The Value of Each Person

For this month, until mid-June, I am working as a teacher's assistant in the special education program at Como Park Elementary in St. Paul. Every day, I eat lunch in the staff lounge with other TA's, and listen to their daily conversations as I quietly read the newspaper.
Today, one woman (whose name I do not know) was hypothesizing to the other TA's at the table about the cost of special ed programs. "The state would save so much money if there weren't special ed programs. I mean, these kids are never going to become fully-functioning members of society anyway, so how much do they really need to be educated?" And as she continued on about this point, I could feel my chest constricting and my heart pounding, I couldn't stand to even hear her hypothesis about such things. I felt afraid to speak against her (maybe because I still have this strange thing about respecting my elders), but I summoned my courage and shared my opinions:
"These kids may not ever become 'fully-functioning' members of society, but they may still be able to work toward realizing their full potential, whatever that may be. People with disabilities used to be locked up and kept in institutions, away from society, but now they are finally given the chance to have as normal of a life as possible. . . ."
I assume that this woman did not fully promote or believe in the "what if's" she was saying, but I still became angry even to hear her hypothesize about such things. People with disabilities deserve empowerment and opportunities and dignity just as much as the rest of us in society, and we are depriving ourselves of a priceless group of people if we think that disabled people have nothing to offer society. They are beautiful, wonderful people, with minds and emotions and identities like the rest of us. There are so many things I have learned from my experiences with the disabled population:
I learned how to walk slowly and enjoy life with Noreen, a woman who was 4 foot 5 inches and 50 years old, and didn't ever speak. I learned about true beauty in the smile of Ollie Mae, an old black woman from Mississippi who is developmentally disabled, but has a personality like a spark of fire. I learned to enjoy the sun from Petronila, a teenage girl with spina bifida in Guatemala, because she was never able to go up onto the roof to enjoy the sunshine until I carried her up there; her joy was indescribable. I learn not to take myself so seriously from Chou, a Hmong boy in my class at Como Park, because everytime I sing or hum a tune for him, he breaks out in raucous, uncontainable laughter for no reason at all.

For my senior seminar presentation, I talked about realizing the full humanity of each person. I know now that it was an easy idea to talk about, but it's another thing to live it out in daily life. I don't know how to live to affirm each person's humanity, but I know that it's something that's worth giving my life to and trying to do in little ways each day. My heart hurts when I become aware of the lack of compassion in my own life. . . .

A Bizarre Lack of Euphoria

Tonight, I spontaneously decided to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a concert ticket and tag along with my friends to se the Icelandic band Sigur Ros. They have a unique, phenomenal sound, and as my friend Jared likes to say, "They are an acquired taste."
Well, I have acquired a taste for Sigur Ros and their ethereal techno-symphonic melodies in the past few months, so I decided that the concert would be an evening well spent. . .hopefully.

As I was sitting by myself at the concert (my friends had dispersed throughout the auditorium to places unbeknownst to me), I found myself being distracted, and my mind wandering, for most of the concert. The music was captivating, to be sure, but my mind rarely stayed focused on the music for more than a few minutes at a time. I felt as if I should be mesmerized by the music and the performance, and to some degree, I was. . . . .but I felt somewhat ashamed at my blatant lack of awe.

But perhaps, let me reflect for a moment, may I ask what we consider to be awe or euphoria? Perhaps if my friends and I had smoked some weed prior to the concert (which we didn't), we would have had a false euphoria. But as I witnessed this performance, (which had been hyped to me to be a "spiritual experience," of one way or another) there was less emotion being evoked within me than when I simply listen to Sigur Ros' album while driving in my car. I couldn't bring myself to induce some kind of fake emotion, so that I could walk out of the concert hall with a mesmerized look on my face.

I think that I have a low tolerance for "climax" moments in life (to name a few):

When I was on top of the Mayan ruins in Guatemala, I honestly felt sick and wanted to leave. (And they are one of the seven wonders of the world, if I remember correctly.)

The days when I graduated from both high school and college, I felt so ironically blase, as if it were any other day, and the pomp and circumstance did nothing to excite me about this "next big step" in life.

I assume that one day, when I stand in front of friends and family and make vows to a certain someone, it won't be as exciting of a day as I've always thought. . . .it might seem like just another day (except with a partner for life afterward).

I don't know if any of this makes sense. But I don't care. I think about this quite a lot. I feel somewhat bad at times, because I am not filled with nostalgia or emotion concerning these supposedly "climactic" events in life, but the things which drive me to tears or arrest me with awe are much smaller events, but important nonetheless:

The times that my close girlfriends and I have held each other and cried, sometimes for no reason at all.

When I took a walk with a handicapped woman I used to care for, and she taught me to walk slowly, savor each step, and not to hurry through life.

When my friends and I danced in the Sculpture Garden in a snowstorm in January, and then smoked and drank wine on the Loring Park bridge while we quoted poetry to each other.

When my dad tears up at the end of sappy movies, and he blinks the tears away every time, but my respect for him always grows when I see those few tears.


I suppose that I don't really care that tonight wasn't a life-altering experience to see Sigur Ros in concert. It's hard when one's expectations are high, because then they are never met. I prefer to look for poignance and beauty in everyday situations, because truly, it's much easier to find.