-xXoUWJDFmwC3S18Gt21zqUymkqTisDpRR2mublKgRNgwGnrNjgX56MnOrJhFYTF3gLpEchmQ7cbVg6gZ928peCYlRzMUZWXbOjRJxcMK5Dd9iAW3Tgf0xXaHjT4I7C4vL0Q0/s1600-h/DSC00766.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlne_kmg-xXoUWJDFmwC3S18Gt21zqUymkqTisDpRR2mublKgRNgwGnrNjgX56MnOrJhFYTF3gLpEchmQ7cbVg6gZ928peCYlRzMUZWXbOjRJxcMK5Dd9iAW3Tgf0xXaHjT4I7C4vL0Q0/s400/DSC00766.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212301093136485586" border="0" /></a> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I know I have been inspired by it. It has always given me a great sense of pride to know what integrity you have led your life with, and what a strong drive you've had to bring about justice in whatever way you could. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">More importantly, your life has helped me to live my own under the assumptions that I am powerful, that I have a role and a purpose on this earth, and that I can and must fight for what is good and just. The most obvious and recent example of this is my dealings with the school district. My assumption when the school district tries to dismiss my son as meaningless is that I will fight them tooth and nail, with every ounce of strength I have, and never give up. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I see other parents in my situation who are not willing or able to undertake the same battles I do, my automatic response is one of mystification. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">What else could they possibly have to do but to see to the rights of their children? </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Why else are they on this earth but for the service of love? And where else could this love be focused than upon their child? </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It is alarming to me that people, in turn, look to me with wonderment and try to understand how I could be so willing to take on these challenges. But to me, sitting idly by is the challenge, and working to make it right is simply the natural way of life. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And this nature did not just zap me from outer space. It comes from a lineage that you handed down to me. And from what I've learned, it was a lineage that was highly damaged when you inherited it, and it was only your amazing efforts to repair it that allowed it to be passed along to me in such pristine shape. My responsibility is to polish it, ornament it, and present it to Sharky. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Second of all, I want you to know that your worth on this earth did not end when you had a stroke and onset of Lewy Body Dementia, and had to go live at Island Health. In the immediate aftermath of your stroke, I wish you could have witnessed the strength and spirit you showed in your fight to reclaim yourself and your life. I don't think you knew who you were or where you were at the time, but apparently you were filled with a strong sense that you needed to get back to where you had been with your family. I can only surmise that your life and your family must have been very important to you, based on the battle you waged to find us again.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And I hope you can see how this is a continuation of the same spirit you have had for as long as I can remember, the same one that inspired me and helped to make me the person I am today, which is a person that I feel good about.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYHSCPYcKJFLE0TKH7w1FhOMd9mOnvd9RH_6zVcS9dgNBjyQyl0zMemSHlTYWAXcL4MzmUkXx_eQzupt-8MYRot4UYOWMrYVazG2QTMWh12oY2r2FSVYKwN1xJY6qmgdvtoNd9-c6SDU/s1600-h/DSC00772.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYHSCPYcKJFLE0TKH7w1FhOMd9mOnvd9RH_6zVcS9dgNBjyQyl0zMemSHlTYWAXcL4MzmUkXx_eQzupt-8MYRot4UYOWMrYVazG2QTMWh12oY2r2FSVYKwN1xJY6qmgdvtoNd9-c6SDU/s400/DSC00772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212301250608902402" border="0" /></a> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I want to close by telling you a little bit about what you have meant and what you still mean to Sharky. Your kind, loving soul is still in tact. And Sharky, in all his wisdom, can feel it. He has always had an affinity for you. He always, even when his level of connection with others was in serious doubt, has been very in tune with you. There are no words to describe how meaningful and important it has been for him to be able to have a relationship with you these last several years since your stroke. It makes me very happy that we did not lose you that day. The dignified and brave manner in which you continue to live your life each day sets a valuable, meaningful example for him, and when the day comes that you pass on, even in death you will be teaching him. He loves you, and one day, when you are gone from us, he will remember you fondly. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So you see, your life today is not meaningless, because it has so much meaning to others. Mom told you at the time that the dignity and grace with which you have accepted your lot in life provides a meaningful example to your children of how to conduct our lives, and she was absolutely right. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Your life is your own, and when you reach the point where it is time for you to leave us all, please do so with our countless blessings and all of our love. Go with the peace of mind that comes with knowing that all of us you have loved, and have worked so hard to do right by and provide for, will be fine. The forces you long ago set in motion will continue to serve us after you are gone, and as such you will continue to remain with us. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the mean time, we will be grateful for each day we have with you. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Love</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">ted</p><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSocwaDShh19Q10nX49_8F7lFGaEoA4oHol1nWDyk_jfot5b3vMC-AyVxez19YfUuENfMhDXCLXO8Qcj0o_FxcXGTiCH5_u3pQ7aa5VmRmg99sREkG_DAUMHIpaEOymEkgLUJv0aAQCQ/s1600-h/DSC00765.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSocwaDShh19Q10nX49_8F7lFGaEoA4oHol1nWDyk_jfot5b3vMC-AyVxez19YfUuENfMhDXCLXO8Qcj0o_FxcXGTiCH5_u3pQ7aa5VmRmg99sREkG_DAUMHIpaEOymEkgLUJv0aAQCQ/s400/DSC00765.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212302007888667090" border="0" /></a>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-16032274583900397522008-06-12T18:36:00.000-07:002008-06-12T21:05:23.278-07:00Victory?At one time I had hoped to use this blog to provide a neat, concise, chronological account of everything we've gone through with the school district, while interspersing some anecdotes about Sharky.<br /><br />Unfortunately, things keep happening faster than I can write about them, and I have come to realize that the time has come to fast forward to the present...or the almost present anyway.<br /><br />I mentioned in passing before about our current situation. Sharky was one of 35 special education students who somehow ended up with no school placement for the fall. Here's a recap of what led up to this little jewel...<br /><br />We had a very contentious round of communication with the district back in January and February over our IEP meeting. We felt some very sketchy things had gone down with Sharky's placement the year before (more on this in a later post...time permitting), and we wanted some answers. So we managed to convince Colleen Stump, the director of the Special Education department, to come to our meeting. However, at the advice of a local advocate, I sent an email before the meeting to everyone who would be in attendance and outlined the issues we wanted to address, including the previous year's placement. I also informed them that we intended to have a parent advocate with us.<br /><br />I received a quick response from Colleen Stump saying that in lieu of the issues we wanted to address and our plan to bring an advocate, they would need to cancel the IEP meeting and reschedule for a later date when they could arrange to have their legal counsel there.<br /><br />This is classic school district bullying. You want to bring an advocate? We're bringing a lawyer. You want to ask questions? We're seizing control of your child's IEP process, and now you meet when we say you meet. You want to bring a slingshot? We're bringing a cannon.<br /><br />We waited for over a week as the deadline for submitting our forms for school and service delivery model preferences fastly approached, and no word from the district. We sent out emails to everyone involved, giving them dates when we were available to meet, and Sharky's teacher responded with times she was available. No word from the district.<br /><br />Then I sent this email to Colleen, and CC'd to all her subordinates so my contempt could be witnessed by all those who I'm sure dare not speak to her in such a way:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Colleen,<br /><br />I admit I was stunned when you abruptly canceled our meeting scheduled for the 14th upon being informed of our intent to bring an advocate to the meeting, as we are perfectly entitled to do. But I am downright appalled that since that time you have allowed 11 days to pass without so much as making any attempts to reschedule. A week has passed since Lillie and I both provided you with dates and times that would work for us, and you have not responded. This in spite of the fact that time is running short and our deadline is fast approaching.<br /><br />Given your unwillingness to speak with us in good faith or to treat us with any modicum of decency, your presence is no longer requested at our son's IEP meeting. We will work with our IEP team regarding decisions on placements for the 2008-09 school year. As for the concerns I expressed in my previous email, we will be pursuing these matters through different avenues.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Ted Munat<br /></span><br /><br />A bit later, I received this touching response from Julie Mack, a special ed. supervisor:<br /><br /><pre wrap=""><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">It has come to my attention that you were not informed that the District</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">had proposed 2/19 at 2:00 for the IEP meeting but EEU staff members were</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">not available during the holiday. The District is proposing 2:00 p.m. on</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Tuesday 2/26 at the EEU to hold the IEP meeting. Past emails indicate</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Tuesday has appeared promising for Sharkey's family and EEU staff.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I look forward to seeing you,</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Julie</span> </pre><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Three funny notes:<br /><br />1)Sharky's teacher and school principal also had not heard about these "proposals." So the district proposed meeting dates, but overlooked the little formality of letting ANY of the other involved parties know about it. Who, then, was being proposed to?<br /><br />2) Lillie had specifically said that Tuesdays do not work for her, as she has to work and as a registered nurse cannot simply duck out for a few hours.<br /><br />3) She misspelled Sharky.<br /><br />We responded by repeating that we did not want them at our IEP meeting, and that we would not meet on that date. We scheduled a time of 2pm on Monday, February 25th, with Sharky's teacher and principal.<br /><br />The district,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> in the person of Julie Mack,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> responded by demanding (through the school staff rather than communicating with us directly) that the time be moved to 4pm on the 25th </span><span style="font-size:100%;">so their "representative" could be there.<br /><br />We responded (directly to the district) that this time did not work for us and that we, again, did not want them at our IEP meeting, and we would meet at the agreed upon time of 2pm.<br /><br />Days went by with no response until Friday the 22nd, when I received a call from Sharky's teacher. Friday afternoons are the district's favorite ambush time, and are particularly strategic for them when it pertains to something happening on the following Monday.<br /><br />She told me that she had gotten a call from Julie Mack saying that the meeting WOULD be at 4pm, as the district had commanded. When she asked Julie what she should do if we showed up at 2pm, Julie told her that she was not to speak to us without a district representative there.<br /><br />In the interest of not putting the teacher, who is beloved by all of us, in an awkward position, we decided we'd acquiesce. And to acknowledge this, I sent this little ditty to all parties involved:<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;">We received a call from Angela today explaining to us that the district is insisting upon meeting at 4pm on Monday, February 25th. I have indicated to all of you previously, in writing and with valid reason, that this time poses serious inconveniences to us.<br /><br />The basic principles of IDEA are available in .pdf format through the Seattle Public Schools web site at <a class="moz-txt-link-freetext" href="http://www.k12.wa.us/specialed/pubdocs/TAP1.pdf">http://www.k12.wa.us/specialed/pubdocs/TAP1.pdf</a> . It is highly recommended reading. Page three states "the school district must take steps to ensure that one or both of the student's parents are present at each meeting or are afforded the opportunity to attend. This means (1) notifying the parents of the meeting early enough to ensure that they will have the opportunity to attend; and (2) scheduling the meeting at a mutually agreed upon time and place."<br /><br />As for point one, I do not consider Friday afternoon early enough notification for a meeting on the following Monday. The only invitation to a meeting we have received was for 2:15 pm on Monday, the time agreed upon by Angela and ourselves. The district has not communicated with us about the time and place of a meeting at all, first scheduling a meeting for the 26th without our input and forgetting to even inform us of such a plan, then communicating demands through the EEU staff.<br /><br />As for point two, we have stated, in writing and with valid reason, that we do NOT agree upon that time.<br /><br />Nevertheless, in the interest of lessening the awkwardness of the situation for the EEU staff and completing the Riser process prior to the deadline, we will consent to meet at 4pm. I will just state for the record that making myself available at that time entails significant inconvenience for me, and potentially jeopardizes my good standing at work. I work in the community with adults with disabilities who require supervision, my schedule is tightly packed, and it happens to be one of those jobs where I'm actually held accountable for the level of service I provide.<br /><br />The other item I want to address is the reason, as I understand it, for forbidding our son's kindergarten teacher from speaking with us without a representative from the district being present. I was told that the Arc of King County informed the district that we had hired lawyers and intended to make a legal case out of this. First of all, this in incorrect. We have not hired a lawyer, we have not spoken with any lawyers, and we have no plans to do so. The only involvement of legal counsel has been on the part of the district, which was done over our strenuous objections and repeated assurances that we were not interested in hiring lawyers.<br /><br />Second of all, I simply do not have words to describe how disgusted I am that the school district and a local advocacy group are engaging in gossip and innuendo of this sort. It is not the district's place to be talking about us with the Arc and it is certainly not the Arc's right to be disclosing misinformation about us to the district. Frankly, I find it demeaning to even have to address such a travesty.<br /><br />We will be at the EEU at 4pm Monday to meet with our IEP team and whomever this unnamed district representative happens to be.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">OK. Now the first thing I need to do is quickly point out that we have since learned the ARC of King County did not do this. The ARC of King County is an outstanding organization which we are very grateful for. I sent an email to Jodi Reimer at the ARC, which was regrettable snippy, asking her about this, and she assured me they would never disclose such information, as it would be a breach of confidentiality.<br /><br />And besides, the story ended up changing. Julie Mack showed up to the Monday (at 4pm) meeting and claimed that the ASTAR Center was actually the one who had tipped them off about the fictional lawyers.<br /><br />The ASTAR center is another wonderful organization, beloved by many families with children with Autism. I sent another email, this one to Katrina Davis, the person I had communications with at ASTAR. This one was (hopefully) less snippy, having learned from my experience with Jodi and now getting the gist of the fact that the district was full of it. She also told me that she had not spoken to the district and that this would be a breach of confidentiality. From my dealing with Katrina, I'd just about die of a heart attack if it turned out that she ever did anything contrary to the interests of families, and the staff at Sharky's school expressed the same sentiment. (By the way, it was Katrina who put us in touch with Paul Nyhan of the Seattle PI, which led to the story in the paper, which led to many of you reading this ungodly long blog post).<br /><br />So where'd this all come from? Who knows? Maybe the district knew we were talking to the ARC and ASTAR and suspected we'd talked lawyers. Maybe they have a mole out there. Maybe they get their information from the same people who told the Bush administration about all that uranium Iraq was purchasing. I don't know. I'd like to know. But I've got bigger fish to fry.<br /><br />In the end, we met. Julie Mack was there. No lawyer. Sharky's moms and I, his teacher and assistant teacher, and the school principal also were present. There was no argument, and we hadn't supsected there would be. We knew we were on the same page.<br /><br />But looking back, we realize the district won that round in a way. Because we never did get to address what went down with Sharky's placement process in 2007. When I told Colleen that our concerns would be pursued through "different avenues," I was referring to a citizen complaint through the Washington State office for the Superintendent of Public Instruction (OSPI), and the Department of Education's Office of Civil Rights (OCR). I have since filed complaints against the district with both of these agencies, but not over what happened in 2007. Rather, it is over what has happened since that meeting (at 4pm) on the 25th of February, and I have learned that they are no longer able to investigate what happened in 2007 because it's been over a year.<br /><br />What happened in 2007? that will have to wait until some later date.<br /><br />What has happened since 2/25/08 that caused me to file these complaints? That will come next.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">F</span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">or a parent of a child with a disability, i</span><span style="font-size:100%;">t is absolutely exhausting just to chronicle all the indiscretions of the public school system . Imagine what it's like to actually live it.<br /><br />But then, I know most of you don't have to imagine it. You've lived it. And our exhaustion is what they are counting on. They know how demanding it is to raise a child such as ours. They know about the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the need to work extra shifts to cover your expenses, the deer-in-the-headlights effect of trying to navigate available services, and the general overwhelming nature of life as a parent to a Sharky or some other such lovely and amazing creature.<br /><br />And they try to use this to their advantage. First they assume total authority, and tell you how it's going to be, figuring you'll obey. If you sniff around for information or additional services you imagine your child might be entitled to, they start playing the hand behind their back game:<br /><br />"what's that you've got there?"<br />(revealing left hand ) "oh nothing"<br />"in your other hand"<br />(shifting something from right to left hand, then revealing right hand) "oh nothing."<br /><br />If you persist, they puff up real big, make random demands in order to assert authority, and try to scare you away with their henchmen (AKA lawyers).<br /><br />There are a couple of things they don't seem to know about.<br /><br />One is what I call "the rope theory." When you raise a child with Autism, or other similar condition, you inevitably reach a point where you say "I'm at the end of my rope."<br /><br />A little while later, you might say "I'm beyond the end of my rope."<br /><br />A little while later, you might say "I'm so far beyond the end of my rope, I don't even know where my rope is."<br /><br />A little while later, you might say "Who needs a rope? Certainly not me! ropes are for the weak!"<br /><br />And once you've found that extra strength, that endurance, that ability to successfully navigate the terrain of this strange yet majestic new world you find yourself in, all the techniques of intimidation and misrepresentation the school district or any other corrupt entity might attempt to reign upon you are simply a minor nuisance.<br /><br />The other thing they do not seem to know about is just how much we love our children, and how much strength this fills us with, and how fiercely we will fight on their behalf. As I wrote in an email to Sharky's school principal, in which I was apologizing in advance to her for the fight I was about to stage with the district on the grounds of her lovely school:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I realize...that this is likely a losing battle I am going to fight. But my hope is that other benefits for us and for other families will come about as a result. Additionally, I liken the system as it is currently constructed and implemented to a predatory animal. If I were walking with Sharky in the woods and a wild animal leaped out at him and attacked him, I would do everything in my power to drive that animal away, even if I knew it was a futile effort. And this is the approach I intend to take with the school district.</span><br /><br />Coming up next: the many many colorful things that went on from February 25th, 2008, to the present day..including the woeful tale of "The Great Displacement," my formal complaints, and our individual (but not collective), victory.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-30939442455591551132008-06-03T12:29:00.000-07:002008-06-03T12:39:32.337-07:00Sound Bites From The Shark: Weekend RoundupAn ongoing assortment of the memorable things uttered by Sharky....<br /><br />On Saturday morning we walked by a martial arts school where a large group of children, about Sharky's age, were in line, spinning and kicking, in unison to the orders of their instructor. Sharky stopped and watched with fascination. We have talked about putting him in such a class, so I asked him if he would like to be in a class like that some time:<br /><br />Sharky: Well...no.<br />Me: You wouldn't?<br />Sharky: Well...because my friends in class might kill me, and that would hurt a lot.<br /><br />Sharky takes his "Dr. Doom" doll and makes him strike the Spiderman figure I am holding.<br /><br />Me (as Spiderman): Ahhh, that hurt Dr. Doom.<br />Sharky (as Dr. Doom): Sorry...(shrugs shoulders) I'm evil.<br /><br />Sharky says goodbye to his grandfather, but at first declines to give him a hug. When his grandfather pretends to cry, Sharky comes over and gives him a hug. He then pats the shoulder of grampa (who has long white hair and a big bushy white beard), and says in a consolatory tone:<br /><br />"You were a very good Santa Claus today."<br /><br />More to come soon on our dalliances with the Seattle school district, or The Battle in Seattle as it is commonly known.tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-35991013185537061962008-05-30T07:39:00.000-07:002008-05-30T22:04:26.555-07:00Why Sports Promotions are InsultingIn reading this week's e-bulletin from Autism Speaks, I see that "<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" class="bodycopy" >Frozen Ropes of Long Island, a premier baseball and softball training academy, and WFAN, the New York Mets radio station, are supporting Autism Speaks through a unique promotion, 'Strikeouts for Autism.' Every time a Mets pitcher strikes out a batter for the rest of the season, Frozen Ropes will donate $25 to Autism Speaks. WFAN will announce the totals at the end of the broadcast of each game and invite people to visit the Autism Speaks web site for more information."<br /><br />This makes great PR for Frozen Ropes, WFAN, and the New York Mets. And it essentially boils down to these entities exploiting Autism and those afflicted with it - with minimal investment of money, time, or care - for their own gain.<br /><br />Let's break down the numbers. This Sunday, Johan Santana is the scheduled starting pitcher for the Mets. Johan Santana makes </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >$16,984,216.00 in salary this year. Through eleven starts, he has averaged just under six strikeouts per outing. Therefore, if he meets his average for the season, Autism Speaks stands to earn $150, and possibly a little extra from people referred to the site by WFAN.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Santana, regardless of his performance or strikeout total, is guaranteed to earn $104,840.84. This is his average salary per game over a 162 game season. Given that he will at most appear in 36 games this season, it could be argued that he is paid $471,783.78 per appearance.<br /><br />Santana would therefore have to strike out 18,871 LA Dodgers that day to earn as much for Autism as he earns for throwing the ball.<br /><br />The record for strikeouts in a career is held by Nolan Ryan, who struck out 5,714 over a span of 27 seasons. Earning a rate of $25/strikeout, Ryan would have had to continue his established rate of strikeouts for a total of 89 seasons in order to strike out enough batters to earn as much for Autism as Santana will earn this Sunday.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzBfEnOL0QeWEEwCYABXZd1yzoMErH82c4n1vhVEcZiDu4eTt3h4ETEeXXAG5JXFkYHBDpfWYHeSX4YJ5M3g6401eSTWWQVnIo8XvmLgPznk9IrW7_cKoeDe0Njus0Ca2iw5bTNtSOb8/s1600-h/autism_275x235.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzBfEnOL0QeWEEwCYABXZd1yzoMErH82c4n1vhVEcZiDu4eTt3h4ETEeXXAG5JXFkYHBDpfWYHeSX4YJ5M3g6401eSTWWQVnIo8XvmLgPznk9IrW7_cKoeDe0Njus0Ca2iw5bTNtSOb8/s400/autism_275x235.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206337982259666610" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >And that is not even to mention the earnings of Santana's employer, billionaire chairman of <a href="http://www.sterlingequities.com/about/leadership.php">Sterling Equities</a> Fred Wilpon, who purchased the Mets for $391 million and will dole out $121 million in player salary while still turning a profit of millions this coming season. Or of WFAN and their parent company, CBS, which reported $3.7 billion in revenue during the first quarter of 2008.<br /><br />In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, New York Knicks guard Stephon Marbury openly wept with grief on national television, expressing between sobs the empathy he felt for the children of New Orleans, imagining what it would be like should anything so horrific befall his own children. He pledged, and delivered, $1 Million to relief funds. It is impossible to say how much his emotion inspired others to contribute, or at the very least, care.<br /><br />Joe Horn, then of the New Orleans Saints, was in the Superdome during the aftermath of the Hurricane: providing hands-on assistance to the sick and dying, attempting to encourage and lift the spirits of those around him, and speaking loudly to the press at every opportunity to tell the world what was going on and challenge the government to take action.<br /><br />Serena Williams suggested that maybe she would donate $50 for each ace she served in her next tennis tournament...<br /><br />The world collectively groaned and rolled their eyes. After all, how could she be so out of touch with the drastic nature of the situation, and not recognize the need for more concerted action?<br /><br />I will not attempt to compare Autism to Katrina, other than to say that clearly the world is not grasping the urgency or the degree of concern that Autism requires at this time.<br /><br />The largest Autism awareness organization in the country is happy to promote an enterprise in which millionaires play ball games for billionaires and toss a few crumbs to our children with Autism, as if they are trained seals begging along the foul lines. The rest of the nation watches the show and applauds. Most go home. A few visit the Autism Speaks site and donate. Society marches on unaffected.<br /><br />I'd like to propose that the next time our local sports teams host an "Autism Awareness Night," we make it a night of true awareness, encouraging those who arrive at the park to do the following:<br /></span><ol style="font-family:georgia;"><li><span style="font-size:100%;">Calculate the amount of time and money you spend each year on sports. Decide on a percentage of that </span><span style="font-size:100%;">money </span><span style="font-size:100%;">and - more importantly - <span style="font-style: italic;">time </span>you could instead donate to Autism.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">Use your new free time to volunteer at a local school or non-profit organization servicing people with Autism.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">If you know someone with Autism, see if there is a respectful way you can contribute to that person's life, whether it be as a friend, advocate, or caregiver.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">If you know a family with a child or adult dependent with Autism, reach out to that family. Most people cannot fathom the degree to which families feel ostracized from their community.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">If you own a business or are in a decision-making position for one, or if you have the ear of a decision-maker, work to find a way to include a person with Autism in your workforce. Being a part of such a community can provide immeasurable quality to a person with Autism's life, and also provide his or her coworkers with more "awareness" than any night at the ballpark. </span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">And of course there is always the obligatory stuff about writing or calling politicians and telling them to support more paid social services for individuals with Autism and to mandate insurance companies to pay for Autism-related services such as ABA therapy.</span></li></ol>Promotions such as "Strikeouts for Autism" lead us down a rabbit hole: a place where fans, players, franchise owners, broadcasters, and media conglomerates alike can pat themselves on the back for their participation in a cause.<br /><br />The fans feel good about supporting their team when they hear about the team's charitable activities, which permits them to enjoy their time at the park or in front of the TV with clean conscience.<br /><br />The players feel good that they have a convenient method for giving back to the community, one which poses no threat to their odd position as global icons, and unfathomably wealthy celebrities.<br /><br />The franchise owners sleep better at night, and have more fodder for staking claims that they are an important part of the fabric of the community, which always comes in handy when it's time to demand a new publicly-funded facility.<br /><br />The broadcasters get to feel warm and fuzzy inside as they list off the latest totals, and employ their finely honed skills of elocution to inspire huzzahs over it.<br /><br />The media conglomerates purchase always-valuable good faith from the public, in exchange for the same cash outlay they spend on paper clips in a day.<br /><br />It is a tidy little circle of sanctimony and self-congratulation, one that benefits many.<br /><br />Unfortunately, and somewhat inconveniently, it is a circle that excludes those for whom it claims to exist in the first place.<br /><br />My message to WFAN, CBS, the Wilpons, Mets, and others who like to engage in these sorts of stunts: Thanks, but no thanks.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zdj3snXnTYCVpvh54VxQNjKAgfuo99fMJFxE1Ceb4KJ165wAmGtrysq7psJY-LeujiaAncP6VTinb1WG_JR4FRV6kg1lYaKMiu9XUQzAmCU6C4ERs6uvcya1leYhnYgh7ElvvddiX78/s1600-h/d_200608_Jumbotron1lorez-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zdj3snXnTYCVpvh54VxQNjKAgfuo99fMJFxE1Ceb4KJ165wAmGtrysq7psJY-LeujiaAncP6VTinb1WG_JR4FRV6kg1lYaKMiu9XUQzAmCU6C4ERs6uvcya1leYhnYgh7ElvvddiX78/s400/d_200608_Jumbotron1lorez-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206337343189627458" border="0" /></a>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-41930338092447682142008-05-26T19:43:00.000-07:002008-05-27T17:01:20.643-07:00Shark-Filled Waters Two: Entering the Belly of the Beast<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lD2BMNyfBZ4OVRD87Aygpjd0XG7KPOmRlhhzUF4E2j6xaxUB2j6mk2coUyTd9WdI5db4cHa1jzswetP8x9W68prjmALciEhlqMhTzDilg0SY3q9PryQBLcF55vyw-w44WKaA_Yf9Poc/s1600-h/DSC00888.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lD2BMNyfBZ4OVRD87Aygpjd0XG7KPOmRlhhzUF4E2j6xaxUB2j6mk2coUyTd9WdI5db4cHa1jzswetP8x9W68prjmALciEhlqMhTzDilg0SY3q9PryQBLcF55vyw-w44WKaA_Yf9Poc/s400/DSC00888.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205211447185033938" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://stilllifewithshark.blogspot.com/2008/05/shark-filled-waters-lets-cut-to-chase.html">Previously</a>, I wrote about the long and drawn out process of getting Sharky evaluated by Seattle Public Schools (SPS), a process that lasted well into the beginning of the school year, thus ensuring that his transition into the classroom would come in the form of him being "the new kid," joining midstream, behind from day one.<br /><br />Sharky was eventually seen in late October. A team of therapists and child development specialists evaluated him and found that he qualified for special education services in a number of areas.<br /><br />First and foremost was the area of social skills. Sharky had a very social nature, they felt, but little idea how to socialize appropriately or how to initiate and maintain social interactions.<br /><br />They told us that it was essential to get him into a classroom environment where he would be with peers who were typically developing, and also students with disabilities who were at a more advanced level than he in social skills. This would place him in a position to model positive behaviors.<br /><br />Conversely, they urged us to keep him out of environments where he would be with children with limited social skills, and to avoid extensive interaction with students who exhibited stereotypical Autistic behaviors. An environment such as this, they explained, would cause him to pick up unwanted behaviors and to regress.<br /><br />Given Sharky's relatively high level of functioning, and his proclivity towards socialization, they felt there was an excellent chance he could be "mainstreamed" ( a term that to this day terrifies me) and enter into general education within a couple of years. Getting him into an educational program as they described, along with a comprehensive program of private therapy, was essential to this goal, and should begin immediately, they told us.<br /><br />The next step involved the district.<br /><br />They referred us to two schools. The characteristic of these schools that appealed to the district was closeness to Sharky's mother's home, which is where he spends the majority of his school week.<br /><br />We toured these schools and met with their staff. The first one had a group of very beautiful little children, who ranged from the severely disabled to the medically fragile. There was not a single student in the class that day who could speak. The attention of the staff was devoted mostly to assisting students attempting to walk along parallel bars or take off a coat.<br /><br />The second classroom we went to was slightly closer to what we had envisioned, but still no verbal students. Sharky found one boy who was friendly enough. They chased each other around the play area in silence.<br /><br />We asked the teacher if they had any typically developing students. They did not. He was a very nice man. My recollections of our conversation - in which we listed the characteristics we had been told were essential to Sharky's well-being and asked if they were present in his classroom - are mostly images of him shrugging and wincing sympathetically.<br /><br />We were wondering why SPS was wasting our time, and I think he wondered the same, though perhaps he had a slightly more educated guess than we.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU83ApFgCkN3RnZx8pw9SBoQ3no0cWU6aMUxv5L2qLnDVVpR1qtTo-uH9FxwxQ7g6ZDDCXMMMof36JHwHDiQ5h3kgAGiXqBeOSt4j4Y53-APUVd89lu-WIi_GpvH2a1uMY9iostKnFlbw/s1600-h/DSC00885.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU83ApFgCkN3RnZx8pw9SBoQ3no0cWU6aMUxv5L2qLnDVVpR1qtTo-uH9FxwxQ7g6ZDDCXMMMof36JHwHDiQ5h3kgAGiXqBeOSt4j4Y53-APUVd89lu-WIi_GpvH2a1uMY9iostKnFlbw/s400/DSC00885.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205211374170589890" border="0" /></a><br />I reported back to the consulting teacher with SPS that we were not at all happy with the options that had been presented, and asked that she provide more. She said she would bring up my concerns at a meeting the Special Education department was having in a few days.<br /><br />After that meeting, she sent me an email to inform me that after discussing my concerns, they had come back with the same two school references, and we would have to choose between one of them. At that, I informed her that we had no intention of sending him to either of those classrooms, as according to the advice of their own evaluation team, the environments each class provided would do more harm than good.<br /><br />A bit later, she contacted me to say that even though we were not intending to enroll Sharky, the district was required to extend an offer of services, and could I please meet with her and the teacher of the second school we visited to sign off on some forms stating that they had.<br /><br />For the life of me I have no idea as I sit here typing this how I could have been so foolish as to agree to this. I suppose at the time, despite my innate skepticism when it come to bureaucracies and the poor form SPS had shown thus far, I was naive as to what true scoundrels they actually are.<br /><br />I met with the consulting teacher and the teacher of shrugs and winces we had met before . We skimmed over an IEP - the first time I had seen one - and in the end I signed off saying that I agreed with the needs and goals outlined but disagreed with the placement. I came to find out later that what I had in essence done was to decline services, therefore relinquishing the district from legal responsibility for the months that ensued in which Sharky was not in school.<br /><br />I will halt the narrative of the story for now, but will leave off on this note: At one of many contentious IEP meetings over the ensuing months, when we argued with SPS that the placement referrals they had made for Sharky were irresponsible, not in keeping with what their evaluation team had recommended, and not at all what was best for Sharky, a consulting teacher responded:<br /><br />"Unfortunately we're not required to provide the best setting, only the appropriate one."<br /><br />Let's dissect that statement for a moment, shall we?<br /><br />First of all..."unfortunately"?<br /><br />Who is this unfortunate for? The syntax of her statement would lead you to believe that SPS feels it is unfortunate, as if SPS wishes it could provide what is "best" for our children, but, darn it, it can't because it's not required of it to do so. Apparently SPS is paralyzed, suffering from locked in syndrome, wishing for all sorts of beatific fantasies but required by some unspoken law to not provide a smidgen more than what it requires itself to provide.<br /><br />This is the imploding "logic" of the district with which we have to work. This is the utter insanity with which we must familiarize ourselves, to the point where we can recite it and interpret it, while at the same time not allowing it to consume us. We must decipher the corrupt language of the child-crushing bureaucracy well enough to use it to defend the child it seeks to crush. But we must also maintain a clear vision of the peaceful, compassionate way in which we want to communicate with our children. These are two very different forms of communication, and we must be adept at both, sometimes switching between the two within moments of each other, sometimes engaging in both simultaneously.<br /><br />It is difficult. But one look across the IEP table, into the sad and half-crazed eyes of those with the district who have accepted the bureaucratic logic as sooth, for whom this image of the world is gospel, provides all the motivation we need to rise above. There, before us, lies a piercing vision of what we might become should we allow ourselves to be dragged down into this mire.<br /><br />And thank god for our children for supplying us with the incentive, wisdom, and love to save us from such a fate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstBTVWfM8UX_xr9dWEH7lS-s3qj2BUs0yXUlDpXdnpIUMObcgLnPw4A_PDdAxMNzXCJpwP8KMpO0mr3Qmp5yw8v2pmjw9fCGYXF-cJQ4NzLw_atQeFPdFKkgF2NpOMSfbgwKOzfVBPwo/s1600-h/DSC00892.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstBTVWfM8UX_xr9dWEH7lS-s3qj2BUs0yXUlDpXdnpIUMObcgLnPw4A_PDdAxMNzXCJpwP8KMpO0mr3Qmp5yw8v2pmjw9fCGYXF-cJQ4NzLw_atQeFPdFKkgF2NpOMSfbgwKOzfVBPwo/s400/DSC00892.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205211537379347170" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJHk-eBTZfwkKxGb1xUBrsvEJNV8toqemN2U1O2rxrGwqdLXWySe7sC3lkXT5fstZdX2USFVdWZg8CFmn79rm7omHcClAK9rgBYicBwgHUr7ZE-4GFMrOCjWJNEXQ9Q19x6OPtBWn-54/s1600-h/DSC00892.JPG"><br /></a>tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546079800339862904.post-20964725507342529732008-05-25T09:12:00.000-07:002008-05-25T09:32:36.949-07:00Soundbites from the Shark Part 1: In which the hero reflects on exiting the womb.People have often told me to write down the various funny, wise, or interesting things Sharky says. So I figure a blog is as good a place as any to jot these down. They come on at least a daily basis. Already today he came up with one while showing a picture of one of his friends to his cousin Alex:<br /><br />Sharky: Look Alex, it's (Jeremy)<br /><br />Me: Alex doesn't know who Jeremy is Sharky. You have to tell her. Who is Jeremy, Sharky?<br /><br />Sharky: Ummm...He's a screamer.<br /><br />But the story I really wanted to commit to print came about a week ago. Sharky was looking at pictures from the day he was born. He noted that we were in the hospital and there were doctors, and I sensed he was worrying that his being born was somehow associated with illness. I explained how some doctors aren't for sick people, but to help babies to be born.<br /><br />Sharky said that the doctor helped get him out of daddy's tummy. I told him he was in mama's tummy, and he said "yeah, and daddy's tummy too!" I suppose he imagines our shared custody arrangement was in place even before birth.<br /><br />Then I said, "and when you came out of mama's tummy, you said, 'ahhhh!ahhhh! I'm cold! It's too bright! Ahhhh!' And I held onto you and I said, 'It's OK buddy, I got you, I got you, you're all right.'"<br /><br />Sharky looked at me in stunned silence. He turned around and ate some grapes quietly for a while.<br /><br />A few minutes later, he walked over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder, and said,"Daddy, I so sorry I have to miss my mama's tummy...It was just too cold in there...yeah, too cold."<br /><br />This exchange illustrates for me a typical understanding reached between Sharky and I, and probably for lots of parents and their children with autism. The details are somewhat skewed and the understanding may not be literal, traditional, or linear. However, there is an understanding, possibly a deeper one, that always seems to grope the sides of some elegant form of truth.<br /><br />And I hereby publicly forgive my son for leaving his mother's womb. After all, we know how cold wombs can get in July.tedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243733893045198185noreply@blogger.com6