I grew up in a time when kids like me tended to steer clear of those who walked differently. It’s true—I avoided classmates who breathed heavily, wore leg braces (tooth braces were totally fine), or had seizures in the classroom. Those who spoke with slurred speech or used wheelchairs were often invisible to me. I can’t help but feel ashamed of that behavior.
I never bullied anyone outright, but I can’t deny that I acted as though they didn’t exist. I still remember a girl in my class who struggled with scoliosis and spoke with great effort. Whenever she raised her hand, I felt a prickly discomfort—was it annoyance? Frustration? Probably both, because I simply didn’t understand her situation.
I wasn’t a mean kid; I just didn’t know any better. In the 1980s, disabilities weren’t spoken about as they are today. I remember a boy in my class who had a seizure during recess. We all watched in silence as teachers rushed him away. He returned to school the next day, looking perfectly fine, but I never thought to ask how he was. I regret that now—how brave he must have been to face us all again after such a frightening experience.
As I reflect on the child I used to be compared to the person I am today, a mother of a boy with a rare genetic condition, I see the world through a vastly different lens. My son, Alex, has chronic lung disease stemming from ribcage and chest wall deformities. His bones don’t grow as they should. Recently, he took his first unassisted steps, albeit with a wobbly gait thanks to the leg braces he’s worn for three years. He struggles to breathe, often uses oxygen, and sometimes speaks so slowly that it’s hard to follow.
Irony, right? Or perhaps just plain bad luck? I can’t change the past or point fingers—after all, I was just a kid myself. I can’t hold onto blame; instead, I recognize that the culture of my youth was largely unhelpful. Curiosity about disabilities was often met with shushing from adults, making it hard for us to learn and engage.
Given my past experiences, I should be worried about Alex’s social future. Will he be left out on the bus? Will he sit alone during gym class? Surprisingly, I’m optimistic.
The most significant change between then and now is the internet, which has amplified the voices of people with disabilities. In 2023, I can read blogs from parents of children with Down syndrome, cystic fibrosis, and other diagnoses. It’s enlightening to hear various perspectives from healthcare professionals and the individuals themselves.
We now inhabit a world where kindness is celebrated and unkind behavior is increasingly frowned upon. We are more connected and observant, making it harder for rude behavior to go unnoticed. It’s up to us as parents to embrace this shift and teach our kids to be empathetic. Encourage them to check in with classmates who may be struggling, and help them understand that every step—whether taken on foot or wheels—can be a significant triumph.
Let’s guide our children to be part of this new era of kindness, steering them away from the unkindness of the past.
For more insights and resources about navigating this journey, you can check out this excellent resource that discusses pregnancy and health. And if you’re looking for valuable information on fertility, you might find this fertility booster for men helpful. For additional guidance, feel free to reach out through this contact link.
Summary:
In a reflective piece, Laura Thompson discusses her journey from childhood, where she avoided peers with disabilities, to becoming the mother of a son with a rare genetic condition. Despite her past fears about social acceptance for her son, she finds hope in the modern emphasis on kindness and understanding fostered by the internet. She encourages parents to nurture empathy in their children, ensuring they engage positively with those who face challenges.