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Dear Netflix, thank you for the character of David on “Travelers”

9 Jan

Josh and I have been watching “Travelers”, a Netflix Original Series. He started watching it during season one because he ran out of “Continuum”, so this was suggested (as Netflix does), and I happened to be in the room when he started watching it.

We both got sucked in.

Be warned, there may be spoilers.

 

spoilers

[Image description – River Song from “Doctor Who”, smirking, and the word “Spoilers”]

“Travelers” is about people who come to the 21st century from a much more dire future time, trying to fix what went wrong. There’s protocols, and The Director, and other such things. Travelers arrive seconds before a human in the 21st century is about to die, and basically take over their body with their consciousness that’s been sent from the future (it’s a fine moral like, as they’re not taking a life, but they are assuming one, friends and relatives included.)

One traveler is sent into the body of Marcy, an intellectually disabled woman. Marcy has a case worker, David, who instantly notices Marcy goes from an almost illiterate woman who speaks slowly (can we say verbal apraxia?) to a well-spoken, literate, obviously above normal intelligence woman overnight.

Marcy – and therefore David – become a storyline in the show. David is the nicest of all the guys who, when everyone decides Marcy must have been defrauding people for those sweet sweet disability benefits, jumps to her defense. He doesn’t think she’s a cheat or was using the system. He just thinks that obviously some sort of miracle must have happened.

By the fourth episode, I worried more about David, a secondary character, more than most of the main characters. Because they wrote him to be exactly who I would want to be working with and caring for Maura someday. They showed how he paid for things for his clients out of pocket. How he knew what would help calm them, what their favorite foods were, where they were sleeping on the streets. During a pandemic during the second season, he went straight to the shelter to make sure his clients were okay, were cared for – because someone had to, and that someone was him. When he won the lottery, he gave it all to the people he worked for.

He is, for all intents and purposes, a perfect human being. He is who we all should try to be more like. He is the guy I’d want as Maura’s case worker. And that’s saying a lot.

But last night, as season two was winding up, there was a scene where the one character who’s been an asshole the whole first season, and is a recovering asshole in season two, reverts to his asshole ways when talking about Marcy to David.

He called Marcy “the retarded girl”.

I held my breath.

“That’s a hateful word.” David replied.

And I may have yelled “YES!”

David didn’t let me down.

Yes, they used the world I dislike. But then they addressed its ugliness. It was said to be ugly, by someone who’s behavior was ugly in the show.

And then, it’s ugliness was called out.

“That’s a hateful word.”

And the next time the recovering asshole mentions Marcy – two sentences later – he uses a more appropriate phrase – “mentally disabled”.

He was called out on his ugly behavior and it made a difference. David, once again, showed how to make a difference.

There was no big lecture, no big drama around the use of the word “retarded” – just a simple but pointed addressing of it – “That’s a hateful word.” – coming from a man who devoted his life to the people society overlooks or ignores.

For all I’ve seen people defend the use of the word “retarded” in shows and music and books because “that’s just how people speak”, I’ve never seen where then the use of the word is questioned by another character. It’s usually dropped by someone and then life carries on.

But not this time.

This time, some writer for Netflix deliberately chose it. And then deliberately chose to call it out for what it was – a hateful word. And then showed the one who use the word choose a different phrase.

Because while it is a word some people use still, there are those of us who are willing to call them out for that use.

And apparently, Netflix is now one of us.

So thank you Netflix. I know it was just two lines in one episode of a show, but dang if it didn’t mean the world to this mama.

Note – I was totally not paid in any way to endorse this show. No compensation was earned. I do totally recommend this show if you are sorta into sci-fi and like well-rounded characters. 

POST-FECKING-SCRIPT!

Okay, I am now writing from the Great Beyond.

Because when sharing this on Twitter, I did what good social media gurus are told to do – tag and hashtag.

And I got a response.

I got three responses.

First, from Eric McCormack, yeah, the lead actor in the show (and also producer for at least Season 1.) 

 

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[image description – tweet from Eric McCormack]  – “Great Letter, Phoebe, thank you. The writer was @ken_kabatoff, and @bradtravelers created David for @PatrickGilmore because there is no one better at being a great human being.”

 

And then Patrick Gilmore, the actor who plays David, chimed in –

 

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[image description – tweet from Patrick Gilmore] “Thank you for your letter, @herdingcatsblog. That scene was all @ken_kabatoff & @bradtravelers. I was blessed to have an Aunt with Down Syndrome. I got into fights in grade school with anyone who used the “R” word. I hugged Ken when I read that line 🙂 @TRVLRSseries @netflix”

And THEN, this appeared from the WRITER HIMSELF, Ken Kabatoff –

 

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[image description – tweet from Ken Kabatoff] “I’m not crying, YOU’RE crying.

 

So now I’m dead, but in a good way.

Now everyone, go watch this show. Because it obviously is made up of a bunch of really decent human beings – and because I already need Season 3.

 

 

 

 

 

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To the high schoolers about to meet my daughter

29 Aug

Hello Classes of 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021! You all have two things in common!

  1. You’ll all be in the same high school.
  2. You will be going to school with my daughter Maura.

Yeah, consider yourself #blessed right now.

So you’re going to be in school with my daughter. Congratulations! Here’s what you’ll need to know…

Maura is going to be one of those newbie freshman scurrying about the halls. Except Maura doesn’t scurry, she booyahs her way into every room.

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Yes, you’ll notice her. You’ll notice this girl with fabulous hair and a sense of confidence that you’ll probably envy.

It’s okay, you can learn from her.

You can learn that it’s okay to be yourself, to be confident in who you are, to wear those clothes that make you feel fabulous, and to laugh loudly because it feels good to laugh.

You will watch her with some envy because of the way she enjoys life – but you know, you can too. My daughter doesn’t give a crap about what other people think. You can learn that from her as well.

You may be hesitant to do something weird or silly, because, you know, High Schooler. But then you see my daughter being silly because silly is fun, and fun is awesome and maybe you’ll stop being so self-conscious and do that goofy thing that makes you laugh.

You will definitely see her dance. Because dancing is fun. They say you should dance like no one is watching. No, be like Maura – dance because you want to and who cares if anyone is watching? Maybe they’ll join in. And in doing so, they’ll be another joining in, and then you’re six degrees from a flash mob and flash mobs are awesome.

And now, you’re watching my daughter with a bit of awe. That’s okay, I do the same. I’m in awe of her spirit, her ability to live life to the fullest. To love freely, unabashedly. To enjoy being yourself. It’s something to aspire to.

And while you’re watching Maura, you may notice her sister as well. Because she’ll be the second person in that potential flash mob. You’ll see her sister treat her…well…like a sister. She’ll treat her normally.

Because that’s all you have to do with Maura. Treat her like you would any classmate.

Oh, did I mention that Maura has cognitive disabilities? Yeah, there are those as well, but they’re not what make her stand out. Heck, her moaning and groaning over doing school work could make her blend in with the rest of you lot.

But here’s the thing – yes, she’s fabulous and confident and all – but she is also okay with you being fabulous and confident and all too.

So good luck, incoming freshman and all the upperclassmen who have to deal with them. May this year be full of awesome.

And to the high school teachers and admins – I’m still rooting that you get a margarita machine in the staff room. Because dang.

 

To the person who doesn’t want to give up their subway seat for my kid…

9 Jul

This article popped up in my feed. I read it, and I’ll admit, part of me did agree with you. But then you sort of glossed over that disabilities may not be seen by the naked eye. And that’s where you lost me. And since I was willing to hear your side – and again, even agree with some points – I think you now need to hear my side of things.

When we lived in Dublin, we were blocks from a Luas station – the Luas being the light rail train that ran from the more suburban areas of Dublin to City Centre. As someone who grew up with commuter trains in Chicago, I was enamored of the Luas. Trains get people places, and for less than what parking would cost.

My daughter Maura loved the Luas. She had her own Luas card for commuting. Because for the first few weeks of school, we had to commute by train. The commute meant walking the five-ish blocks to the train station, and down two flights of stairs to the platform (or use the elevator), take the train to our stop, then walk another several blocks to her school. Since we were traveling during the morning commute time, the train was usually full when it hit our stop, and packed by the time we were ready to get off. I soon figured out a spot that worked for us – the last car, by the back door, against the wall where Maura could lean against it for support, and a quick and easy exit. I would stand in front of her, shielding her a bit, but also shielding herself from other passengers so if she lost her balance, she lost it onto me and not a stranger.

 

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Maura waiting for the train in Ireland – 2011

 

Usually mornings went smoothly. It was afternoons that got difficult. She’d be tired from the school day, and the walk to the train could mean a series of bribes and cajoling. There was a little convenience store right next to the train where I’d let her buy a bag of popcorn if that’s what got us to the train. I would hope that we’d get a seat so she could sit and rest before having to walk home. If it was full, I’d be the mom you described in your piece, telling her she could sit soon, and nabbing the first spot available for her.

The train in Dublin wasn’t nearly as cut throat as other systems I’ve ridden on (which, on top of Chicago, I can add Paris, Barcelona, London, and yes, even the NYC subway.) The Dublin train riders were more likely to give seats to kids. Once, a school group came on, and little girls in plaid skirts were taking seats – and I watched not one, but two young men get up from their seats and move in order to give the school girls their seats, so that the teacher was able to have them all in one place. They didn’t ask how able-bodied the girls were.

Listen, I have taught my own children to give up seats for those who need it, whether it be at church or on a train. They have never balked or complained, and now, as almost grown/grown people, they are still giving up their hard-earned seats for those who may need it.

But I’ve also been the mom who needed the seat for my kid.

My very normal looking kid.

My kid who may look like she’s enjoying standing there on her own two feet.

My kid who had epilepsy that affected her balance. Who has motor skill issues that affect her balance. My kid with low muscle tone, who tires out more easily. My kid who can’t always correct or catch herself when she starts to fall, or who can’t always move fast enough to block herself when she does fall. The kid who couldn’t understand why she couldn’t sit when tired. The kid who’d be safer seated on a bouncing cornering train. The kid who, in your eyes, at first glance looks totally normal and healthy. Because she is healthy for the most part.

The one you basically dismissed with your bland statement that disability isn’t always visible to the naked eye. Because while you’re willing to write – possibly in a CYA sort of way – that not all disabilities are visible to the naked eye, you’re also ready to write off that me promising my kid a seat equates to coddling. Because to the naked eye, my daughter looks like an average kid.

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Maura – 2017

 

Now more than ever, I need that seat for Maura. Yes, she’s older, taller, and better at balancing herself. But when she stumbles and falls or needs support, she leans on me. Me, her now-shorter-than-her mom. Me, the gal with the twitchy back and inflamed shoulder. Me, who got that twitchy back and inflamed shoulder from years of helping Maura physically. Me, who would and has happily not sit if it means my daughter gets a seat.

Maura getting a seat means she gets a rest break – one that may not seem needed but will pay off later. Maura getting a seat means that I don’t have to use my own body to help hers cope and adjust with swaying train cars, stops and starts. Maura getting a seat means she won’t bump into other passengers while trying to catch her balance.

Listen, our world is more difficult to navigate because of my daughter’s disabilities. That her disabilities are invisible doesn’t make things better. Because we get judged – whether it’s for using the disabled toilet, or using the disabled seating on the train, or being judged as a coddling parent by someone’s cursory glance.

There are a lot of disabilities that aren’t visible. I personally know several kids who could use a seat on a train even though they look able and happy because their disability isn’t apparent to the naked eye. Kids with autism, kids with mild cerebral palsy, kids who have had strokes as toddlers – and my own kid, who doesn’t have a diagnosis but definitely is disabled.

And you know what? As the mom of three other children, who are all able-bodied, sometimes even those kids need to sit. They’ve had long days, or have a long trek ahead of them once they get off the train, or are just clumsy and would be safer on a seat. Moms who have been dragging their kid about town and are tired of playing goalie and just want to put him in a seat for five minutes so she can take a breather because she knows passengers will give her the stink eye if her kid bumps into them.

Listen, we’ve all been a bit of an asshole when it comes to holding onto our own hard-earned seats on trains or busses. But I’m pretty certain that kids having seats on trains isn’t the downfall of civilization as we know it. And as the mom who used to ride the Luas constantly with her own kid who did need the seat, I am grateful for every kind person who offered a seat to my daughter.

 

 

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