“Far From the Tree” – Parenting Non-normal Children

Sometimes while reading I must stop, and shut my eyes, to absorb, process and recover from some shocker. This happened a lot with Andrew Solomon’s 2012 book, Far From The Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity. It concerns non-normal children – mostly with deficits – deaf, autistic, disabled, etc.

“Deficit” is already a fraught word; the subtitle’s mention of “identity” is telling. We see here an element of identity politics, that is, based not on interests or beliefs but, rather, personal characteristics like ethnicity or sexuality. A major example is people who see their deafness not as a problem but as their identity. Indeed, there is deaf chauvinism, opposing medical ameliorations of deafness (mainly, cochlear implants), even equating them with genocide (killing deaf culture by depopulating it).

The argument is that they’re not defective but different, and it’s understandable that a deaf person might resent the concept of “cure” as implying something wrong. True, deaf culture, within its own boundaries, is a rich one, and adds to the overall diversity of human culture, which might be seen as diminished were deaf culture lost. But, to quote Robert Frost, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall” – and deaf culture lies behind one, sealed off, not completely but partially, largely inaccessible by the rest of human culture. And, politically incorrect though it may be to point out the obvious, four senses are less than five.*

Pluralism is central to the concept of a truly democratic society. And everyone should be empowered to live the best lives they can. However, when we see “neurodiversity” advocates holding in effect that autism ought to be honored as though it were a lifestyle choice, that goes too far. Sure, autistics can and should live rewarding lives. But there is something very important missing. No one should argue this is not tragic.

Central to this book is what parental love is. It’s easy enough to bloviate all day about the ordinary kind. But the book’s numerous personal stories often depict extraordinary circumstances, that stress-test the concept. Loving deaf children is no surprise, but then there are the children from Hell, turning their parents’ lives into painful, grueling ordeals.

Yet even they are loved. One can understand parents accepting responsibility toward even the most unresponsive, even anti-responsive, offspring; but love? What’s to love? one’s rational mind wants to ask. But while love often does have a (perhaps unconsciously) rational component, of course love is not entirely a manifestation of human rationality. Often it seemed the love depicted in the book existed for its own sake. Parents love children from Hell because, well, they just do. (And sometimes children love parents from Hell.)

Thus one striking impression from this book is that the world is full of saints. Now, admittedly, some selection bias clearly operated; Solomon talks only about people who were willing to talk to him; and few (at least in the medical-type situations) were non-affluent or culturally from the other side of the tracks. But I’ve never believed well-off or upper class people are inherently “better” than others. So if those in the book behaved well, that speaks about human universals.

And in fact, in case after case, people thrown-for-a-loop with an unexpected non-normal child rallied their inner resources and responded to the situation in ways they could never have foreseen. Yet I was not surprised; having long since grown to understand this human characteristic. Again and again, people do rise to the occasion, with an extraordinary capacity for responding to extraordinary situations in extraordinary ways.

Then there’s the chapter about children of rape. Few saints here; a parade of horrors and depravity (refer back to my first sentence). Of course we mustn’t “blame the victim.” And yet Solomon was struck how often being victimized and abused reflected an inability to foresee danger in one’s choices. “Every bad thing that befell them, even at the hands of previous aggressors, came as a surprise. They could not tell the difference between people who warranted trust and those who didn’t.” Why? Their childhood experience. “They did not know what caring behavior felt like, so they were unable to recognize it.”

What a contrast – the loving parental nurture of even profoundly disabled children, versus parenting of initially normal children that turned them into emotionally disabled people. But even some of those latter stories had good redemptive endings, with protagonists ultimately able to rise above all that had gone wrong in their lives. The good outweighs the bad; the tears of love outweigh those of rage.

That’s the human story. It makes me a humanist – a lover of humankind – and an optimist.

 

 

* I’m normally a stickler for the distinction between “less” and “fewer.” But sometimes rules must be broken. Here, “less” is the more fitting word.

My 25th Anniversary: A Beautiful Life

November 27 is my 25^th wedding anniversary. Such occasions can be considered meaningless calendrical artifacts. But they do provide prompts for reflection and celebration. Yet in truth I hardly need it, since no day goes by without my reflecting upon and celebrating my marriage.

My wife has said she feels the lack of a sociability brain module that others have; and I feel that myself. There’s a lot of the loner in me. And, when I belatedly got ‘round to hankering after women, I was pretty clueless in going about it. Doubtful of my ability to land a great catch, I’d have settled for less; I cringe to think of some of the unsuitable women I pursued, fortunately without success. It’s an irony that the one I actually did get was the best of them all.

And whereas, for most people, by my stage of life, those fires have dimmed to embers, I am having it backwards – having now what normally comes with youth. It’s said that youth is wasted on the young, and in the sense meant, I certainly wasted mine; but I’m making up for it now, certainly not wasting my elderhood. And the inversion seems advantageous, since now I have the seasoned wisdom to appreciate the gift.

What I mean to say is that I’m actually more in love with my wife than ever. Couplings are supposed to start out passionate and then ratchet down to tamer feelings. This too I’ve inverted. If my marrying Therese was more from intellect than passion – really a utilitarian judgment – that judgment has been wholly vindicated, and the feelings once tame have grown intense.

But, of course, just as my choice 25 years ago was not from heedless passion, nor is my passion now heedless either. It rises from what she is and what we are together. Quite simply, we have a beautiful life together. One of the big mistakes in marriage is the hope of changing the other person – an error we’ve never made. Indeed, acceptance of each’s nature, and allowing each to be him/herself, is a fundamental principle of our marriage. But perhaps for us that’s easy. Or for me, at least; maybe the most annoying things about Therese are her leaving windows open, and dishes in the sink; at which I just smile, small prices to pay for all that’s wonderful about her. How splendid it is to be greeted each morning with her smile.

I’ve read that the key to happiness is: low expectations. You’re less likely to be disappointed, and more likely to be pleasantly surprised. It’s worked for me; I am still in a state of pleasant surprise at what I’ve gotten.

Yet one can see life as ultimately cruel and tragic. Nothing is given to us without its finally being taken away. The beautiful life Therese and I have will end. But no law of the universe decreed our entitlement to such a gift at all. We can only rejoice at what we’ve been given.