Clarifying.

Streeeeetch....okay, let's do this!

Let's talk about some things I often skirt around in polite conversation.

Let's discuss how we view individuals with Down Syndrome.

I'm not interested in stoking a row over semantics.  I'm not here to be the disability police, or to legislate out language that makes me uncomfortable.  

My lone objective today is to challenge you to think about your communicative intention when you speak of the subject.  As in, understand what you're saying, and in turn, say what you mean.  

First, a biology lesson: 

A diagnosis of Down Syndrome -- also referred to as Trisomy 21 -- is defined by the presence of an extra copy of the person's twenty-first chromosome.  A geneticist can show you a lab test of Ava's chromosomes and point out where there's an extra little squiggle next to the pair marked XXI.

Either you have an extra squiggle, or you don't.

You can't "catch" it like a virus.  A person's appearance or IQ has no bearing upon their status as a man or woman with Downs.

You can't have a "case" of it, and there is no "better" or "worse" of it.  

It just IS.

There are visibly identifiable traits shared by many individuals with Down Syndrome.  I see them as "family" traits they share with their brothers and sisters with Downs, which I think is something to be appreciated in and of itself. 

There are those shared by most -- the unique shape of their eyes; their lower-set ears which perfectly offset a sassy little ponytail; the single, long crease that runs across one or both palms; the extra space between their first two toes which make them model flip-flop wearers.

And now to bring up the nervous elephant in the room: when it comes down to the way that intelligence is measured, I think the Downs community gets the short end of the stick.  The way I see it, there are many different kinds of intelligence, and if yours is not the type that produces some measurably marketable product or service, you are treated as a less valuable member of society.  

If their intelligence is best expressed through the arts, or interpersonal relationships, or spiritual wisdom, most folks will still count them out because they are blind to their contributions to the community.  It's true.  You know it is. I know it is.  We're not as appreciative of the differently-abled as we'd all like to believe we are, as if living in a world full of unique folks is all lollipops and rainbows and we're all standing around holding hands and singing at the Michael Jackson Superbowl Spectacular.  

Whatever.  Let's just all admit we sell them short because as a group, we place such value on each child's earning potential, which is more often than not linked to measurable academic performance.

But how many so-called intelligent people do YOU know who drive themselves bananas because they can't be everything they're expected to be?

Sometimes having limits can give you valuable focus on what you CAN do.

While I can't prove that ALL individuals with Down Syndrome have unlimited capabilities, I can confidently claim that the same is also true for the rest of us.  

And just because you're capable doesn't mean you're making the most out of what God gave you, and doing the rest of the world much good in the process.

I can't recall a tenth of the drivel I regurgitated back to my teachers in high school in order to earn decent grades.  I slouched and slept my way through most of my classes, fully expecting the world to lay itself at my feet when I graduated.  

Does that mean that I've grown up to be a productive member of society?

I'm much less of one than I should be, and that's no one's fault but mine.

Our daughter, on the other hand, applies herself with fierce determination when she holds a goal in mind.  She figures out her own ways around her muscle tone issues in order to play the way she wants to.  She can follow directions.  She flirts.  She poses.  She knows when someone is sad, or when someone is silly, and reacts empathetically.  She is learning that Momma don't take no sass when she begins to throw a tantrum, because she now recognizes Mommy's Stank Eye.

She just turned one.

While I can't justifiably speak for the Downs community as a whole, I can stand up for my kid and shout, "Yes! She's different from most, and thank God for it! She'll probably accomplish more of the work He intended her to do!"

We needed some fresh perspective around here.

We needed to remember that slower isn't worse.  On the contrary, it's often more thorough.

We needed to stop pointing to digitally enhanced, surgery-sculpted public figures as our standards of beauty.

We needed to be reminded of what it feels like to TRY with all our might.

And we needed to recognize the value of another's insight, especially if they experience the world differently than we do.