At the Edge of the Parenting Abyss

"Standing at the edge of a cliff, dodging objects sailing through the air that would knock me into the abyss," would be the honest answer when asked how I am. Instead, I smile brightly and give a cheery, "Just fine, and you?"

No one really wants to hear the truth and frankly, who has the time? We're all so busy running to and fro just trying to keep up. If someone did stop and really ask, I'd just burst into tears anyway. 

Things are not okay, actually. 

This sweet, wonderful, chosen child of mine is really a bit of a terror. 

We are out of our parenting depths. Behaviors are increasing. Throwing, pinching, hitting, spitting, biting are becoming the norm, not the exception. The randomness of the attacks are disconcerting and alarming to say the least, leaving us all on edge, but the assaults are constant. This is the text from Shawn this morning when we were checking in with each other:

I cringe to see my youngest cower when she sees her brother holding a solid object, rightly suspecting she's the likely target. I hear my older children mirror my own frustration after getting pinched for the hundredth time. 

I'm saddened to see this bright little boy retreat somewhere into himself in attempt to cope with the overwhelming world around him. I hate to see the confusion that crosses his face when someone reacts in anger after he hurts them. 

Worse, I hate to see his huge grin and hear his laughter when someone cries as a result of the pain he's inflicted. I'm at a loss as to how to respond to that. How do you explain to a five-year-old that his little brother didn't mean to hurt him and is not really laughing at him...when it sure looks like he did and is? 

Due to his wandering tendencies, we are constantly on alert, fearing that someone will forget and leave a door ajar or a gate open. Because of the kids playing outside all the time in the warm summer months, we are already becoming immune to the sound of the door alarms. 

I would like to say that it's just a matter of time before he takes advantage of an open door and wanders away but, unfortunately, it's already occurred. That is a terror no parent wants to experience. While he was returned to us safe, the nightmares of a much different outcome have continued almost nightly and peaceful sleep eludes me.

The constant anxiety with an occasional burst of adrenaline due to a flying object is taking a toll. 

We love this little guy. Some of these behaviors are actually developmentally appropriate. He came home at three-and-a-half-years-old acting very much the infant. Now, at almost five, he more closely resembles a defiant toddler, which shows he is making progress. Which is wonderful (if exhausting for us)! We are so proud of him! 

But there is a definite neurological component which has always been present, but is becoming unmanageable with our current bag of tricks. We decided initially, while we suspected autism, that we would not pursue a dual diagnosis of Down syndrome and ASD (autism spectrum disorder) because he was already getting therapies and developmental preschool and it really wouldn't change anything. 

However, as behaviors have increased and it is clear we are out of our league, we have scheduled an autism evaluation for him the end of this month. We have discovered that there are more services available to him if he actually has the ASD diagnosis, as well as more support for us. We want to help him as much as possible and we want as many tools in our belt as we can get. 

We also ordered this gps tracking device which allows us to establish a perimeter and, if he breaches it, will send alerts to our phones. If he should ever become lost, we can find him via gps, as well. Given there is a special tool needed to remove the device from his wrist, we're hopeful our little houdini boy can't escape it, but we'll see. 

In all honesty, it's tempting to feel like a big fat parenting failure. Pride has a way of making you feel like you should be able to figure it out and accuses...

• If you researched hard enough, you would be able to find the answers on your own.
• If you were patient enough, you wouldn't get frustrated.
• If you were paying close enough attention, you wouldn't have lost your own child.
• If you were enough, none of this would be happening.

The truth is none of us is enough. Sometimes this special needs road is hard and we need help. I'm so thankful for the fellow parents on this journey who have been willing to share the ugly. Without them, I would be much less willing to have grace for myself and would be tempted to wallow in guilt and sink into the abyss in which I'm dangerously close to falling (Not that there hasn't been some guilt-wallowing, mind you.)

We feel hopeful that we are moving in the right direction to make positive changes that will benefit all of us to decrease stress, bring more peace, and help us take the best care of our precious Serb. 

Time will tell. 

A Bit of History

You're probably wondering why I gathered you all here. 

My dad says this anytime he enters a crowded elevator or waiting room in attempt to bring some humor and break the ice, as if everyone were just waiting for his arrival. 

It's all I could think of when I wondered how in the world I would follow my last post which went a little viral. So many people have been dropping by this blog of mine, I didn't quite know what to make of it. 

But then I thought about what I'm looking for when I visit the blog after reading something from a new-to-me author. I want to know more about them, what makes them tick, what started the story, etc. 

Blogger's not real great at helping you search and find all that stuff, (and I've been too lazy and intimidated to make the switch to Wordpress) so let me help you out. 

Here is Eon's birthstory and let me give you a little background. When I was pregnant with him, I was sent to the perinatologist after the ultrasound tech detected echogenic cardiac foci (bright spots on his heart). Once there, my age (38) and his echogenic (bright) bowel gave us 1:20 odds that he'd have Down syndrome. His short, but still on the bottom of the "normal" range, femurs did not factor in. Given that our other kids are all very tall for their ages, this was a personal marker for us and I spent a good month or two of my pregnancy convinced that I was having a baby with Down syndrome. 

And then, I suppose because I was busy with the five kids we already had, I completely forgot about the risks and the odds and by the time I was in labor, Down syndrome was not even a thought. Please forgive my lack of people-first language in the post. I cringe when I read it now, but I was a complete newbie at the time and didn't know better. 

God is Good and Doubt are some posts about the faith journey early on the road with our boy. 

And then there's this Surprise post in which I grapple with the discovery our family is not growing the way I think it should. It's obvious in that post that God had already planted the seed in our hearts for adoption. Enough Kids? grows that idea a bit and explains our hearts more thoroughly. 

Adoption tells that our circumstances changed and we decided to take the leap. In going back to read that post I want to tell my former self that waiting for the littles to be potty trained is probably more wisdom than excuse, but too late now. 

We chose to adopt from Serbia because of it's semi-closed policy, meaning that we wouldn't get information on a child until our dossier was approved. In other words, we wouldn't have to pour over pictures and choose a child, something I was agonizing over before learning of Serbia. It's Official tells of the initial information we were given of Bogdan and when I read it I laugh and laugh that it says "good sleeper" because he was anything but one of those! 

From that post you can read the trail forward of his adoption story from when we were in country and his homecoming, including my health woes while there and subsequent hospitalization at home. 

He's been home fifteen months and our lives have been turned upside down, but we wouldn't trade him for the world. It has been hard, exhausting, outrageous, and beyond amazing. 

I also blog, occasionally, about my faith journey at Remnant of Grace.

That, in a blogger nutshell, is a bit of history for you new to the story. I hope you decide to stick around and enjoy the journey with us. 

To The Mother of The Adult Son With Down Syndrome in The Grocery Store Today:

Dear Mother,

I saw you as we were all on our way to check out. I noticed your son instantly. Big cowboy hat, American flag vest, short stature, almond-shaped eyes. Down syndrome. I almost followed you into your line, but that seemed like stalking, so I spied the lengths of the other lines first, only joining yours when it was the shortest. 

I was alone, stopping for a few necessities on my way home from work. I thought about saying something to you. But I stopped myself. Your son is so much older. You've been on this road a long time. Maybe you're tired of it all. Maybe you don't want to engage with a fresh-faced newbie like me. 

Worse, maybe you're resentful of this life you are forced to lead. You are of retirement age. Your friends are probably snowbirds who get to travel at will while you stay behind caring for a child who, in other circumstances, would have left the nest years ago. Maybe you wish you had more freedom at this stage of your life. Maybe if I talked to you, I'd come away discouraged. I'm feeling a little raw right now. I've heard too many naysayers tell me how cute they are now, but just wait...

So I stayed quiet. And watched. 

I saw your son point to the gum and say something to your husband, who seemed genuinely interested and continued the conversation before putting a protective arm around his shoulders. I watched as he smiled when he listened to him. I saw you laugh as you added your two cents to the conversation.

I decided then that maybe you were safe to approach, but I didn't know how. 

You smiled at me as I unloaded my cart, but still I didn't know what to say.

When a woman talked to your son about his hat, I pounced.

"Is he a magnet for attention?" I asked you.

You smiled and responded that he is and that he fancies himself Tim McGraw. I grinned and mentioned that I, too, noticed his awesome hat. 

Then I plunged ahead. 

"I have two boys with Down syndrome, too. Five and four. They're attention magnets, as well." 

You looked surprised and murmured, "How wonderful," but then looked away like you were trying to decide if you'd really heard me. Looking up again you clarified, "You have two boys...?"

"With Down syndrome, yes," I finished for you. "One homegrown and one adopted from Serbia."

Then you smiled broadly, and said conspiratorially, "They're really a lot of fun aren't they?" Before I had a chance to respond, you turned to fill your husband and son in on all you'd learned about me. 

We exchanged some other pleasantries as you finished your transaction and bid each other a good day. 

I bumped into you again outside at the cart corral and I felt then, as I did inside, that our brief interlude was filled with pregnant pauses as we were each searching for what we really wanted to communicate in the confines of social pleasantries with a stranger. 

I drove away thinking that I'd blown it. 

Because if I could do it again, dear mother, I would not hesitate to thank you. 

I would thank you for paving the road for my boys. 

I am not the best judge of ages, but I imagine it's safe to assume that when your son was born, at least one professional told you he'd be better off in an institution. It was a suggestion you clearly did not choose to follow. Thank you for that. Because of mothers like you, I didn't have to fight that battle from my own hospital bed. 

Thank you for being a warrior mom who learned to ignore the stares and whispers and who proudly shares her boy with the world. You are changing hearts and minds in your clear love and acceptance of him. He is changing hearts and minds just by being. Because of both of you, acceptance of my boys comes just a bit easier for others. 

Thank you for letting him have his own style, for encouraging his passion, for letting him shine in his cowboy hat and rocking vest. He's making people smile. And in so doing, without realizing it, he's being an advocate for my boys, too.  

Thank you for any part you played, no matter how small, in the enactment of, or amendments to, the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. While we continue to fight for a quality education for our children at every IEP meeting, we don't have to fight for them to be educated at all or to attend school in the first place because of parents like you. 

Thank you for walking this road when you probably felt unbelievably alone, before the support of social media, before Google, before WebMD. Thank you for standing up for the rights of your child, for challenging the status quo, for following your mother's heart. 

In short, it sounds ridiculous to say, which is probably why I didn't, but thank you for loving your son. In accepting, raising, being proud of, and loving him, you not only paved the way for him, you paved the way for me. 

I am grateful.

And yes, they really are a lot of fun!

My Wonderful, Unfunny Vacation

If you're a Facebook friend of mine, you know that we went on vacation last week. We traveled a bazillion hours in our old, and decidedly uncomfortable, fifteen-passenger van from Indiana to Holden Beach, North Carolina. 

Eon, impatiently waiting for his turn to load in.

In a rare moment of genius early last fall, I rented us a house on the beach, rightly thinking the ocean may be the one vacation idea that would appeal to the broad range of ages and abilities we have in this family. There's nothing quite like thinking/hoping/praying that you got it right in the months/days/hours leading up to it, but still having that nagging little snitch of doubt in the back of your mind until that glorious moment you walk through the door of the home and the view literally causes you to take a step back and you know, with complete assurance, you did good!

View from our deck

The kids had a marvelous time which has only gotten better with the re-telling as memories often do. We learned tides and undertows, hunted shells, created castles of sand, and met new creatures. We played games and watched movies, and did lots and lots of laundry, just like home. This will be remembered as one of the best family vacations we've had. 

But behind all the funny Facebook posts and the happy pictures was another story. 

I tend to color my world with humor, not because I try to "spin" it, but simply because that's how I choose to see it. I'm blessed enough to be married to someone who can usually see the funny, even when it eludes me. Together, we choose to laugh when chaos abounds, which is much of the time in our house. 

But sometimes, laughter doesn't come until later. Sometimes, circumstances are just hard. 

Vacation with Bo was hard. 

All of his behaviors were magnified in this strange place away from home. He threw things. All the time. I don't know that we've really child-proofed our own house, necessarily. It's more like he's already broken everything breakable and we can relax knowing that all the damage has already been done. So in the vacation home, we put up everything breakable that was noticeably within reach, but he also climbs and kept finding more things to throw. He knocked pictures off of walls, threw the remote controls, chucked the Jenga pieces at the big screen TV, cleared water bottles off of end tables, etc. (Oh, crud. That reminds me. I don't think I rehung the pictures I stowed in the boys' room closet. Bummer.)

We were constantly on edge. 

We also forgot his booster seat to keep him contained during meals which means if we took our eyes off of him for one second, he was on the table throwing dishes or trying to get at the hanging light fixture. Even contained, he throws food...pre or post-chewed. Nothing like getting chucked in the head by a glob of chewed up corn dog. We have a rotating seating chart so we can share the "fun" of sitting directly in his path. 

Bo loved the ocean...which was right outside our back patio. Thankfully, the backdoor latch had a trick that only the older kids could figure out, but still, with that many people coming and going it was a constant refrain of, "Is the back door locked?" and a small surge of adrenaline while waiting for an affirmative answer. As he can climb out of the pack-n-play, I became OCD in my need to wake and check the door locks multiple times per night and dreamed every night that we lost him to the waves. 

Because he could see it through the windows, he cried most of the time he wasn't actually in the water. And by crying, I mean pinching, hitting, and kicking us at the same time to express his displeasure. When that failed to yield the desired result, he would simply wail and hit himself. Distraction was futile. 

In the water, he would sit and let the waves wash up to his belly. If a wave looked like it was coming in too fast, he stood up to greet it showing that he was able to learn a healthy respect for this giant bathtub which baffles me as we seem to be incapable of teaching him the simplest of things. He splashed and threw sand and had a great time until he grew bored and tried to run away, repeatedly. He is a very fast little boy. We are very tired parents. 

The details are softening, even now, a few days home. I've no doubt if I didn't write this post, we'd minimize it in our minds. But I don't want to forget. Sometimes, I think it's good to acknowledge that life with special needs is harder than without. I need to recognize that there is a reason that I'm tired. I need you to know that if I seem defensive or edgy, I could use some extra grace. Because while I laugh and enjoy and love this life, sometimes it's hard.

We will laugh about it all again. In fact, we stopped at Cracker Barrel on the way home. Predictably, it was a disaster. Bo got ahold of the peg board and threw it, scattering pegs across the restaurant. Little people changed their orders a thousand times. Middle people kept leaving the table for potty breaks. Bo fed himself really well until we let our guard down and then chucked food which was horrifying. My oldest and I spent more time on the floor picking up after him than we did eating and gulped our food down at the last second. Finally, the big kids took everyone to the van so we could pay (we're big tippers, by the way. I always try to minimize the awful impression we leave by a big tip) and I looked at Shawn and smirked, "You just brought us here so we'd be so traumatized we wouldn't want to stop the rest of the way home." "Bingo!" he laughed. 

Sometimes we laugh because of the special needs in this family, and sometimes, it's in spite of them. But always, even in the hard and the unfunny, we are grateful that we get to do this together. I wouldn't trade any of these people.

The Pity Party

I admit to feeling sorry for myself as I was again sitting in the room usually reserved for nursing mothers watching Bo play with blocks. When we returned to this church, I knew there wasn't a place here for him and I determined not to complain. We came back wanting only to be a blessing, not to demand one or create a burden for anyone. 

And we are blessed. 

This quiet room is available to us. It has a comfortable couch, small toys, room for my boy to run around a bit, and the sermon piped in, even a window to look over the service. 

But today I was feeling isolated and alone, far from where the action was, wondering why I had even bothered to be there. 

The day did not have a stellar beginning. My husband woke up with his third day of migraine and knew from experience that the fluorescent lights of the sanctuary would be his undoing and decided to stay behind. 

Then, three-year-old Keturah decided it was the perfect time to give herself a haircut, or more specifically, an asymmetrical mullet. It was unclear for quite awhile if the resulting tears were from regret or getting caught in the act. I'm now quite certain that the tears of regret will come later today when the rest of her hair is cut to match. She stayed home with Daddy.  

I lost my key to the Durango when I was buckling Bo's car seat into it. I was completely baffled and beyond frustrated that I couldn't locate it and had to take Shawn's set. It wasn't until we returned home that his older sister found the key in Bo's seat when she unbuckled him. 

Needless to say, I wasn't exactly in the correct frame of mind to worship. During the songs, Bo kept taking my hand trying to pull me upstairs to play with him, further distracting me. When that didn't work, he did the one thing that guaranteed success and pooped in his pull-up. He's a problem solver, that one. 

By the time he'd been changed and I had settled in to listen to the sermon in our quiet room, I'd already worked myself into a bit of pity party. 

I didn't even notice when Bo took all the couch cushions off and stacked them up. That must have clued him in that something was wrong with me. He tried to engage me in a game of cars like we often play and I halfheartedly zoomed one over his legs like I know he loves. 

But I was feeling restless and distracted and discontent. 

Sensing my mood, this child of my heart climbed up next to me, wrapped his arms around my neck, and hugged me. Surprised, I barely had time to respond before he flashed a quick grin and scampered down to play with blocks. 

I was stunned. I love this boy, but he does not give affection freely, especially not to me. He obliges only half the time when I ask for a hug or kiss and then only begrudgingly. As I was processing what had just happened and wondering if I had, in fact, imagined it, he climbed up again and laid his head on my chest. This time, I recovered quickly and managed to rub his back as he relaxed against me for a short time. 

My pity party forgotten, I played more earnestly with him after that. With an ear on the sermon, I played cars and built block towers for the rest of the service, relishing in these uninterrupted moments to be fully present with this child. I was rewarded with another spontaneous and genuine hug. 

What a gift this time together is, free from the distraction of siblings and cell phones, and, in my selfishness, I almost missed it. 

That would have been the real pity. 

Haters in Disguise?

I'm feeling discouraged and overwhelmed by the world around me. Do you ever feel that way? 

The family is good. While it's the usual crazy and loud, it's not overwhelming at this point. We are in a good place. 

It's the rest of the world that chaps my hide. I saw on facebook that an old high school friend "liked" this article/video in which Bill Maher says you aren't an environmentalist unless you care about overpopulation. Stupidly, I read the comments which vilified large families like mine for all that is wrong in the world. 

That's why I hate that show about the duggars that glorify over breeding

Agree. Education of women is the best birth control! Get a degree; not a stroller.

Agree. I'm appalled now when I see families with 5 & 6 kids. It's selfish. 

Oh, yes, selfish. That's exactly how I feel when I've been up half the night taking care of sick kids or counseling a teen through a period of angst. Thankfully, my degree did not preclude me from investing in many strollers over the course of my life. I also loved the comments that referred to my large brood as a "litter." Awesome.

And, if it were not enough that people are apparently "appalled" when they see my big family, it appears as if some would like to see at least two of my children outright killed: 

Infanticide may offend our social senses rooted in 2000 years of Christianity, but if you look at cultures throughout history infanticide was largely accepted. The Greeks used to leave their disabled and retarded infants on a hill to die of exposure. 

 In case you, like my high school friend, believe great scientific minds like comedian Bill Maher, here and here is some food for thought about the overpopulation myth. 

I thought about all the pictures I post of my very large family on Facebook. I thought about all the funny statuses I post about life in a big family and about how "out there" I've put us. To know that one of my friends "liked" something that condemns who we are and what we're about made me feel exposed and vulnerable. 

Then I read this article about a mother and son who were jeered out of a movie theater last Christmas. The adult son, Max, is autistic and became frightened during the previews. He became loud and his mom was reminding him of movie theater rules and breaking out the coping tricks that have worked countless times before, when suddenly, the people next to them turned and demanded that she quiet him. She tried to explain, but they would have none of it and when others joined in, she and Max made a hasty exit. The theater erupted in applause and taunts. One of them, "He's retarded!" reverberated in her soul. After reading her blog post about the experience, an acquaintance from church rented out the theater so Max and others with special needs can have a safe place to view the new Muppet movie. 

I read the comments on that article, too. 

My stomach is still churning. 

Bottom line, there is no way for the audience to know what kind of issues he has, and if she would be able to calm him down. They saw a situation developing and reacted to it. Mom, on the other hand knew exactly what she was dealing with, but chose to take him to the movies, instead of waiting for the movie to be released on DVD.

whose to say her "coping" mechanisms would have worked that day? I have seen them fail in situations over and over. All the while the parent of the special kid is trying to keep calm themselves. Bring them to the movies theaters that do special days for those kids.

Clapping because a loud person leaves the theater isn’t cruel. Mom bringing Max there knowing he has a problem being quiet is.

I also know a paraplegic, But I wouldn't think of taking him swimming just so he can be like everyone else.

So "we" paying patrons that don't have a kid with a disability. That pay full price for our tickets. On our date night. Should put up with a loud and obnoxious person? Sorry, but no. The majority of people still out weighs those with issues that cant sit quietly and shut the heck up.

Nevermind that Max didn't actually disrupt the movie. Nevermind that Max's mom didn't even get a chance to employ the coping strategies that have worked in the past. Nevermind that no one simply notified the manager if they were bothered...because they didn't have time. Nevermind that the people in the theater loudly and rudely taunted and jeered him as they applauded his exit. 

According to the commenters, Max and his mom deserved what they got. They should have waited and rented the DVD or gone to a theater that does "special days for those kids." They should've remained isolated and alone or stayed with their own kind. 

Trust me. Staying isolated and alone is so tempting. Especially after getting a glimpse into the heart of your fellow man. In all honesty, it makes me want to hide, too.

I've always known there is ugly out there. People lose their inhibitions behind the anonymity of their computer screens. Apparently, they do under cover of darkness in movie theaters, too. They are free to show who they really are and say what they really think. 

So it begs the question. How many people, how many friends, smile at my family, LOL at my statuses, "like" my pictures, cheer for my boys... but secretly agree with the haters? 

There is nothing I can do about the fact that I have eight children. (Make no mistake. I would change nothing, given the chance. The zero population growth people can bite me.) 

But I have boys with special needs. One of them is very typical, although loud. We are working on that and he will learn the appropriate use of "inside voice." The other is anything but typical. He makes weird noises and vocalizations. He bangs his head on things. He is unpredictable. He thrusts his tongue. He has a strange fascination with shoes. 

Right now, he is small for his age and still cute. But he will get bigger and older and less cute. 

And he will make people uncomfortable. 

I worry that we will stay home and watch DVDs and hide him...because that's what people want us to do. 

I worry that all this advocacy that we do, all this blogging and networking and sharing stories about Down syndrome and disability, I worry that all of it is for nothing. That its only purpose is to make ourselves feel better. To make us feel as if we are accomplishing something. To think that somehow, through our efforts, we can make the world less ugly. 

I worry that people are only humoring us. I worry that those that are smiling are doing so out of relief that they aren't saddled with a kid like ours. I worry that we are pitied for the life that we have chosen. I worry that, for all our exposing ourselves, no one really sees the truth. 

The truth is we are abundantly blessed to have these boys. We delight in the different they bring to our lives. They teach us to slow down and celebrate the small things. Because of them, we learn to weed out the unimportant, to embrace the best, and to breathe in the moment. We learn that we have more patience than we think we do...and then we dig deeper and find even more. They make us laugh and keep us young and give us gray hair, all at the same time. Life is rich and colorful with splashes of gray and scary thrown in for balance. It's more nuanced than it was before. 

And then I realize. 

Truth does not become less true simply because it is not acknowledged. People may not accept my boys, my lifestyle, or my family. They may not believe me when I say that life is good. But, their attitude toward my life doesn't diminish my truth. 

I still get to live it.

I know that we will encounter haters in life and some of them will not be hiding behind a computer screen. I can't live wondering if everyone I meet is on my side or not. I don't have the emotional energy for it. Honestly, most days, it really doesn't matter.

So yesterday, on World Down Syndrome Day, I wore my crazy socks and proudly paraded one of my boys around when he came to deliver blue and yellow cupcakes to my work friends. 

And I tried not to wonder if my smiling co-workers are really haters in disguise.

An Apology

I need to apologize. 

In my last post, An Open Letter to Matt Walsh, I made an assumption. Nevermind that I simply parroted an assumption that Matt made first. 

I wrote:

It is very probable that if a business refused to serve someone who is gay or someone based on their color, word would spread and that business wouldn't last long. 

I fully believed that to be true when I wrote it. It seemed ludicrous to me to think otherwise. In my very straight, very white world I believe the best of people because I've never experienced anything different. 

My reasoning was as follows:

I would stand up for someone who was mistreated based on skin color or sexual identity, therefore everyone would. 

I have seen black people and gay people treated fairly, therefore they are always treated fairly. 

It wasn't until someone commented on my post and used my faulty logic back on me that my eyes were opened to what I had done. 

There are some you tube videos of diners standing up for an autistic child. It was an experiment done. The answers may surprise you, but public sentiment may actually be on the side of the disabled.

I scoffed when I read it. "Oh, a you tube video? Well there's proof right there against the myth of discrimination! Let's completely disregard the experiences of people who are actually living it, and throw out the law."

This person assumed that public sentiment might actually be on the side of the disabled because of something they saw. They have no idea what it is like to live with disability, day in and day out. 

And then it hit me.

I have no idea what life is like in someone else's shoes, either. 

My assumption was based on the idea that discrimination against certain groups is so frowned upon by the general public that it doesn't actually happen that much anymore. 

Yeah, I know. (Did I mention my world is very straight and very white?) 

I cannot pretend to know that a business owner would be shut down for discriminating against a gay person or someone of color. I cannot pretend to know anything, really, about either group because I don't live it. 

These are shoes in which I have not walked. 

So, I apologize for my assumptions. I'm sorry I presented them as fact. 

Feel free to comment and share your experiences. Let me try on your shoes, if only for a moment.