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Feb. 7th, 2015 07:05 pm
Label your kids - and your cans
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nightengalesknd“Label your cans, not your kids.”
I hear this a bunch, generally from parents. They don’t want to “label” their child. They don’t want school to “label” their child. They don’t want school to see the label and pigeonhole their child into classes, programs, expectations based on the label. They don’t want the child using his or her label as an excuse for laziness.
And some of these worries are founded. There are studies showing that teachers treat students labeled “high achieving” and “low achieving” differently, in ways that become self-fulfilling prophecies. Expectations matter, and we should always be cautious not to place artificially low (or high) expectations on a student based on prior knowledge or labels such as “ADHD” or “gifted” or “dyslexic” or “behavior problem.”
But it can be enormously useful for a teacher to know that a specific student has difficulty with organization, or strong math skills, or can’t read the third grade textbook you are about to hand him, or struggles with emotional regulation and should be permitted a break if she asks for one. We can, and should, provide this information on an individual basis, with the specifics relevant to each child.
But that doesn’t make the larger diagnostic or descriptive categories meaningless.
Why do we label cans, anyway?
So people know what’s inside before opening them.
So maybe diagnostic labels aren’t exactly like can labels. Maybe they are more like the signs on the aisles that point you in a particular direction. Canned vegetables here. Canned and dried fruit there. Produce on one end, frozen food on the other. If you are looking for canned, diced, stewed tomatoes, these signs can help you find the right shelf. Once there, you can treat the Del Monte canned, diced, stewed tomatoes like the individual they are.
We all wear multiple labels, and society has labeled some of them as negative. Some labels are objectively defined, some are subjectively applied from without and some arise only after long introspection from within. Tall is a label. Female is a label. Female-identified-assigned-male-at-birth is also a label. Aromantic asexual. Secular Jew. Asian-American. Extrovert. Feminist. Parent. Millennial. No person is defined by any one of their labels or even by all their labels collectively. A can of tomatoes isn’t defined by its label. The label merely describes what’s in the can.
Consider what our Del Monte canned, diced, stewed tomatoes have in common with the Publix brand of canned, diced stewed tomatoes. What are their similarities with and differences from Del Monte canned, whole, stewed tomatoes? Are they more like salsa, which is generally jarred, not canned, but in which the tomatoes are generally diced? What about fresh tomatoes? What is their relationship with the broader category of botanical fruits that are culinary treated as vegetables? Does our canned, diced tomato have more in common with canned, diced peaches which are also fruits, than with the canned, diced mushrooms which are on the same shelf?
That’s the intersectionality portion of the program, folks.
But let’s go back to children with diagnosable disabilities. And let’s not get them evaluated for diagnostic labels, or let’s get them evaluated but not tell their teachers, or not tell the children themselves. And let’s tell ourselves we’re doing this to avoid labeling them.
The problem with this method is that it does not leave children unlabeled. They get labels and plenty of them. “Lazy,” say their teachers. “Attention-seeking.” “Doesn’t get along with her peers.” “Doesn’t work to his potential.” They get labeled “bad” and “behavior problems,” and nothing about the process of applying these labels helps them to be “good” or to exhibit less disruptive behavior. Meanwhile their classmates, those folks labeled “peers,” apply some labels of their own. Children are labeled “weird” and “stupid” and “retarded” and “spaz” and “slow” and “mean” and “sped.” Nothing about this process helps children learn to read or make friends or get left alone, if that is what they desire, or get better at keeping their hands to themselves during circle time.
But children hear these labels and internalize them. And since no one gives them any information to the contrary, they assume that they are “bad” and “stupid” and all the rest. And they know they aren’t “normal” because if they were they would be able to read and sit still and no one will tell them any differently about themselves, so they learn not to trust the adults at home, at school, at therapy.
Adults like to believe that lack of formal diagnostic labels is somehow protective against teasing and bullying. I am admittedly an N of 1, but it sure didn’t help me any.
“Why do you type?”
“Because I can’t write”
“Why can’t you write?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you sit on your knees?”
“Because I can’t sit cross-legged”
“Why not?”
“Because I topple over backwards.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
An answer of “cerebral palsy” might not have staved off the list of questions, but it would have given me a place beyond a shrug from which to formulate an answer. I am convinced that the 80’s mantra of “not labeling children” is what kept me from an accurate diagnosis at a sensible age.
I have read narratives of children with disabilities who grow up assuming they will die, because they never met any adults like them and assumed that was because children like them died before adulthood. Or were institutionalized. Mel Baggs and Julia Bascom , among others, have written about the damage this can cause.
“I don’t want him using it as an excuse – ‘Oh I can’t do this, I’m autistic’” a parent tells me. I don’t either. Unless, of course, it is something he truly can’t do, in which case the student gets an A for Advocacy. And if it is something he can do, but it’s hard or he just doesn’t want to, he’s going to use something as a reason, something probably less accurate and descriptive, and there’s going to be a consequence, or there isn’t. A kid who is going to try to get out of things isn’t going to NOT try this because he hasn’t got a diagnosis, or only try it because he does. All we’ve done by withholding the label is denying him the language used to describe his inability, or difficulty, or difference.
I think I’ve written before about the two types of limits related to disability: actual and imposed. Actual limitations are the actual functional impairments created by disability. Part of self-advocacy is recognizing these, and applying some combination of work-arounds, adaptations, accommodations and acceptances. It’s easier to do this with an accurate label. One can understand the physical or psychological mechanism, or one’s parents and teachers and therapists can. One can find others who have traveled a similar (never the same) road before, and learn from their experiences, and find community.
Imposed limitations are those created in response to disability. Some take the form, “if you can’t X than you can’t Y.” People with disabilities need not apply. Children with autism aren’t eligible for this gifted program. If the child with ADHD forgets his homework, he has to stay in at recess because that’s our policy, even though he needs to run around to regulate. And yes, some are created ourselves, and some might call these excuses. Imposed limitations are a problem, but the solution is not to throw diagnoses out with the bathwater.
The solution is to label these imposed limitations for what they are – ableism – and to confront them accordingly. It’s a lot easier to confront mis-conceptions and prejudices related to disability when you have a concept of disability – your own, or that of your child, student, patient or client – in the first place.
Chavisory wrote this great piece for Autistic Speaking Day a few years back, You should tell your kids that they’re autistic. I’ve printed it out for a few families. Hopefully they at least read it and considered her words.
So yes, let’s label our children, if labels apply. Let’s use the labels descriptively, not proscriptively. Let’s teach them about themselves, about their own strengths and challenges, using language that is both accurate and accessible to them. Let’s encourage them, and those adults who support them, to use labels as a starting point rather than an ending point.
Now that I know it’s a can of tomatoes, I can make some amazing chili. Imagine if it just sat on the shelf, trying and forever failing to be a can of peas?
I hear this a bunch, generally from parents. They don’t want to “label” their child. They don’t want school to “label” their child. They don’t want school to see the label and pigeonhole their child into classes, programs, expectations based on the label. They don’t want the child using his or her label as an excuse for laziness.
And some of these worries are founded. There are studies showing that teachers treat students labeled “high achieving” and “low achieving” differently, in ways that become self-fulfilling prophecies. Expectations matter, and we should always be cautious not to place artificially low (or high) expectations on a student based on prior knowledge or labels such as “ADHD” or “gifted” or “dyslexic” or “behavior problem.”
But it can be enormously useful for a teacher to know that a specific student has difficulty with organization, or strong math skills, or can’t read the third grade textbook you are about to hand him, or struggles with emotional regulation and should be permitted a break if she asks for one. We can, and should, provide this information on an individual basis, with the specifics relevant to each child.
But that doesn’t make the larger diagnostic or descriptive categories meaningless.
Why do we label cans, anyway?
So people know what’s inside before opening them.
So maybe diagnostic labels aren’t exactly like can labels. Maybe they are more like the signs on the aisles that point you in a particular direction. Canned vegetables here. Canned and dried fruit there. Produce on one end, frozen food on the other. If you are looking for canned, diced, stewed tomatoes, these signs can help you find the right shelf. Once there, you can treat the Del Monte canned, diced, stewed tomatoes like the individual they are.
We all wear multiple labels, and society has labeled some of them as negative. Some labels are objectively defined, some are subjectively applied from without and some arise only after long introspection from within. Tall is a label. Female is a label. Female-identified-assigned-male-at-birth is also a label. Aromantic asexual. Secular Jew. Asian-American. Extrovert. Feminist. Parent. Millennial. No person is defined by any one of their labels or even by all their labels collectively. A can of tomatoes isn’t defined by its label. The label merely describes what’s in the can.
Consider what our Del Monte canned, diced, stewed tomatoes have in common with the Publix brand of canned, diced stewed tomatoes. What are their similarities with and differences from Del Monte canned, whole, stewed tomatoes? Are they more like salsa, which is generally jarred, not canned, but in which the tomatoes are generally diced? What about fresh tomatoes? What is their relationship with the broader category of botanical fruits that are culinary treated as vegetables? Does our canned, diced tomato have more in common with canned, diced peaches which are also fruits, than with the canned, diced mushrooms which are on the same shelf?
That’s the intersectionality portion of the program, folks.
But let’s go back to children with diagnosable disabilities. And let’s not get them evaluated for diagnostic labels, or let’s get them evaluated but not tell their teachers, or not tell the children themselves. And let’s tell ourselves we’re doing this to avoid labeling them.
The problem with this method is that it does not leave children unlabeled. They get labels and plenty of them. “Lazy,” say their teachers. “Attention-seeking.” “Doesn’t get along with her peers.” “Doesn’t work to his potential.” They get labeled “bad” and “behavior problems,” and nothing about the process of applying these labels helps them to be “good” or to exhibit less disruptive behavior. Meanwhile their classmates, those folks labeled “peers,” apply some labels of their own. Children are labeled “weird” and “stupid” and “retarded” and “spaz” and “slow” and “mean” and “sped.” Nothing about this process helps children learn to read or make friends or get left alone, if that is what they desire, or get better at keeping their hands to themselves during circle time.
But children hear these labels and internalize them. And since no one gives them any information to the contrary, they assume that they are “bad” and “stupid” and all the rest. And they know they aren’t “normal” because if they were they would be able to read and sit still and no one will tell them any differently about themselves, so they learn not to trust the adults at home, at school, at therapy.
Adults like to believe that lack of formal diagnostic labels is somehow protective against teasing and bullying. I am admittedly an N of 1, but it sure didn’t help me any.
“Why do you type?”
“Because I can’t write”
“Why can’t you write?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you sit on your knees?”
“Because I can’t sit cross-legged”
“Why not?”
“Because I topple over backwards.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
An answer of “cerebral palsy” might not have staved off the list of questions, but it would have given me a place beyond a shrug from which to formulate an answer. I am convinced that the 80’s mantra of “not labeling children” is what kept me from an accurate diagnosis at a sensible age.
I have read narratives of children with disabilities who grow up assuming they will die, because they never met any adults like them and assumed that was because children like them died before adulthood. Or were institutionalized. Mel Baggs and Julia Bascom , among others, have written about the damage this can cause.
“I don’t want him using it as an excuse – ‘Oh I can’t do this, I’m autistic’” a parent tells me. I don’t either. Unless, of course, it is something he truly can’t do, in which case the student gets an A for Advocacy. And if it is something he can do, but it’s hard or he just doesn’t want to, he’s going to use something as a reason, something probably less accurate and descriptive, and there’s going to be a consequence, or there isn’t. A kid who is going to try to get out of things isn’t going to NOT try this because he hasn’t got a diagnosis, or only try it because he does. All we’ve done by withholding the label is denying him the language used to describe his inability, or difficulty, or difference.
I think I’ve written before about the two types of limits related to disability: actual and imposed. Actual limitations are the actual functional impairments created by disability. Part of self-advocacy is recognizing these, and applying some combination of work-arounds, adaptations, accommodations and acceptances. It’s easier to do this with an accurate label. One can understand the physical or psychological mechanism, or one’s parents and teachers and therapists can. One can find others who have traveled a similar (never the same) road before, and learn from their experiences, and find community.
Imposed limitations are those created in response to disability. Some take the form, “if you can’t X than you can’t Y.” People with disabilities need not apply. Children with autism aren’t eligible for this gifted program. If the child with ADHD forgets his homework, he has to stay in at recess because that’s our policy, even though he needs to run around to regulate. And yes, some are created ourselves, and some might call these excuses. Imposed limitations are a problem, but the solution is not to throw diagnoses out with the bathwater.
The solution is to label these imposed limitations for what they are – ableism – and to confront them accordingly. It’s a lot easier to confront mis-conceptions and prejudices related to disability when you have a concept of disability – your own, or that of your child, student, patient or client – in the first place.
Chavisory wrote this great piece for Autistic Speaking Day a few years back, You should tell your kids that they’re autistic. I’ve printed it out for a few families. Hopefully they at least read it and considered her words.
So yes, let’s label our children, if labels apply. Let’s use the labels descriptively, not proscriptively. Let’s teach them about themselves, about their own strengths and challenges, using language that is both accurate and accessible to them. Let’s encourage them, and those adults who support them, to use labels as a starting point rather than an ending point.
Now that I know it’s a can of tomatoes, I can make some amazing chili. Imagine if it just sat on the shelf, trying and forever failing to be a can of peas?
no subject
I've also some very confusing interactions with people, where for example someone said to me, "why aren't you participating in this martial arts class?" and I said, "because I'm disabled" and they got really aggressive with me like, "don't say that about yourself! Labels just limit you!"
Anyway, I like labels, but I'm not someone who's ever been able to pass as "normal."
no subject
I've never passed as normal but I have passed (or a term I've heard and prefer, been passed off as) non-disabled. Disabled is a much better label than any that were applied to me for all those years.
no subject
This sentence is completely excellent and I'm going to try to remember it.
no subject
(My mom never allowed me to use a footstool or stepladder -- nor to climb onto the counters, which was the next thing I tried -- but hers was because she was bulimic and had to control all the food. She used to put extra stuff in locked closets to which only she had the key, and a bunch of other unusual behaviors. She treated me as if I were evil somehow. I had no idea how unusual all this was until I started spending the night at friend's houses when I was older)
no subject
Speaking as a high-school teacher — please, label your children. Don't make a teacher spend four months trying to figure out how and why a child is struggling, if you know right at the beginning what kinds of help they need. We have a lot of students to juggle and are not always as quick to figure things out as we should be. It can be the difference between passing and failing a class, and between succeeding at school and getting completely demoralized.
no subject
And by the time students get to high school, chances are high they have had prior experience struggling without knowing why and developed all sorts of compensatory mechanisms that can take years to dismantle.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Without labels I might be homeless now, or at least living with my parents and being constantly nagged to get a job in a place where there are no jobs or public transit.
no subject
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no subject
Yes, THIS. My unofficially!aspie tutee now thinks that he is "bad at English/writing" rather than dyspraxic, because he can't get his thoughts out on paper fast enough in class or organised easily. Using a computer largely solves this issue for him, but the teachers forced the students to write by hand in the mistaken belief that this would magically make them better at writing legibly under time-pressure in exams. God knows what other labels he and other people have attached to himself that would be better covered by "ASD".
no subject
Magical teacher thinking is something, isn't it? Yes, practice helps some problems. But at some point, it should become clear when the problem isn't lack of practice.
no subject
I'm sitting in an undergrad community & therapeutic recreation course this semester as part of my sociology of physical activity PhD program and I'm struck by the condescending tone about "labels"...it's weird to be a disabled person & have pieces of my identity chipped at like that...
no subject
And they have no idea they are chipping away at identity because they can't conceptualize disability as part of an identity. I have a colleague who identifies as feminist who keeps telling me not to label myself as disabled because she doesn't see me that way. I keep saying, well I'm labeled as a woman, if she sees me that way she should also see me as a disabled person, both parts of my identity. It just doesn't compute. And these are people who work in a disability field, some of them for years.
no subject