Parenthood: Week 400 – 12/7/20

Remote Learning 

Ollie is in the third week of remote learning. His school switched from in-person learning to remote learning the week before Thanksgiving break. It has been going a lot better than the remote learning experience we had last Spring.  

The school is much more organized than the school Ollie was at last year. A web page that the school maintains has a clear schedule, Zoom links, and is updated regularly. The teachers do a great job managing the Zooms and maintaining good and reasonable norms for remote-learning. 

It is clear that his teachers worked very hard to establish a strong, positive, and caring classroom community during the time they were on campus. This carries across to his calls, which is evident in the joy Ollie has in starting his morning Zoom, and the laughter and engagement I overhear in his contributions to class discussions.  

In the afternoon, I can tell that he is drained from the online work, and I’m trying to remind myself to give him extra patience during his time away from in-person school. It’s hard being on Zooms so much, and he’s trying really hard to make it work. I’m proud of Ollie for giving this remote learning his all, and I’m thankful for his schools and his teachers for inspiring Ollie to stay engaged. 

 

The Video

I recently saw a video posted online of an adult who has unilateral hearing loss like Ethan. She talked about what it was like being raised by parents who didn’t talk slower for her, who didn’t give her the space to enter conversations, who didn’t help her understand that her frustrations were due to the challenges of her disability.  

The first time I watched the video, I had to stop because I could feel the rush of emotions coming over, and I knew at that moment that I didn’t have it in me to process this video.  

Later, when I watched the video, I was crushed. 

Look, I know that I’m a great dad to Ethan. I am patient and loving. But I also sometimes forget that he has a disability. A memory came to me as I watched this video. I asked Ethan in the morning quickly from the kitchen, “do you want milk or chocolate milk?”  

Ethan answered me from the other room, “milk.” When I brought him his milk, he said he wanted chocolate milk, and I got frustrated that he didn’t tell me this when I first asked. I felt horrible that I was frustrated with Ethan when he didn’t tell me what he wanted when I initially asked because he couldn’t hear me clearly.  I was in the other room, and I was talking too quickly.  

I’m glad that I don’t see Ethan’s disability as the central part of his identity. At the same time, I do need to remember he needs me to make accommodations for his needs, all of the time. It feels horrible knowing that I’ve made mistakes, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. 

Talking a little bit slower and making sure you are in the same room as your child so that they don’t have to work to understand is not too much to do for Ethan to feels more loved and develop a more profound love for himself.