I'm old enough to cross the street on my own. Honest, I am!

Old gals such as I, aging with disability, are often infantalized by well-meaning other old gals such as I. Psst, I’m a big kid now — almost a pensioner.

Certainly, not meaning to do it, they just don’t fully realize that a woman the same age as themselves who just happens to use a chair or crutches has been doing it for awhile and is quite capable of accomodating her own needs while out and about in the community  — just like everyone else. 

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t object to people offering to assist but it’s helpful if they announce their intent, rather than sneaking up behind me. Case in point is when I’m entering a mall. You’re all acquainted with those heavy doors, right? You pull one open and then step in and go on your way. Why are more of them not automatic? A point to ponder.

For me and others who use crutches, we have a method that has worked for us for years; for decades, in fact. We approach the door, extending one crutch to brace the door open, then proceed to step forward, moving the alternate crutch. Then the anchor crutch is moved forward. That crutch served not only to hold the door open, but to balance us so we don’t land on our face. Not a good look.

A wrench is thrown into the works when a kindly stranger, intent on being helpful, rushes up behind to grab the door. Oops! That wasn’t helpful. Often, we’re concentrating so intently on executing the process of getting inside the building that we don’t hear you coming.  The best course is for you to wait and do nothing and watch how we do what you do so easily. Then, perhaps you’ll understand why sometimes helping isn’t helping at all.

The assist with the door thing is something I’ve encountered since I moved to Fredericton to attend university back in the 70s. Only a couple of times was I caught off guard, almost taking a tumble.  I can almost sense when someone comes up behind me before they’ve put their hand on the door I’m bracing for balance. More than once, in a pleasant manner, I’ve explained why, though  appreciating the gesture, taking hold of the door could injure me. Once educated about the way of things in my world, they’ll take that knowledge with them and with the next encounter, they’ll ask if help is required.

Over time, as my health/medical status changed, the devices and aids I use to get me through the day have changed. Notably, I use a wheelchair for mall outings, with both chair and crutches being in the back seat of my friend’s car. If we’re simply going to a restaurant, whether stand alone or in a mall with street access, I don’t always take my wheelchair. I walk. The wheelchair space could then used by someone who may need it more than I. How many out there are guilty of using a wheelchair space when they didn’t need it or took advantage of the wheelchair placard of a relative while driving their car to ‘make a quick stop at the store’. No matter the rationale, it’s wrong. More than that, it’s mean-spirited. Have you ever watched a quadriplegic get himself out of a vehicle? It’s exhausting. They need that wheelchair space that you occupied ‘just for a minute’.

Recently, at a cutaway near Walmart at the Regent Mall, looking both ways before crossing to the parking lot to meet my friend who was waiting, I pushed off — a lady about my age rushes up to stop me from proceeding. She grabs the back of my chair. Yup! I had one of those OMG moments. Did she not see that traffic was stopped? As I was rolling out, I indicated my intent with a glance to drivers in both directions — they saw me. Was the lady not seeing what I was seeing or did she think I was deaf and blind and totally hapless as I wheeled on out?  I was getting used to the chair; it still didn’t ‘fit’ me properly so I had to accomodate the manner in which I propelled it.  Breaking in a new wheelchair for me is like you getting used to a new pair of shoes. Gotta work out the squeaks.

I thanked the lady for her assistance but told her that I really didn’t need it. I’ve got wheelchair rolling down to an art form. Again, if your inclination is to immediately help, take a breath and wait; you’ll realise that we who are differently able have ‘got this’.

Following the mall outing, my chair went back to Tango Medical where it was decided to replace the back and add a seatbelt - for more security. The chair now requires dismantling before loading into the car which is an education in itself. Look out mall people. I’ll be back!

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

The aging road runner does it again

As a pet owner with special needs, not lost on me is the mess I’d be in if one or both my dogs got loose. My door is always locked and those who know me well don’t find that odd given marathon mutt’s proclivities.

The last time Mr. Digby escaped the Chez Rockwell compound, barely avoiding being struck by a vehicle, was back in 2007 just weeks after adoption. He lunged just hard enough on his tie-out line to break the collar he came with, running down the driveway hot on the tires of the truck belonging to the contractor supervising work being done on my home. Gary and Mr. Digby were new BFFs and part of their special routine was to go for walks as soon as Gary arrived each morning. Sometimes, Gary took him for a walk before leaving for the day.

Stopped at the end of the driveway waiting to turn out onto the road, Gary just happened to look out his sideview mirror and notice the tenacious one; after stopping the truck, he got out and very calmly walked around, knowing that Mr. Digby was a marathon man on four legs. Just as he reached down to scoop him up, the little rascal bolted across the road, but thankfully captured without further incident. The D-man was immediately collared in stylish leather featuring the MacInnis tartan. Yes, there’s a story about the collar.

Since his Houdini routine of 2007, Mr. Digby had not managed to make a run for it — until several days ago when I had a lapse in paying attention. One must never miss a beat when there’s a terrier in the house. Was it inevitable he’d try to go on a solitary walking tour, or rather a running tour? Would his advanced age stop him? I made the mistake of under-estimating his resolve.

On the day of his great escape, I had tethered Miss Lexie on her own but forgot to close the gate from the kitchen and Mr. Digby stepped into the laundry room to look out into the garage. I didn’t think he’d make a bold move with me right there. Wrong!  He stepped into the garage and started walking towards the opening to the yard. I panicked but I didn’t want to spook him so I got down on my knees to crawl out to try to grab him. No go. He was getting further away, sauntering along. My crutches were out of reach, hanging on a wall inside the garage.

I then crawled back to the garage as I couldn't easily get up on my feet to walk without aids. With leash in hand, I got to my mobility scooter and switched it on, moving slowly down the driveway. Mr. Digby paused to look at me and then he started to run. 15 years old and he was on the move — the chase was on. I had hoped he’d come back to me since he did know about scooter walks and liked them. Wasn’t going to happen.

A good student of rural walks, he kept to the shoulder. I was calling 'help me' in case neighbours were out and would come to my aid. Thankfully, it was an early Saturday morning with little traffic, I continued to move in my housemate’s direction.

I managed to wave down an oncoming truck; the passenger got out and I continued to move along so I could pass him the leash. Mr. Digby was really running. I gave the guy a Tootsie Pop (a movie watching treat) I had in my robe pocket. Off he went, moving slowly towards the trotting terrier, a few times getting close to the wayward one. D wasn't falling for the 'bait n switch' at first. Finally, the elderly dog’s tongue came out to take a swipe at the sweet treat, just long enough for his saviour to grab him, leash him and hand him off to me. Off we went, headed home. In my panic, I failed to get the gentleman’s name, so if he is reading this tale of my obstreperous canine Olympian —  “thank you for saving my dog!”. 

Once back in the house, I looked down at my feet. Bloody socks! Dragging my lower body along when I went to ground to grab the dog did a bit of damage to the tops of my feet. I really should wear my bootie slippers when going out with them. The canine crew wasted no time ministering to my wounds, though I got no sticker for being a good patient. Before settling in to watch the news, I replaced the Tootsie pop I had to give up for he who has no clue he’s a d*g.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

Aging caregivers of profoundly disabled adult children need help

In a recent commentary I addressed the issue of mental health and emotional wellness and how lack of it affects every aspect of life.

As I age with disability, I think of parents, some of whom  are entering their 9th decade, still caring for senior/adult children with challenges to full participation ‘in the world’; a son or daughter who is 50, 60,  even nearing 70! I cannot begin to imagine the stress — aging parents coping with their own frailty of both physical and mental health while worrying and wondering about what’s to become of their adult child whose independent living was  challenged by disabilities. Like their grown up son or daughter, they’ve become medically fragile yet they press on. In their view, however well intentioned,  there’s no one who can better care for their child.

So entrenched in that belief, they ridge against the very thought of accepting full-time or even part-time in home care, or God forbid any suggestion that their son or daughter go into full time nursing home care. Sometimes, the elderly parent is on track for nursing home residency but balks as there is no one to care for Jack. No one to care for Jill. Cities across our great country  would benefit from expanded group homes similar to those developed by Jean Vanier with the L’Arche communities — perhaps a campus of group homes for adults with various types of disabilities from minimal to profound, still part of the larger community, but arranged in a way that makes delivery of services and care more time and cost efficient, enhancing their access to community interaction. 

The typical group home settings popular in the 70s still work today and are often staffed with volunteers or students taking courses specific to working with and for those with special needs; full-time ‘house parents’ are on site. The ongoing relationships developed allow for personal growth across the ages. A blend of that type of care along with the campus-like accommodations we see today would lend themselves well to geriatric parents perhaps letting go more easily, knowing that their child would be safe and well, thriving an environment with those who are, in lots of ways, like him.

Given that persons with disability do make significant contributions to the economy, and in that regard are no different than the ‘mainstream’, we must ensure that their unique needs are addressed in ways that never devalue them as people. We are living longer and with that comes a need to redesign the elder care landscape to include the challenges of a range of conditions, particularly those that impact mobility.

Imagine, if you can, having to plan every single waking moment around the needs of your profoundly disabled child, every day in every way for10 years, 20 years, 40 years, 60 years. I don’t have to see you to know that your head is spinning and you have that ‘OMG’ expression on your face.

The various system of care have got to get on the same page sooner rather than later. Seniors aren’t getting any younger and their adult children with challenges to independent living are often beset with health concerns over and above their initial presenting condition. As example, a 65 year old non-ambulatory son living with fully involved quadriplegic cerebral palsy may also have a heart condition, be prone to lung infections, at risk for pressure sores that take weeks or even months to heal. Long-term hospitalisations would not be the best course given the risk of acquiring an air-borne infection. So the geriatric Mom or Dad, as caregiver, is physically and emotionally taxed; from dispensing medications, wound care, turning their child several times a day to take weight off pressure sensitive skin and so on. Sometimes, the home is not sufficiently equipped with devices that would contribute to ease of undertaking all that’s involved in the ‘nursing care’ component of allowing an adult with disability to ‘age in place’ with Mom and Dad, or sometimes just one parent alone, usually Mom.

Perhaps several of the government’s strategizing sessions should address the issues surrounding the elderly/geriatric person with disability and what’s really going on behind closed doors. Far too often persons in crisis won’t always ask for what they need or want to improve quality of life. That being so, it’s up to us to ask the questions. After all, what affect them impacts all of us.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

I was rolling through the park one day

In 1990, still living in downtown Fredericton, before my first wheelchair, dog walking involved tethering them to my crutches. I didn’t walk very far with them as it really was exhausting.  The Westie then age 11, being a retired show dog, was beautifully behaved but the obstreperous Cairn, a little scrapper who minded everyone’s business but his own was, to put it mildly, a real piece of work! He’d pull and lunge every time a crutch tapped the pavement. Enter Terry Pye, a Fredericton dog trainer. Not a fan of Cairns because they’re often pushy little things, he was quite taken with Mr. Clancy and successfully extinguished the lunging behaviour. Walkies with the wobbly one — that would be me — continued, but not without a few misadvantures, with that tale telling best left to another time. Perhaps another commentary. Very possibly a book.

The wheelchair was a game changer for the dogs — and for the cats, too. I could easily get to Wilmot Park with Mr. Clancy on one side and the grand old gal, Miss Lady, on the other, pulling me along as I pushed the wheels. The cats, being cats, followed at a discreet distance, not wanting to be associated with dogs; they’d wait on the curb, never crossing the street into the park. This routine went on several times a week for a couple of years until we moved out of the city. Mr. Clancy, the Cairn, was partial to large animals, convinced he was a Great Dane — there will be some readers who may remember us — he was the possessed creature pulling me up a hill at the park, with Miss Lady strapped on my lap, while the object of his attention, a police officer on a horse moved through the park. At one point, we were losing momentum and a passerby came to our rescue, pushing us to a level area; once up close and personal, the horse turned to let Mr. Clancy know he wasn’t amused. The stories that chair could tell!

Time and travels continued, with another pair of terriers, twin Cairns Mr. Alex and Mr. Jake, who were rescued from their previous living situation. Both took to the wheelchair immediately, always excited to get on the road; again and again and again. When we adopted these guys, we were living outside the city and our weekly trips ‘to town’, the dogs came along to enjoy a park outing with me while my husband did the grocery shopping. I got the better deal!

On one such excursion, we went through the drive-thru at Tim Horton’s, positioned in line with car traffic, always good for a smile from fellow caffeine addicts. I got a coffee and doughnut while a staff person brought out a bowl of water for the dogs. Then, it happened. Mr. Alex saw a squirrel and Mr. Jake was after a pigeon and I was stuck in the middle. The chair tipped sideways and then crashed to the ground. I had to throw my head up so I didn’t strike it on the ground. My elbow took the hit - split open and blood everywhere. A passerby assisted in getting me and the chair back in business. A quick check of the dogs to ensure they were not injured and we were off on a mad dash/push to Tingley’s Save Easy for medical supplies. While I was waiting at the end of a grocery bag conveyor, Mr. Alex, with his nose for chicken, decided it would be fun to check out a shopper’s groceries. I was surprised he didn’t hold out for a salad. And so it goes in the life I live with dogs. 

Two years ago, I broke down and got 4 new tires for the little red racer, which provided a smoother ride. When I asked about replacing footrests, the sad news came — my chair was so old there were no parts available for it! The decision was made to investigate new wheels while deciding the future of my good and faithful servant. 

Communications with Shawn Leger of Tango Medical solved my problem. Though my trusty  ‘genuine antique’ was fitted to me at a rehab centre ‘seating clinic’, with ankle straps and lap belt attached, my new ride was chosen based on my small stature and the width of the chair. Old faithful was sent off to become part of Easter Seals loaner program, a great way to repurpose medical/mobility aids. 

I took delivery of the new wheels several weeks ago, courtesy of Henry Buyting of Tango Medical Fredericton, who showed up at my door with it. After a test drive/mall crawl, I determined it needed a tweak, which was done. So far, so good.  

All that’s needed now is to name it.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

Without emotional wellness, quality of life suffers

“If you hide from it, people aren’t aware you’re struggling,” says Patricia Cavanaugh, a retired Moncton lawyer and now an artist with, in my humble opinion, considerable talent — a gift she now shares with us. Ms. Cavanaugh spoke about her struggle with depression in a recent Brunswick News article and after reading it, I was compelled to reach out.

Ms. Cavanaugh will be showcasing another of her talents, singing at the fifth annual Beacon In The Night variety show and art expo on May 12th at the Jeanne-de-Valois auditorium on l’Université de Moncton campus, when people living with mental illness can shine - shine by sharing their talents via their art and their music, and shine a light on the need for raising awareness of mental health issues. The event was started by Dr. Patrick Marcotte, a psychiatrist at the Georges-L-Dumont Hospital Centre, with the goal being to break through the stigma attached to mental illness.

Mental illness, mental condition, emotional unwellness - a mixed bag. One area of mental health and wellness that often goes unexplored is the issues associated with parents of children with disabilities, siblings of children with disabilities, other relatives of children with disability, notably grandparents, who may distance themselves simply because they just don’t know how to interact with the new grandchild who may have profound deficiencies with regard to physical ability and possibly intellectual ability that affects learning. 

Emotional unwellness plagues parents who are given the news that the baby they just brought into the world will be significantly disabled with an uncertain outcome. Aren’t outcomes for all of us uncertain? Isn’t it the minute by minute experiences, day by day, week by week, year by year that contribute to shaping outcomes? Doctors and other clinicians must work more diligently at not imposing their value/belief systems on parents who are struggling with news of such magnitude. They must stop telling parents that their child ‘will be a vegetable and he should be put in an institution.’ Yet again, Dickensian attitudes are the go-to. It’s cruel and unusual punishment to already wounded Moms and Dads. 

Clinicians need to keep their eyes and ears open and ask better questions and pay attention to hesitations and masking. Teachers of school-aged children with disability need to pay attention to changes in a parent’s demeanor. Asking how Mom’s doing or how Dad’s doing can be very telling. If guard is down, a helping hand can be offered. Caregivers try to convince themselves and the rest of us that they can do it all. They can’t!

Very often, the primary caregiver is the one who is at most risk but she just won’t allow the facade to crack. She has to be strong. She has to learn all she can learn about the needs of her child. She remains silent, but her stress shows — shows in how she interacts with her partner, shows in how she engages with her other children who have no disability, shows in how she interacts with family and friends. Being silent diminishes quality of life for everyone who have the closest relationship to the mother who is trying to do it all and then some. 

Being silent is neither healthy nor productive and  has potential to harm those near and dear; perhaps not intentionally, but the errors and omissions associated with living a life that’s stressed to the max affects everyone, every day in every way.

When we think of mental illness or mentally ill, we think of the serial killer who goes on a killing rampage, or the serial rapist who lurks in the shadows for decades before being caught and punished or the unkempt person who’s teetering on the rail of a bridge about to leap off. Often, their back stories tell shockingly scary tales of lives lived in fear, while others present people who for all intents were ‘normal’ before their demons were visited upon their communities.

Events like Beacon In The Night are necessary pieces of the fabric of a community. They allow us to learn about what it means to live in fear, in blackness, in pain, in isolation. Worrying and wondering, and hiding our ‘real’ selves in careers that keep us busy and supposedly ‘on top of things’. Then reality slams us. It’s all a lie. It’s time to tell our truth  — being in a safe place with others who are also struggling allows us to do that.

If you have a truth to tell, grab a bestie or two and check out Beacon In The Night activities. New friends are waiting.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

In my home it’s a dog’s life. I just pay the bills

I am a pet people; in fact, I have 2 — a 15 year old Australian Silky Terrier, considered geriatric given his advanced age, and a 8-9 year old Maltese, a sassy senior. Both are in excellent health though they could do with daily walks. I feel guilty about not being sufficiently accommodating, but there are other ways in which I am able to ensure they get sufficient exercise. While in the TV room, as I’m sitting on the floor with them, I toss various toys in a rousing game of fetch and return. Mr. Digby will fetch the toy and run off with it, depositing it in the living room at the other end of the house, run back to wait for me to do it again. Oops, he forgot to bring it back. Miss Lexie, knowing how the game goes, will make the mad dash to fetch the tossed ball or stuffed animal/plushy and bring it back, putting it down in front of me. The D-man grabs that toy and runs off with it, again to the living room. There’s method in my madness. He’s the one who needs the exercise!

Now that the nicer weather is here, I hope to be getting them out for proper walks, however infrequently; they’ll be tethered to my mobility scooter, though Mr. Digby simply will not tolerate having Miss Lexie join us; he gets very testy, and a testy terrier is never a good thing so I’ll take him out on his own, travelling on the shoulder of the road with him on the inside ‘lane’, inspecting grass and rocks. Motorists are very courteous and if one is passing, they leave lots of room. Even oncoming traffic slows down — no doubt amused by the sight of a tiny lady on a fire engine red scooter running the roads with a feisty canine companion. Left on his own in the house while I am out with his ‘sister’, Mr. Digby enjoys Jukebox Oldies; he’s a huge Connie Francis fan.

As with Moms and Dads and their children,  I try not to play favourites, but we all know that in every family that’s inevitable. Some canines are simply more challenging than others, more needy. Mr. Digby’s start in life contributes to his personality — he was a puppy mill dog, sold to a pet store, then sold to an owner who didn’t treat him well. When I adopted him, he was in foster care. Miss Lexie, on the other hand, was an owner surrender from a great home. Her ‘other mother’ visits from time to time. Miss Lexie is more predictable. 

Most people in my position who are on their own with no family nearby wonder about what will happen to their dogs when they are no longer able to meet their daily needs - feeding, exercise, grooming, vet visits, and so on. Were I living in the city, I’d have access to the assistance of ElderDog Canada: Fredericton Pawd. It’s a registered charitable organization, dedicated to aging persons and their dogs. 

ElderDog offers solutions to those concerns and their involvement is all voluntary. They are available to help you help your dog so you can stay together in the home you know and love. Volunteers will visit you and your pet in your home, take your dog for a walk, brush him, feed him and spend time with you and your dog. They’re available to have ‘that’ conversation so you can feel assured that all will be well with your pet should your circumstances change.

Should you require hospitalization, ElderDog will arrange for care of your dog until you are able to resume that role. If/when the time comes that you can no longer live in your home, ElderDog will assist you in finding a home for your canine companion so that you don’t have the added burden of stressing about what will become of your devoted four-footed friend should you no longer be able to care for him.

Currently, I am able to easily meet the daily needs of my canine companions. I am very fortunate to have a groomer who will come to my home to collect my dogs to beautify them in her home-based ‘salon’, taking really great care of Mr. Digby and Miss Lexie. Some time ago, I had a conversation with her about boarding them should I want to go away for a few weeks. She’s agreed to look after them. One less thing for this crotchety old broad to worry about! 

In the event that a long-term arrangement is required for my rugrats, I’ve already had conversations with a young nephew who’s agreed to step in. I reminded him that I have some ‘great stuff’.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

When a classroom's four walls is the real learning disability

Unschooling or free schooling children has been an increasingly popular approach to education adopted by parents/caregivers  who want their youngsters to be unencumbered by the constraints of 4 walls and a rigid set of ‘one size fits all’ drilled learning. In the formative years of my own education, I’d have been a perfect free schooling student. 

I hold the view that traditional, sit down and sit still education of children is effectively ruining them, squashing their creativity and setting the stage of a host of often lifetime problems. Yes, problems. Children are being stifled from experiencing the world on their own terms and at their own pace.

With regard to free schooling, my niece, whose young son lives with autism, had this to say — “one big issue with that is that parents of special needs kids are already exhausted from the care their kids require and their resources are spent. Not to say that it [free schooling]isn’t often/most times the superior option but that there is little support available.”

That needs to change if children who learn differently, are differently able and just don’t seem to fit are to thrive in any sort of formal setting.  Fully appreciating the learning styles of the 'differently able' is critical if they are to succeed in any aspect of life. Many children with deficiencies to mobility as well as to intellect would be far better served learning 'life skills' from the get-go, with the requisite traditional lessons interwoven. Making learning practical and fun also reduces teacher stress.

I find the term learning disability is used  inappropriately, as some children by virtue of an inability to discern social cues and learn and know how to behave in social situations are not at all learning disabled. Think about it.

Children who don't fit the 'standard' learning model may be ideal candidates for being free schooled or unschooled; tear down those walls and allow them to flourish out in the world, up to their elbows in dirt, pulling fresh veggies out of the ground, examining trees and bark and leaves, oh my! There’s a reading lesson lurking in that garden. Do you see it? A math lesson. Think! A salad to be made. Another math lesson.

Reading and writing and arithmetic can be learned in any number of ways that don't involve sitting with 25-30 other children in a closed space with an adult talk, talk, talking! It's time to get serious about thinking outside the box.

Unschooling/free schooling rages against traditional thinking on what kids with learning disabilities, and particularly autism, need in order to learn. I say, rage away.

Even in mistakes, there is learning. We all make mistakes; that’s part of the human condition. Must the mistakes of adults continue to be obstacles to a child’s learning. If one approach is not working, try another. Don’t punish them with negative reporting because they ‘don’t get it’. 

The medically fragile child also benefits from the unschooling/free schooling model because they aren’t stressed by an environment that compromises their physical and emotional health. A child who is relaxed in the spaces in which learning takes place will learn and will, with the passsage of time, be able to generalize knowledge. A huge plus, particularly for children with autism who are often thought to be totally lost to and in the world. We need to see what they see.

Free schooling or unschooling allows for the child to catch up on aspects of development that may have eluded him. Trying to push grade specific academic requirements at him because he’s of a certain age is stifling as well as punitive. Focusing on nurturing development on a day to day basis rather than an endless parade of meetings with teachers and others about how they can best meet his needs is time lost. Practical tools of daily living should be the major part of the ‘teaching plan’.

Children who are differently able, who also learn differently can become lifelong learns if the element of enjoyment, of joy, is woven into each day’s adventure. Pace is everything. Rushing children through the curriculum to meet the teacher’s plan is not effective and it never will be effective. Time to park that bus.

Our lives are in constant flux and on a daily basis, we’re all learning how to cope and deal with change. Isn’t that what life and learning is all about? 

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca