Thoughts on Intelligence
Posted: December 13, 2013 Filed under: disability, Down syndrome | Tags: disability, Down syndrome, intelligence, Parenting 16 Comments
Obligatory picture from that day that has nothing to do with the topic of this post. You're welcome.
Is intelligence the king of all abilities? Should I rejoice if my children have it, should I weep if my children don’t?
The Underbelly of a Well-Intended Compliment
I took the kids to the Exploratorium in the city this week. It is a wonderland of gadgets and doohickeys and thingamabobs. The girls loved it. They ran around testing this, spinning that, dropping the other. I dutifully followed with LP riding in his sling, while he tried to pick my nose and graced my ears with his sweet baby yells babbles.
There was a woman there with her two year-old grandson watching us. After she listened to me and Mouse talk a little bit about one of the thingamabobs, she made a big deal of telling Mouse she’s smart. She tapped her forehead and claimed “it’s what is up here that counts.”
I listened to this woman tell me how wonderfully smart she thought my daughter was and looked down at my son who has an intellectual disability, trying to hide a cringe. I know she meant it kindly and I think to counter how much little girls get praised for their physical appearance over all else. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder, if I accept that what sits in your brain counts the most in life, then what is LP? Besides the fact that appraising intelligence in a three minute interaction seems clumsy at best, I’ve never really warmed to the idea that “being smart” should be such a great compliment at all.
Intelligence, Lacking, and Questions of Import
What is intelligence? Merriam-Webster defines it as “the ability to learn or understand things or to deal with new or difficult situations.” There are lots of competing theories out there, some more inclusive than others, but here I’m talking about conventional ways of seeing intelligence. Raw processing power, IQ score, school grades and testing ability.
I recognize that there is some plasticity in the whole nature vs. nurture discussion, but for the most part, with regards to intelligence, I think people just have what they have. A person can gain wisdom throughout life, but it isn’t the same as intelligence.
It bothers me that intelligence is the holy grail of modern society. Calling someone smart is a sure fire compliment, but why? A person can’t earn intelligence. It says nothing of one’s character. On the flip side, calling someone stupid is one of the worst insults possible (one that gets bandied about far too often, I believe).
I’m even appalled at some of the things I’ve seen between the physical and intellectually disabled communities. Some clearly believe that no matter the state of one’s body, as long as the mind (i.e. intelligence) is “normal”, then they are equal to all able-bodied people. Even among those considered intellectually disabled, I’ve read many autistic advocates or those with other learning disabilities insist that they are not “stupid” but rather just different. In an effort to cast off ignorant judgments from themselves, they denigrate another group.
No one wants to be stupid, right? For me, the use of “stupid” feels uncomfortably similar to the r-word. They’re both dirty words, after all. No one ever called someone else stupid out of kindness or respect. Whenever I hear outrage over the use of the r-word, it seems inevitable that someone labels the person using the r-word as stupid (or lame, idiotic, moronic, dumb—all refer to disabilities in the past or present usage). Isn’t that the same meaning of the r-word—a pejorative way to call someone unintelligent? More often than not, the situation doesn’t even have to do with the topic of intelligence, but rather of values, education, politics, or something else entirely.
How important is intelligence? How much do we need to be intelligent? Must we all be so desirous of being intelligent? Must we mourn ourselves if a certain degree of intelligence is never ours to claim or taken away by accident, illness, or time? Is lacking intelligence actually bad? Is having intelligence really the holy grail of our society?
The Long Arc of Human Existence
Humans have been roaming the earth for an estimated 200,000 years. In just a wee blink of Mother Earth’s eye, we’ve spread ourselves into every little corner of the world. We have, arguably, gotten smarter. What has it gotten us?
Each major advance owes itself quite a large part to human intelligence, but each advance is either misused or exacts a terrible price. Nuclear energy gives way to atomic bombs. The combustion engine gives way to environmental degradation. Antibiotic medicine gives way to MRSA bacteria. Prenatal testing gives way to needless abortions (I’m pro-choice, by the way). Modern farming practices give us incredible yields but deplete our land. Some even argue that our move from a hunting and gathering lifestyle to an agrarian one bought more food and stability with poorer health.
I think at heart, we are the same people who were roaming the earth all those years ago. People who struggle with life, death, love and acceptance. Does intelligence change the outcome? I couldn’t dispute that human intelligence had a large hand on our proliferation all over this planet. We’re beyond struggling for basic subsistence, however. Those that do struggle for basic needs do so because others have denied them.
I’d like to think that more answers would come to us if we set our sights beyond intelligence. I daresay there enough to go around. So maybe we could focus a little less on intelligence, be less worried about any lack of it, and focus on what actually makes our lives better—ethical living, compassion, and love. A person doesn’t need to be conventionally smart to aspire to these things and contribute to the world.
I don’t know if Mouse is unusually smart. That woman’s compliment was a nice one, but I’ve decided that I can’t get excited about it. All I care is that my children grow up to be good and kind. Brave and compassionate. Loving. Hardworking and loyal.
So I won’t rejoice or weep if my children are intelligent or not, because I can’t control it, nor does it seem to change what really counts. We all have the capacity to live and love. We will all have an impact, no matter what lies in our brains.
Entering Disability Culture as a Parent: Memory, Relativity, and Truth
Posted: November 26, 2013 Filed under: advocacy, disability, Down syndrome, emotional stuff, kids, parenting, the future | Tags: disability, Down syndrome, grief, memory, Parenting 21 CommentsMouse pronounces the word “remember” with a “b” instead of an “r” at the beginning. Bemember.
I asked her once if she noticed her own pronunciation. She sat back thoughtfully, held up her hands and tilted her head in that exaggerated way unique to young children (something about the small arms and chubby bodies), and smiled. She said that it was on purpose because the act of remembering, or bemembering if you will, is about thinking about how you were being. In her words, it came out something like, “Well… Bemembering is for how you loosed to be.” (At the time, she also had a really hard time with words beginning with “u”. She’d always add an “l” in front. So “used to be” became “loosed to be”.)
I was entranced with the resulting stream of questions. Read the rest of this entry »
Selfish Advocacy
Posted: November 22, 2013 Filed under: advocacy, disability, Down syndrome | Tags: civil rights, Disability rights movement, Down syndrome, Spinal cord injury 20 CommentsYou know why I care so much about disability as a civil rights issue? It isn’t just about my son. I also care about disability rights for an utterly selfish reason. Me. Yes, me. I’m not considered disabled, yet, I live with 100% certainty that I will experience disability in my lifetime.
Disability is just a matter of time.
I don’t want you to read that last line with the theme of Jaws playing in your mind. Maybe something more along the lines of Dvorak’s New World Symphony. Disability is a natural certainty of all human existence. I look around me, and don’t see disability as intrinsically negative, but rather something that shapes and defines our very existence in often beautiful ways. It is part of the package. The cycle of life and death is all shaped by difference, whether race, age, gender, sexuality, body type, or disability. That’s a good thing; difference gives our lives depth and meaning.
I might not have been born with a disability, but there will come a day when I join that group. It could be tomorrow—a car crash could injure my spinal cord and I’ll become a wheelchair user. It could be next week—I might develop fibromyalgia. It could be years from now—I’ll have a stroke that will change my brain and its functioning forever. It could be decades from now, when the simple process of aging requires that I turn in some of my bodily function and cognition before I leave this world for good. Like I said, it is just a matter of time.
So I ask myself, what will happen to me if suddenly or gradually become disabled? When I become disabled, it seems likely that people will mourn me. Mourn, as if my currently able-bodied, neurotypical self is my “true” self, and the rest is some sort of sad decline—a tragedy even. No, thank you.
I see my future and I don’t like all of it. I don’t want disability to only indicate some sort of deficit that warrants exclusion. I don’t want to fight for physical space because the world is only made for people who walk. I don’t want to fight for emotional space because no one will include me in conversation if I can’t keep up at a certain pace. I don’t want to fight for space because my need to manage pain, support myself, express myself will be deemed too costly by a society that seems more concerned with shallow material wealth and expediency than anything else.
Our society is so afraid of disability but imagine if we could accept it, embrace it, use it. Fellow human beings with disabilities are advocating about these possibilities every day. Advocates are speaking, and I’m sad that it took me three decades to listen.
My son. He’s been born into the world with a disability. Down syndrome, Trisomy 21, 47 chromosomes. I mourned his diagnosis, but I look back on that time with some honest regret. I shouldn’t have had to grieve in order to accept my own flesh and blood, and yet, I did. What would have been, what could have been, what should have been. Well, he IS. Period, end of story. He’s not some sort of consolation prize given to us instead of a child with fewer chromosomes. There’s no “true” LP floating out in the ether without his “extra” chromosome. He has all the chromosomes he’s supposed to have.
You see, my son and I are in the same boat. I wasn’t born with a difference that our society considers a disability, but I’ll have one eventually. So I’m selfish and a mother. I care about disability as a civil rights issue because I want both my son and my future self to be accepted and valued with disabilities, not despite. I don’t want to admit that I mourned my own son for what I thought he wasn’t, without realizing what he was. I don’t want to wonder if doctors will wake me up to die after a spinal cord injury. I don’t want anyone to question my ability to be a mother if I’m disabled. I don’t want change of cognition to mean I’m passed over and forgotten, viewed as a shell of my former self. Bodies and minds change, abilities change, identities change.
I can’t honestly say that my advocating is only for my son. I’m selfish. It is for me, too.


