The New School Year

13 May 2009 Leave a comment

by Dr. Michelle Harrison in Cerebral Palsy, Daily Life, Disability, Dr. Harrison's Life, Education/School, Ganga, Inclusion

From DAY ONE:Sabitri_4082

 

Sabitri_4086

 

Sabitri_5648

Bornali in School

Sabitri_5650  Today is DAY TWO of the new school year.   I’m sitting on a bench in the hallway of Sahapur Sabitri Balika Vidyalaya, on call if I am needed.  Two of our handicapped children are here.  It is all new and the school is worried about how to take care of them, but they have truly reached out to make them comfortable.   I have promised to wait, to be available.  Three months ago this was a dream, to have the government open to handicapped children.  This is a beginning.  I chose to enroll only two of the girls, Ganga and Bornali.  As yet there is no “program” here and they are content to just be present and watch, to be a part of the school.  They were admitted because of Indian law calling for education for all children.

Ganga has settled in fine. Sabitri088cr This school is where she wanted to be all along, in school with her Didis.  I used to carry Ganga in the backpack when I walked the girls to school.  Bornali is frightened of new places. She cried the first day and I was able to soothe her.  Today she screamed when we entered the classroom.  She settled down after a while and I left for the hallway.

DAY THREE and I’m back on the bench in the hallway.  Bornali only cried for a little while and then I could leave.  Today they are staying longer.  At 9 am there is a book ceremony when books for the school year are given out.  The Headmistress asked if I could attend so I asked if Ganga and Bornali could stay so I didn’t have to take them home and come back.  She agreed. I hold the post of President of the Mother-Teacher Association.  I know Ganga will be happy as yesterday she was aware that she was leaving before the others. 

 

Sabitri091

Seema, our Board Secretary has been a wonderful advocate. This morning she had a chance to talk to the children seated around Ganga and explained that God had not given Ganga arms and legs and speech like the others, but she understood everything.  She had three children each say their names to Ganga and Ganga reached out with her hand.  She is so happy in school.  She wants so much to be like the others.  When she sees another child/adult with CP she immediately recognizes that they share this condition. 

 

There is a huge learning curve ahead for the teachers here.  But this is true everywhere.  They are afraid of the children, unsure how to talk to them, worried about saying/doing the right thing, feeling unprepared and inadequate.  The government is required to give a resource teacher but has not done this yet.  We are in the midst of elections and many things are put off.  I really am grateful just to be in the door.  The rest will follow.  For my children, I have a full teaching program at home.  This is for socialization until it can be more.

 

DAY FOUR

This has become my only time to write.  Yesterday’s book ceremony was a dream come true.  Ganga and Bornali stayed for it all.  This is a ceremony when books are distributed for the new year.  It is also a time when prizes are given out for the past year.  The ceremony is held in the huge meeting hall. All the classes were there today, which meant my ten girls in school were all together.  Shanti Devi came to help.  We wheeled Ganga and Bornali in, and they joined the others.  Seven of our big girls danced – unexpectedly!  So Ganga and Bornali got to see their Didi’s dancing.  Sabitri061ed

The local councilor was there and we chatted.  He too has been very supportive.  He said that after elections we would do more.    Then prizes were given out.  Our “first in class” received hers, and then another of our girls won a prize in drawing, and two others in running.  Bornali is a very quiet girl, but when applause broke out, she screamed and kicked her legs and everyone in the room heard and saw her and enjoyed her happy kicking.  Later I was also asked to present some of the prizes. Sabitri043cr

There was a moment though when I just walked over to a window on the side of the room, and truly basked in my happiness.  I  basked in my success in keeping the girls in this school.  It is a haven for them, for girls who have had few if any havens in their lives.  I did fight off pressure to put them in “better” schools.  This day I basked in having Ganga and Bornali here, what had seemed just a mad dream, and now was reality.  I imagined a big puff of air above my head, holding off all the constant problems and pressures and I had a happy time in my bubble.

We are in the midst of a major crisis with the government!  Some things have HAPPENED  in spite of our diligence about accuracy — things out of our control, but which I can’t talk about specifically.  I am  consumed with trying to straighten it out, while also attending to hair clips and socks at 5 am.  I get worn out.  

Yesterday I got home to major battles going on among the massis, and then the accountant came and then I had lunch and napped and then I tried to do a little work,but didn’t get the paprs done, and then I had emails regarding business cards I need and then we went to visit a board member and friend whose mother just died and then I came home and went to bed and then discovered the rabbits hadn’t been cared for, and when I went to check the rabbits I saw the plants were all drying up so at 11 pm one of the girls cleaned the rabbit cage, which was smelling and I watered the plants and then went to bed to get up at 4 am to start this day.  In between though, I chatted online with Cici and then talked on the phone with Heather.  We are a very small family.  We are in touch almost daily, including on Facebook.  I have been “friended” on Facebook by my daughters and son in law. This is precious.

 

I have had to take charge of the hairclips and school badges, as I did last year.  They are easily lost and the school only allows red clips and garters.  This is one of those areas I really try to comply — a gesture that I respect their rules  (And, I get scolded if the girls arent neat and combed, and I let it get to me, which just proves I’m still a child at heart!) Hunting for red clips in the market is not always easy and I hate having to buy them.  So, I have a lock box for the red clips and garters and school badges.  I have separate plastic bags for each girl, with her name.  I sleep with the box next to me.  In the morning I give out the clips and badges.  When I get up to go to my computer I take the box with me.  When the girls come home from school all the clips and badges go back into the plastic bags and the tin box.  In truth though, the girls love the system.  They love coming to me in the morning for their badges and clips.  It’s a ritual.   It’s their way of keeping me attentive.  I am Keeper of the Hair Clips and School Badges.  I am Mother.

DAY FIVE

It becomes a routine.  Ganga is fine and loves being in school.  Bornali cries for the first ten minutes.  She is just overwhelmed and she “dissolves” into tears.   Sabitri090I tell her she is a big girl now. Sabitri093 We are closer.  Ganga, who used to be glued to me, is more on her own.  it’s good.  I write again from the school bench, children wandering by, and I shoo them back to class.  The Headmistress just stopped by and handed me Ganga and Bornali’s diaries with their class schedules.  When we get home our teacher will go through what was covered in class.  I’m having new chair/table tops made to fit better in the classrooms.  Eventually the school will have attendants so the children can follow in class.  But what they have now is wonderful.  They get up in the morning and we all walk to school together, Ganga and Bornali in their strollers.  We reach before prayer time, so Ganga and Bornali join the line, next to their big sisters.  Bornali is solemn.  Ganga glances around to see who she can make eye contact with, who will be her next friend.  All this is normal.  They have a life.

 

I have a life too, a very very good one.

The Hall where I wait and blog, while the children are in class.  Sabitri064

The “Old Lady’s” hopes and expectations

03 Jun 2008 Leave a comment

by Dr. Michelle Harrison in Daily Life, Dr. Harrison's Life, Education/School, Future, Obstacles

Well, I’m the “old lady” and it stings.  There is a Bengali term for old lady, used affectionately or insultingly… One of the girls was angry and called me “Boori” or something like that (Not bodie, which i know).    Children will say anything, and probably they have said worse to me and about me — while I enjoy the ignorance of not knowing Bengali.  But this expression set off a chain because she took the phrase from what others (staff) had been calling me, and that led to other unpleasant terms, and my realization that my sense of isolation was not imagination, my sense and open complaints of disrespect were not unfounded.  I was the crazy old lady who thought I could do something with these children, and some people wanted me to fail, and to leave.  It is complicated and simple at the same time. 

At first i took the insult literally and said she would be lucky to be such an old lady at my age…. and that there was nothing wrong with being an old lady.  But that wasn’t the point… and that was only one of the difficulties that came to the surface in talking with the girls.  Other staff had told the girls I was too strict, that I was ruining their lives, that i expected too much of them, that I was trying to make them forget Bengali (ignoring that I chose Bengali medium for our education)… and many other accusations which sink easily into the minds of children, especially when they are facing discipline, and a foreigner (a white lady) for the first time in their lives.

Some of my readers may believe i’m too strict.  There is no formula for what i’m doing.  Oddly i’m accused of challenging or violating the “culture” in how i’m driving the children academically.  But which culture, which Indian culture?  Is the the Indian culture of the educated who enroll their children in the best schools and then add hours of teaching after that?  Is it the Indian culture of the US, with which I’m most familiar, where Indian children study harder and longer than their American counterparts and do better.  The culture I am really challenging is one with low expectations and a sense of hopelessness in what can be done for these children, the culture for whom these are the throw away children.   And I am the old lady who thinks she can help them.  And I still refuse to beat them or allow others to beat them; I don’t allow withholding of food, or pencils…

So, for the record, what are my hopes and expectations… What do I want for these children, who I now call mine?

1. I want them to be educated enough and well-behaved enough to have choices in how they live.  If you are mad at your boss, whether she is a principal or a cleaning supervisor, you cannot call her an “old lady” and expect to keep your job.  You also cannot throw books at your boss, or simply tell them they can’t make you do something.  They can’t make you do something, but they can fire you.  I dont fire the kids, so I just tell them l/we will have to slug it out until I win.  They will be well-behaved eventually.

2. I want them to value personal connections and whatever sense of family they have.  If they marry, I want them to be good wives and daughters-in-law, but if they are ill-treated they can come home. 

3. I want them to manage issues of sexuality, to which they have been much too exposed.  One of our girls loves to dance in pure Bollywood style.  My goal is for her to have a good life, in whatever way she can, but NOT to end up dancing in a cage in Mumbai.  She is gullible.  She could go off with a stranger.  I tell her about the cages.  I have to.  My girls are prey.

4. I want them to experience a stable life now, with enough food, with education, with good health.  If they choose or feel forced into the life they came from, I believe they will want better for their children.  These girls are full of doubt about their own worth.  They know they were discarded.  They have been used in all sorts of ways. There is no way to feel good about that.  Sometimes they are, and will be, self-destructive.  They all wish their lost siblings could have this life.  So some of their rebellion and pain comes from guilt — that they have what their siblings don’t… the guilt of the survivor.  They have too much on their minds.  They have begun to write stories and poems.

5. Coming to specifics, we have one or two potential nurses, technicians, maybe a doctor or lawyer,,, maybe a teacher or two…. one mathematician, a couple totally unskilled, but hopefully experienced in working with handicapped children… specialized “unskilled”.   We have potential artists, dancers, musicians, actresses.   I expect a few weddings.  Remember, it’s only been 14 months.   We don’t know, and can’t know.

I started by saying the insults sting, just cuz that’s how life is.  I used to complain that no one was telling me what was happening.  It was true.  it was more about me than i’d realized.  But with all that, I have to come back to the present moment.  I am where I want to be;  I am doing what I want to be doing.  It has been very hard.  It will always be very hard.  There is no formula, only purpose and effort.

I have come through many battles.  It has been hard on my kids, my two daughters and son-in-law in the US.  They are upset when I tell them, and worried when I don’t.   We are at a new plateau, a level of openness, as I prepare for their visit in July.

When I was undergoing chemotherapy I lost all my hair, and my husband at the time told me I looked like an old man.  So I’m reminded of his words, and of my trusting people who feel so free to try and hurt me.  I wrote a poem:Hair2-Finalw

 

 

Hair, Hair, Everywhere

Hair hair, everywhere

Floating down the drain,

Guess its time to shave what’s left.

I look like an artist!

I look European!

I look like a baby,

I look like an old man – but with pretty hanging earrings

Please, just look at the earrings,

Try to ignore the rest.

MH

November 18, 2000

I keep thinking of what we tell each generation of children about insults:  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”  What a lie.  Words can break our hearts and our spirits, and sever the ties that bind us  They can take up residence in our minds, and serve as constant reminders that we are not safe, loved, or protected.  My children have so many words in their heads.  I don’t expect them to disappear.  I do hope the girls can find balance, other words, good words that balance, that also remind them of who they are and what are their possibilities.  We need to create the “Old Lady’s List” of words and ideas that give them strength, words that build and soothe and shore them up against the insults they already hear inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Life in Themes

24 Jul 2007 Leave a comment

by Dr. Michelle Harrison in Dr. Harrison's Life

I experience my life in Themes… coexisting… sometimes seemingly contradictory, each also seemingly with a life and direction of its own. Periodically they converge, and then it seems as if all roads had been leading to this place and time.

Naming:

*I am a mother.

Souls sang to her heart
The winds taking them afar
Her nestlings blossomed.

My nestlings blossomed, now fly on their own, forever bound to me and each other by love.  So, I went in search of the others, their souls still singing to my heart.  Today I mother thirteen orphan girls in Kolkata.  The four youngest are severely handicapped.  I hadn’t planned on handicapped children, but then who does? One day I had said to the Indian government, “Today I will take any children you give me.”  I love the children.  I am very happy.  To make a new nest I had to form a charitable society which we named Childlife Preserve: Shishur Sevay.  As a foreigner I couldnot be part of the Governing Body or even a member of the Society.  This is difficult.  Our nest is known as Shishur Sevay. 

* I am a white lady.

I am a rorshach, no single answer, but a projection by others of what my white skin means.  My white skin, for which i am not at all responsible, evokes admiration, jealousy, fear, anger, competitveness, mystery.. the unachievable, even with the skin lightening creams and lotions that flood the market.  My girls want to be white, like I am… but so do the women buying the whitening creams.  Lighter is better, a concept ingrained in everyday speech.  Now there is even a baby oil to make skin “glow” which in the illustrations means lighter and lighter each week of use.

* I am a doctor

I had wanted to be a doctor for as long as I could remember.  I also wanted to be a mother.  it seemed to me that doctoring was a form of mothering; that nurturing and healing came from the same energies, from the same center of my self that wanted to mother.”       From “A Woman in Residence” Random House 1982

I wrote “A Woman in Residence” when I was a single mother, and the first part-time resident in obstetrics and gynecology in the US.  I have worn many hats as a doctor.  I think about the mind, body, mothers and babies, cancer, fate, skills.  i think about capillaries and energy fields.

*I am a boss

I live at the home.  I employ caretakers, teachers, and other professionals to work with the children.  I do not enjoy being a boss.  I prefer people just do what i want without my having to act like a boss.  But that’s not how life is.  I am a tough boss, but I pay well. 

*I am a Spirit

The invitation
Offered a new assignment,
Move Heaven and Earth.

I am not sure what that means.  I am flesh and blood.  I cry.  But I take assignments from a God I talk with often.  I’m here in Kolkata “on assignment.”  I try to manage the assignment as I managed many of the jobs i have held, but for this I especially call on my learning in the corporate world.  I’m a Spirit with skills and experience in building infrastructure, marketing, and communication.  Some things I am able to achieve by sheer will (actually stubbornness).  Sometimes I fail, and grow stronger.

*I am a writer.

To create ideas
Clear the brush, and build the nests,
The Herons will sing.

It’s what I do.  As I think, I imagine the words written, and i hear them being read. When words do not come, I write about how to find them.  Souls sing to my heart, Herons sing from their nests, and crying children call to me in the night.

Next Newer Entries

August 2026
S M T W T F S
 1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031