My family identifies as Black. Or, one might say we are Black-American, African-American, or of African ancestry. We live in a community where the schools my children attend have student populations that are fairly diverse with respect to race or ethnicity, but the faculty is not nearly as diverse as the student body. As a matter of fact, at the last school event I noticed that most of the faculty was White. I could be wrong and/or may have missed something, but that’s what I remember. As a parent, it reminded me – whether intentional or not – of my difference…my otherness.
I’m also the dad of a special needs son with a form of autism. I continue to confront the reality that my guy has and will continue to develop differently than many of his peers. His sensitivities to sound, smell, touch, and taste are different. His attention to detail and capacity to memorize is different. And, his ability to connect deeply with others can sometimes be different. And, I am again, reminded of my family’s otherness. That otherness can be highlighted in specific contexts like athletic events, the barbershop, or at a ballet performance (I just got real personal there). Have you ever been othered? Yes, I did make that a verb. Can you recall experiences where someone or some group has intentionally or unintentionally reminded you how DIFFERENT you are from everyone else? If so, I challenge you to consider whether the folks who othered you were authorities who could influence your experience with them? It could have been a teacher or a coach. It could have even been a clergy member or a family member. Did you then have to rely on them to keep their word or fulfill a promise? Did you have faith that they could then meet your needs? As a parent of a special needs child, there is a vulnerability I experience that can be as pervasive as my son’s autism symptoms on a bad day. I’m vulnerable because I’m relying on professionals to administer care, make recommendations, and support the development of my kid in ways that I otherwise would not even consider. I have to exercise a fair amount of trust – and faith – to be confident that the folks who say they are there to help actually DO want to help. This has been especially true for me when it comes to my son and his vaccinations. I’ve tried to convince his doctors about my reservations about continuing his vaccination regimen because of the relationship between one set of vaccinations and when I remember the onset of Avery’s symptoms. And I’ve tried to convey those ideas respectfully and honestly. And even in conveying them respectfully and honestly I still remember feeling unheard… Othered. I’m grateful I have additional forms of capital (social, educational, professional) that position us to have access to quality care for my son with autism. And, I need to say that the large majority of folks who have administered medical care to my kids have presented nothing less than professional, caring, and sincere. But, I shudder when I consider folks who don’t have those forms of capital and have to TRUST people who might contribute to their feeling othered for care and services for their child with a disability. I encourage parents – of special needs children and of typically developing children – to be confident that while they may feel inadequate to make decisions about their child’s care in the shadow of the experts, that they cannot forsake their own convictions and instincts, even when that comes at the risk of being othered. While being othered can feel isolating, it has the wonderful potential to deepen our connections when we risk sharing those experiences with each other.
3 Comments
Manna Selassie
1/27/2013 06:36:24 am
That is a very good illustration of the mystifying visit to the doctor's office. Sometimes, I can't help but wonder, are they trying to help me or simply make it so that I will be a returning customer? And when you try to be respectful and ask about the benefits and risks of the process, they shut you down in this "I'm the professional" kind of tone. Its like they don't have time to take a moment and look at things from your perspective--like they don't trust you. Although it may only be that hour out of my life, the feeling sticks.
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Dad
1/31/2013 07:05:25 am
Mike, I was sitting here workng on Sunday's message when I decided to take a short break to catch-up on your blog. I'm not exactly sure why, but this posting spoke to me at my core. Perhaps it's because any of us who are in the "minoriy" (whether it be because of race, ability, feeling like an expert has talked-down to us, or any easilty discernable feature), have multiple, sometimes lifetime, experiences of being "othered," even when it's not intended. While many of these experiences can be blown-off, many of them can't, and the experience leaves a wound on the soul. Recognition of this renews my commitment to the belief that we all need community because it is not good for man (in the word's broadest connotation) to be alone. We are to be the helpmates of others, becasue there we can experience healing. Thanks for sharing this.
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Michael Hannon
2/2/2013 08:36:23 am
Dad-
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AuthorI'm Mike. If you have an interest in mental health, family functioning, and disability advocacy, this blog may be of interest to you. Archives
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