Cosy Consensus
9 years ago
Saturday, October 27, 2012
79. RETARD is Hate Speech
Dear readers, please copy this image. Share it with your friends. Post it on your blog. Post it to your Facebook wall. Spread this image like a virus. I'm asking you to stand in solidarity with your friends who have intellectual differences. We need your help, and we need it right now. Take a stand against bullying. Take a stand against hate. Take a stand against the R word, once and for all.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
78. Ann Coulter Summits Mount Retard
Two weeks ago I asked Ann Coulter to apologize for tweeting the slur "retarded." During the final presidential debate, she did a very "Ann Coultery" thing. She doubled down. She fired off a tweet insinuating that President Obama is a "retard." Such a deliberate act, the typing of that word. Although she has never addressed me directly, I think it's safe to assume that Ann's latest tweet is as close to a reply as I'm ever going to get.
It's hard to know just how to wage war against an adversary who feeds on publicity the way a vampire feeds on necks. So I'm not going to fight that fight. In fact, I hereby withdraw my request for an apology, because I no longer want one from her. Instead, I've decided to link arms with dear Ann Coulter and help bring her the notoriety she craves.
Yes, the woman who has proudly left her footprints across mountains of people - people who don't share her political or religious views, skin color, sexual orientation or financial means - has ascended a new peak. I'm honored to help plant her bright red flag on the summit of Mount Retard. I want Ann's name to forever be linked to the taunting of special needs children. May all those who look upon her face be reminded of the bully at the bus stop. The dismissive cashier. The group of kids who point and laugh and stare. From this day forth, let the "Ann Coulter" brand be synonymous with the shameful and callous treatment of those whose voices are too often ignored.
Thank you, Ann Coulter, for lending your face to the cause. A more appropriate symbol for cruelty I can't imagine.
Now that the special needs community has identified and dismissed Ann's brand of intolerance, it's time for FOX News to do the same. Tell them to stop giving Ann a platform by writing to comments@foxnews.com
It's hard to know just how to wage war against an adversary who feeds on publicity the way a vampire feeds on necks. So I'm not going to fight that fight. In fact, I hereby withdraw my request for an apology, because I no longer want one from her. Instead, I've decided to link arms with dear Ann Coulter and help bring her the notoriety she craves.
Yes, the woman who has proudly left her footprints across mountains of people - people who don't share her political or religious views, skin color, sexual orientation or financial means - has ascended a new peak. I'm honored to help plant her bright red flag on the summit of Mount Retard. I want Ann's name to forever be linked to the taunting of special needs children. May all those who look upon her face be reminded of the bully at the bus stop. The dismissive cashier. The group of kids who point and laugh and stare. From this day forth, let the "Ann Coulter" brand be synonymous with the shameful and callous treatment of those whose voices are too often ignored.
Thank you, Ann Coulter, for lending your face to the cause. A more appropriate symbol for cruelty I can't imagine.
Now that the special needs community has identified and dismissed Ann's brand of intolerance, it's time for FOX News to do the same. Tell them to stop giving Ann a platform by writing to comments@foxnews.com
Sunday, October 14, 2012
77. T21 Brigade
Wanna help knock birds out of the sky with stones? If you have a direct connection to Down syndrome and you want to become an advocate, come seek us out on Facebook. Not on Facebook? Don't worry, our blog will be launching soon.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
74. Hello World! I'm Still Here!
If you're visiting because of the post I wrote for TODAY Moms, welcome! This is my personal blog, and it's all about my life with Ozzie.
I started writing this blog immediately after Ozzie was born, and I continued to do so for quite a long time. I wrote frequently until all the dark days had passed me by. If you're in the thick of those dark days, I promise they will soon pass you by, too. Pinkie swear. If any of you decide to stick around and read my story, I recommend you start at the very beginning. July 15, 2008. Post number one.
One quick note - you'll notice that I haven't posted anything new here for quite some time. It's not because I don't have things to say, it's just that life with Ozzie has become "regular old life" for me. These days, I don't often feel like I have amazing and remarkable and insightful things to share with the world. But for those of you who are curious, and especially for those parents out there who are new to the Down syndrome scene, I hope you find my blog interesting and helpful.
Please leave me a comment on this post if you don't mind, especially if you've never been here before. Just a quick hi or something. I'm interested to see who drops by. And if your name is Ann Coulter, the comments section of this post would be a great place to post your heartfelt apology.
Also, if anyone is interested in connecting with me on Facebook, please come seek out the "T21 Brigade" Facebook group. It's a private group of advocates who stand up for the rights of people who have Down syndrome. We are accepting new members and we would love to get a message from you if you would like to join.
I started writing this blog immediately after Ozzie was born, and I continued to do so for quite a long time. I wrote frequently until all the dark days had passed me by. If you're in the thick of those dark days, I promise they will soon pass you by, too. Pinkie swear. If any of you decide to stick around and read my story, I recommend you start at the very beginning. July 15, 2008. Post number one.
One quick note - you'll notice that I haven't posted anything new here for quite some time. It's not because I don't have things to say, it's just that life with Ozzie has become "regular old life" for me. These days, I don't often feel like I have amazing and remarkable and insightful things to share with the world. But for those of you who are curious, and especially for those parents out there who are new to the Down syndrome scene, I hope you find my blog interesting and helpful.
Please leave me a comment on this post if you don't mind, especially if you've never been here before. Just a quick hi or something. I'm interested to see who drops by. And if your name is Ann Coulter, the comments section of this post would be a great place to post your heartfelt apology.
Also, if anyone is interested in connecting with me on Facebook, please come seek out the "T21 Brigade" Facebook group. It's a private group of advocates who stand up for the rights of people who have Down syndrome. We are accepting new members and we would love to get a message from you if you would like to join.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
69. Amazing Acrobatic Feats
Ozzie starts off here with bunch of standard rolls, but about halfway through this video he does some handstand/flip maneuvers that must be seen to be believed.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
67. Forgive Me Readers, For I Have Sinned
It has been 212 days since my last confession. Here's a list of random things I have done since my last post:
Became an online minister and married a friend on a tall ship.
Received a gong as a birthday present.
Helped my daughter catch her first fish. We let the little guy go, unharmed.
Bought a sombrero at a thrift shop.
Started a weekend film festival in my neighborhood. I’m the projectionist, and we are fully licensed.
Met one of the Lisas.
Sat with my mom as my dad had surgery to remove a cancerous tonsil. Have watched him receive chemo and radiation for the past few months. That stuff is no joke.
Shopped at an Asian market. Ate durian on my back porch.
Sprayed a nest of yellow jackets.
Got my nipple bitten by a fish while swimming in a lake.
Wrote a poem about a time traveler. And one about a cowboy who wears a nine gallon hat.
Rented a cotton candy machine and ate until I could eat no more. Also, I had cotton candy all the way up my arm like a mummy. Figured out you could dip a banana in the unused sugar the next day for a semi-healthy treat.
Learned how to juggle four balls for like two seconds. But still, that’s a start.
Got a gold tooth. A molar, not an incisor. I have SOME class.
Found Rudolph’s bell-laden collar on our front steps on Christmas morning. Somehow he lost it.
Went to a hog festival. Saw no hogs. Ate hogs, though.
Took my daughter to see a musical. Shrek, if you must know. I’m not a big fan of musicals or Shrek, but it was entertaining. I could have done without the fart jokes.
Got up at three in the morning to watch falling stars.
Bought that “Friday” song, mostly because I felt sorry for the poor young singer who became a joke instead of a star. There’s a fine line between the two.
Made button rings with my daughter.
Decorated the entire sidewalk in front of the house with sidewalk chalk. It was a pretty awesome sight for the hour it lasted before the sprinklers washed it away.
Still didn’t cut off my hair.
Taught my son to press his cheek against mine on command.
Started a fire with one match.
And that’s about everything noteworthy. Life is just chugging along.
*P.S. Immediately after posting this, I pulled my daughter's first loose tooth. So let's add that to the list.
Became an online minister and married a friend on a tall ship.
Received a gong as a birthday present.
Helped my daughter catch her first fish. We let the little guy go, unharmed.
Bought a sombrero at a thrift shop.
Started a weekend film festival in my neighborhood. I’m the projectionist, and we are fully licensed.
Met one of the Lisas.
Sat with my mom as my dad had surgery to remove a cancerous tonsil. Have watched him receive chemo and radiation for the past few months. That stuff is no joke.
Shopped at an Asian market. Ate durian on my back porch.
Sprayed a nest of yellow jackets.
Got my nipple bitten by a fish while swimming in a lake.
Wrote a poem about a time traveler. And one about a cowboy who wears a nine gallon hat.
Rented a cotton candy machine and ate until I could eat no more. Also, I had cotton candy all the way up my arm like a mummy. Figured out you could dip a banana in the unused sugar the next day for a semi-healthy treat.
Learned how to juggle four balls for like two seconds. But still, that’s a start.
Got a gold tooth. A molar, not an incisor. I have SOME class.
Found Rudolph’s bell-laden collar on our front steps on Christmas morning. Somehow he lost it.
Went to a hog festival. Saw no hogs. Ate hogs, though.
Took my daughter to see a musical. Shrek, if you must know. I’m not a big fan of musicals or Shrek, but it was entertaining. I could have done without the fart jokes.
Got up at three in the morning to watch falling stars.
Bought that “Friday” song, mostly because I felt sorry for the poor young singer who became a joke instead of a star. There’s a fine line between the two.
Made button rings with my daughter.
Decorated the entire sidewalk in front of the house with sidewalk chalk. It was a pretty awesome sight for the hour it lasted before the sprinklers washed it away.
Still didn’t cut off my hair.
Taught my son to press his cheek against mine on command.
Started a fire with one match.
And that’s about everything noteworthy. Life is just chugging along.
*P.S. Immediately after posting this, I pulled my daughter's first loose tooth. So let's add that to the list.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
61. Ozzie, Live and Unplugged
As promised, here are some current videos of Ozzie. He's a fun and active little guy - a perpetual motion machine. He is mischievous and stubborn and hilarious and exhausting and frustrating and... simply wonderful. I cannot imagine my life without him.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
60. Upon Further Review, My Last Post Was Boring
It was really boring. I didn't start writing this blog so I could post emotionless updates on my state of mind. So let's spill some blood, shall we?
I'm two years into this journey.
The far shore - the one I left behind on the day Ozzie was born - is a distant memory. It's a place I can never return. I'm not sure I would even be interested in returning if given the opportunity. I have stopped looking back to the past, much like I have stopped looking forward to the future. I have this oddly myopic view of time these days, a visual impairment that resulted from staring too long into the void. It's a staring contest that I won, I guess, but it's one that changed me forever. Since then, I sort of take days as they come.
I'm two years into this journey, and I am not the man I used to be.
Truth be told, I'm not even sure I was a man before. I'm quite sure that I am one now. I have a completely different perspective on life. I have a healthy appreciation for the things that matter most. I have quiet disdain for the superficial problems that others seem to obsess about.
I read an article in the newspaper a few weeks ago about a mother whose young child had an eating disorder - a gluten allergy or something. Something serious, something hard to identify. But the doctors finally figured it out, and he is now on a restricted diet. And the mother's lament went something like this:
"The heartbreak - you have no idea. I mean, I wonder, when he grows up, will he ever even be able to take a date to a restaurant?"
Yes, sounds like a real nightmare. Sounds like the sort of thing I would have worried about, too, before I had to worry about whether my child would ever be able to go out on a date at all. Then again, my observation must sound ridiculous to a parent whose child is deceased.
I'm two years into this journey, and I do not have all the answers.
I can look at Ozzie and experience emotions that swing wildly from joy to terror in the span of a few moments. He makes me happier than I deserve to be. But the sadness stalks me, too, waiting for its chance to pounce.
We are members of a local science museum. We visit frequently, and whenever I go, the sadness waits for me in the gift shop. You see, the gift shop sells little astronaut costumes for children. Parents buy those costumes for their kids with nary a thought. Mommy zips up that suit and tells little Johnny that, one day, if he studies really hard, he can be an astronaut. He can be anything he wants to be.
I have not bought that suit for Ozzie. It just seems cruel.
Yes, it can be tough to fend off the sadness in the gift shop.
I'm two years into this journey, and I have lived to tell the tale.
Recently, another father - a man I had just met - pulled me aside at a local Ds function after I had introduced myself. His own journey started well after mine, and he told me how much this blog meant to he and his wife. He thanked me for the things I have written. He thanked me for my honesty. That brief moment meant more to me than he probably knows. And it raises an important point - honesty. If you are going to blog about something as important as Down syndrome, please do it honestly.
A certain very high-profile Ds blogger did a great job of turning me off quickly because her posts simply did not ring true. I know too many people who have gone through this process. I have read their most intimate thoughts. None of them experienced the instant Nirvana that is, apparently, her new life. Truth be told, it's hard as hell to work through that first year. Anyone who tells you differently - anyone who makes you feel guilty for not being blissfully happy in the months after the birth of your baby - is a liar. I think people get swept up in blogging, sometimes, and they feel that they have a responsibility to the Ds community to paint everything with beautiful colors. But sometimes the morning sky is blood red, and should be painted with a stiff, blood-soaked brush. I value honesty in a blog, above all else. At the very least, don't be dishonest. If you want me to read it, anyway.
I'm two years into this journey, and I think the roughest seas are behind me.
I still can't be sure of that, but I certainly hope so.
I'm two years into this journey.
The far shore - the one I left behind on the day Ozzie was born - is a distant memory. It's a place I can never return. I'm not sure I would even be interested in returning if given the opportunity. I have stopped looking back to the past, much like I have stopped looking forward to the future. I have this oddly myopic view of time these days, a visual impairment that resulted from staring too long into the void. It's a staring contest that I won, I guess, but it's one that changed me forever. Since then, I sort of take days as they come.
I'm two years into this journey, and I am not the man I used to be.
Truth be told, I'm not even sure I was a man before. I'm quite sure that I am one now. I have a completely different perspective on life. I have a healthy appreciation for the things that matter most. I have quiet disdain for the superficial problems that others seem to obsess about.
I read an article in the newspaper a few weeks ago about a mother whose young child had an eating disorder - a gluten allergy or something. Something serious, something hard to identify. But the doctors finally figured it out, and he is now on a restricted diet. And the mother's lament went something like this:
"The heartbreak - you have no idea. I mean, I wonder, when he grows up, will he ever even be able to take a date to a restaurant?"
Yes, sounds like a real nightmare. Sounds like the sort of thing I would have worried about, too, before I had to worry about whether my child would ever be able to go out on a date at all. Then again, my observation must sound ridiculous to a parent whose child is deceased.
I'm two years into this journey, and I do not have all the answers.
I can look at Ozzie and experience emotions that swing wildly from joy to terror in the span of a few moments. He makes me happier than I deserve to be. But the sadness stalks me, too, waiting for its chance to pounce.
We are members of a local science museum. We visit frequently, and whenever I go, the sadness waits for me in the gift shop. You see, the gift shop sells little astronaut costumes for children. Parents buy those costumes for their kids with nary a thought. Mommy zips up that suit and tells little Johnny that, one day, if he studies really hard, he can be an astronaut. He can be anything he wants to be.
I have not bought that suit for Ozzie. It just seems cruel.
Yes, it can be tough to fend off the sadness in the gift shop.
I'm two years into this journey, and I have lived to tell the tale.
Recently, another father - a man I had just met - pulled me aside at a local Ds function after I had introduced myself. His own journey started well after mine, and he told me how much this blog meant to he and his wife. He thanked me for the things I have written. He thanked me for my honesty. That brief moment meant more to me than he probably knows. And it raises an important point - honesty. If you are going to blog about something as important as Down syndrome, please do it honestly.
A certain very high-profile Ds blogger did a great job of turning me off quickly because her posts simply did not ring true. I know too many people who have gone through this process. I have read their most intimate thoughts. None of them experienced the instant Nirvana that is, apparently, her new life. Truth be told, it's hard as hell to work through that first year. Anyone who tells you differently - anyone who makes you feel guilty for not being blissfully happy in the months after the birth of your baby - is a liar. I think people get swept up in blogging, sometimes, and they feel that they have a responsibility to the Ds community to paint everything with beautiful colors. But sometimes the morning sky is blood red, and should be painted with a stiff, blood-soaked brush. I value honesty in a blog, above all else. At the very least, don't be dishonest. If you want me to read it, anyway.
I'm two years into this journey, and I think the roughest seas are behind me.
I still can't be sure of that, but I certainly hope so.
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