According to dictionary.com, filicide is
- a person who kills his or her son or daughter
- the act of killing one’s son or daughter
ASAN, the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, is offering an anti-filicide toolkit. It’s both horrifying and necessary. In fact, according to ASAN, since 2010, more than 70 people have been murdered by their parents.
“A parent kills their disabled child. The media portrays these murders as justifiable and inevitable due to the “burden” of having a disabled person in the family. If the parent stands trial, they are given sympathy and comparatively lighter sentences, if they are sentenced at all. The victims are disregarded, blamed for their own murder at the hands of the person they should have been able to trust the most, and ultimately forgotten.”
The advice in the toolkit is extremely helpful, but it’s also extremely sad. The fact that people have to be told that they should condemn the murder and mourn the victim…that it’s bad to imply that it’s better to be dead than disabled…that filicide should not be called ‘mercy-killing.’
Why do we need to tell people these things? Why isn’t this common knowledge?
Go and check out the ASAN page. Read their toolkit. Share it. Make it common knowledge.
I know, I know, I just can’t shut up about the whole tolerance thing. But I really can’t. It’s too important.
And I was reminded of that back in December at the tournament for Special Olympics bowling.
It was an interesting morning. We got there on time, found out what lane Simon would be bowling on, and then settled in. Minutes after we got there, the boy sitting next to Simon pulled down his own pants and began masturbating. Whoops. The aide with him stopped him, and the boy sat back down, seemingly okay again. Time for the pledge of allegiance; everyone stood, the pledge ended, and the boy whacked Simon on the head. Hard.
For a second, we thought Simon wasn’t going to respond to it. He will sometimes get hurt, and then ignore it, like a toddler who falls down and only cries if a parent says something about it. This time, though, I think it was too much of a hit, and he started crying and getting upset. Not that anyone can blame him. I mean, if I’m standing there saying the pledge and someone whacked me on the head out of nowhere, I think I’d start crying, too.
The aide with the other boy pulled him away, and promised they would keep him away from Simon. We said fine because, hey, it happens. Patrick went down to the seats and held Simon, trying to calm him, and it took a while, but eventually, Simon seemed to be doing a little better. But he still wanted Patrick down there with him.
Another mother was also down with her son. No one was bothering anyone. No one was complaining. No one was unhappy (except for Simon, who was still getting over the random smack).
Then a different mother came over, looking for a Special Olympics official. She was unhappy because there were parents down with the children – how dare that happen! She asked an open question about why the parents were down there, and I explained what had happened with my son and that my husband was there with permission and good reason.
“Well,” she huffed, “what about the mother down there? Who’s she there for? Why’s she down there?”
I told her I didn’t know, and she continued her mission, finding someone to complain to about the nerve of some parents, and succeeding in getting the other mother removed from the sitting area.
I don’t want to fall back on a favorite saying of a friend of mine, because the saying is completely inappropriate, yet somehow it makes me giggle when I apply it to this situation. The saying? Snitches get stitches.
Really, I don’t think she should get stitches, but I do wonder why she felt the need to police other parents and other children. Aren’t we all in this together? Aren’t we all just trying to get along, get through, get happy? Why would you try to make someone else – and someone else’s special needs child – unhappy? Why?
Now, to be fair, I do understand that she was looking for just that: fairness. She didn’t want anyone getting special treatment. But sometimes the rules, especially for kids with more severe problems, are hard. Not being allowed to have a parent or aide with them can make it very difficult for them to compete. The bowling alley is loud, it’s overwhelming, and it’s very, very busy. The kids need all the support they can get. Yes, you want your kid to win if he or she is the “best,” but what about going with the theme of Special Olympics? If I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt…
I belong to a lot of mom groups online. They range from funny to scary to informative. In one of them, though, there was recently a post that first made me giggle and then made me think. Sadly, it has been deleted, so I can’t share a copy of it here, but I wanted to at least share the content.
A mom posted because her mother-in-law had warned her that she might be turning her son gay by painting his toenails. The mom felt that what she was doing was okay because it was only his toenails, and she only let him pick from green or blue. She wanted input on if this was acceptable behavior or not.
I had to wonder – what about painting his fingernails was going too far? Would he suddenly snap and start liking boys? And what about the color choices? If she let him choose pink or purple, would he start cross-dressing? What kind of rules had she created, and what was the logic behind them?
I went back to look at the posting again because I wanted to see what advice the other moms had offered up to this woman.
As for me, I hadn’t – and didn’t plan on – leaving any advice because it would have been wasted.
Anyone who worries that they will “turn” their child gay – honestly, anyone who worries that their child will be gay at all – has their own set of issues, and they aren’t going to listen to me.
But maybe you will.
Let me tell you a story.
When my son was about two or three years old, he found a greeting card at the store that had a picture of a super-muscled up man, naked from the waist up. My son loved the card. We bought it for him, and he would carry it around, propping it up wherever he was so that he could stare at it.
We didn’t worry about it or stop him from looking at it in fear it would “make” him gay. We didn’t worry about it or stop him from looking at in case he was feeling same sex attraction (albeit at a super young age). What we did worry about was how his autism would affect his future relationships if he continued to have the same level of communication and sensory issues that he already had, as well as other problems that we knew he might run into as he got older.
Because, let’s just be honest here, what’s wrong with being gay? How is it bad? Why is it something to worry about?
Worry about making your kids judgmental.
Worry about making your kids cruel.
Worry about making your kids insecure.
Worry about making your kids rude.
Worry about making your kids ignorant.
Worry about making your kids assholes.
Those are all valid thing to worry about. Worry about them.