Fathers, Days

Us
Originally uploaded by Citizen Rob

It's Father's Day, so it's appropriate (and very cool) that I can point you to an interview I gave ("Fathering a Daughter with a Hidden Voice") to an excellent new resource site, Support for Special Needs. It was a fun interview that came out of a nice long chat with Julia Roberts, and I didn't make a single Pretty Woman joke, because I am occasionally capable of being a grown up.

Father's Day can feel a little strange for the fathers of broken children. Most of us feel a little broken ourselves. The reasons for that disconnect might not always be so obvious. The numbers are pretty clear; the primary caregivers for kids with disabilities tend to be mothers, and that's just a fact. I suspect that mirrors neurotypical society, but the fact remains that many, many fathers of special needs children are on the outside looking in on the day-to-day lives of their kids, and often by their own choice. It's a shameful truth, but one that does no one any good to ignore.

I hear it often. "I think it's so great that you're such an involved father!" I see the looks in the eyes of members of Schuyler's IEP team, mostly from the new ones, when I walk into the meetings, and when I speak up, as if they'd almost expect to hear Schuyler talking before a father would. And I see the broad generalizations, even here. In a recent post, when I expressed my own self-doubts and admitted that Julie and I hadn't fully faced some aspects of Schuyler's disability head-on, one commenter just mentally adjusted that and turned it into how Julie is the strong one, no self doubts and no illusions, but me? I was just like this commenter's husband, in denial and uninvolved in the details of my kid's education and care. In her head, the narrative reads that way, and so it became my narrative, too. And she's not alone.

Mostly, though, I get the opposite treatment. Some people treat me like an aberration. I'm like some bizarre extraterrestrial father who puts his daughter's well-being ahead of his own, one who goes to all the IEP meetings and all the parent nights and the playmates. "Here is a father who gives everything to his kid, and puts her happiness ahead of his own! Isn't that wonderful and weird?

Well, I call bullshit.

It seems like almost everyone has so much anecdotal evidence of crappy fathers who don't step up on behalf of their disabled kids. But in the past two years, since my book came out and I began traveling around and meeting other families, it has been my honor and privilege to meet some amazing fathers. And I'm not just talking about the ones who show up to the IEP meetings and doctor's appointments, either. I'm talking about extraordinary dads whose work on behalf of their own kids have changed the world for countless others, too.

Richard Ellenson saw a need for his son, whose cerebral palsy left him unable to communicate and for whom existing speech devices were inadequate for his particular needs. The device he created, the Tango, has been praised for its innovative design and success in social integration of AAC. Dan Habib turned his fight for full integration for his son into a celebrated documentary and an ongoing project at the University of New Hampshire, dedicated to creating and developing more inclusive schools. I've met extraordinary authors and advocates like Rupert Isaacson and Michael Greenberg. I've been in the company of some amazing fathers.

Amazing fathers, and yet they're exactly like all the fathers out there who work tirelessly for their children with disabilities. What sets these fathers apart, in my mind, is that rather than trying to find a way to fit into our society's narrow idea of what fathers are supposed to do, they've taken their talents and their abilities and they've forged into territory that hasn't always been welcoming to them.

Plenty of fathers don't do that. Is that because some of them are crappy fathers? Of course. But how many fathers respond to the low expectations of our society and our system, one that assumes that the mothers of these kids will be the ones who will take care of them? How many fathers go online to find information and end up on page after page of resources for Special Needs Moms? How many read the poems about how special those moms are, how hard they work and how they are the only ones these kids can count on? I know I see those sites and those posts. I see them every day, and even now, after everything I've said and done and written, after as many speeches as I've delivered and as many books as I've signed and as many IEP meetings I've attended and been a pain in the ass in, even now, I still hear the tiny voice in my head, the one that whispers "Your presence is not required. Your input is not necessary."

Look, fathers need to get involved. Fathers need to step up and take on their share of the work. That much is clear. That's not just in the disability community, either, but I believe it's even more critical that it happen in these families. This isn't an episode of Mad Men; the old models of fatherhood no longer work. I'm not sure they ever really did.

But there needs to be an accompanying significant shift in our societal attitudes. There has to be a change in how fathers are seen. Fathers of broken children aren't volunteers. We don't want partial credit just for showing up. And we don't want a pat on the head. We want to be involved. And we should be. You as mothers and as society should have the expectation that we're going to be, and with that, you need to be willing to step back and let our talents shine, let our unique perspectives contribute fully.

I think you might be surprised at what you get in return.

Alamo

It has been noted that my last two entries ("Truth can be a monster, too" and "A question of faith") are almost completely contradictory. They are. They are also both entirely accurate representations of my emotional state at the present time.

Funny how that works, the whole "people are complicated" thing.

The truth is that yeah, this is hard. And while I won't attempt to speak for Julie here, I personally feel like we're all failing Schuyler right now. Everyone who is supposed to be helping her is falling short. By issuing and endorsing this report and suggesting in the meeting that full integration for Schuyler is a very unlikely scenario, I feel like Schuyler's team at school is letting her down. I think I've made that clear.

But more importantly, in not understanding until this meeting exactly how much of a Potemkin village her mainstreaming experience has become and how far behind she has been allowed to fall, I have failed Schuyler. And not just a little, either, but in huge, glaring, unforgivable ways. I was supposed to know better, I was supposed to be watching for this, and I was supposed to be reaching her. I didn't.

And yet I still believe in her, even though I understand that perhaps I am setting myself, and probably her, up for sadness and disappointment. I'm still not accepting a future for her where she's unable to catch up to her classmates, even though I will love her with the same burning intensity and the same sense of pride if she doesn't. I might be wrong to fight like this, but she's so smart and so inquisitive and so insanely positive about the future that I'd feel like a completely different kind of failure if I suddenly started preaching acceptance and welcoming everyone to Holland.

On a good day, I vow to fight and say that her team is wrong about her. On a bad day, I understand that they're probably not wrong. And then I vow to fight anyway.

If you'd like to know how I feel right now, remember the Alamo, so to speak. Even if you're not a Texan, you probably know at least the bare essentials of the story of the Alamo. And so you understand that when the defenders of the Alamo entered the fort as the Mexican army arrived in San Antonio de Béxar, they weren't thinking "Oh crap, we're going to die in here, and the best we can hope for is to have a bunch of middle schools named after us all one day." They believed that help was coming, that all they had to do was hold on until the rest of the Texian army arrived.

But it is a point of pride here in the Republic that after the siege began and word came from outside that no reinforcements were coming, most of the soldiers stayed to fight, knowing that defeat was all but certain.

I feel a little like I'm standing in my own little fort, reading a report that says our reinforcements aren't coming. And I know I'm going to stay and fight, to the last bullet. But yeah, I now understand how this probably ends.

Like I said, that represents a not-so-good day.

Uninvited

A few weeks ago, I was invited to speak to an autism book club at a large Baptist church here in Plano.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I know because I thought the same thing. Well, two things come to mind, actually. The most immediate might just be that Schuyler isn't autistic. And that was the first thing that I pointed out to the organizer. But she assured me that it was fine, and that it was my experience with disability parenting that was important and the reason she wanted me to speak to her group.

I didn't mention the other thing, the fact that I'm not a Christian.

Well, no. I didn't mention it because while you may think whatever you like about my religious beliefs and the fact that I am not a Christian and am not raising my daughter to be one, the one thing you have to admit is true is that I have never pretended otherwise. I've never shied away from talking about my faith; my agnosticism has been an irritant to both my Christian and my non-believer friends alike.

My book surprised a lot of people (including me, honestly) because of the amount of ink I spilled discussing God. My Christian friends were disappointed that I didn't embrace Jesus at the end and instead described what was, at best, something of a truce with God. And my fellow heathens were puzzled by, well, the same thing. I may have been shaking my angry fists at the sky, but as my mother pointed out when she read it, at least I was still talking to God. We might be in need of couples counseling, but I hadn't dismissed the idea altogether.

Which is why I thought it sounded like a solid idea to talk to the Baptists. I haven't had very many positive dialogues with Christian groups like this in the past, but I'm not opposed to the idea. I assumed that the organizer of this book club had read the book and saw a deeper spiritual journey going on, and one that merited discussion with the faithful of her group.

Turns out, she hadn't read the book. Not yet.

As she made her way through the book, I could sense from her emails that she was troubled. I got several "I'm on page 154, and I've got some questions..." emails, which I tried to answer as best as I could. Particularly on the topic of my own beliefs, I said this:

For me as an agnostic, it is, in some ways, that lack of what others call "faith" that sustains me. It leaves open the possibility of something greater, something beyond my understanding, and it gives me hope that love is bigger than the cramped, mean world that we live in. And if I can't believe I know the nature or the origin of that love like the Christian believes, I also make room for it anyway. Which I suppose is its own kind of faith.
(...)
In the end, you know what's in your heart, and THAT'S the place where you keep your own faith. And while that sounds sort of lonely, I also find a great comfort in it.

Once we really began talking about it, her emails eventually turned into "I want to help you". I guess it's only because I'm a little slow that I didn't see the next thing coming.

I got uninvited to speak to her church's Autism Book Club.

I don't generally like to quote from private email, but since this event had already been publicized in advance (including by me) and my daughter's smiling face had already graced the club's website before being pulled without warning (before I was even officially uninvited), I feel like this one sentence of explanation is relevant. More to the point, it says a lot about, well, a lot.

"My book club is promoting Christianity as the answer to life's problems and that's what people are expecting when they walk in the door."

So there you go. Am I bitter? I don't like to think of myself as a bitter person, but yeah, I suppose I am, at least a little. Am I disappointed? Absolutely. But most of all, am I a little less likely to agree to a dialogue like this in the future? Does this feed my natural predisposition to distrust an agent of an organized Christian group? Yeah, it really does.

I have been asked on more than one occasion if I plan to teach Schuyler about Jesus, as if NOT doing so was somehow unAmerican. And I've been told that I am somehow limiting her future if I don't. Christians teach their kids what they believe, and while the best of them give them a choice, they still teach through their own biases. That's not even a bad thing. It's the nature of parenting, and it's part of how humans have built their tribes for thousands of years.

Well, for those questioners, I have good news, and I have bad news. The good news is that yes, we fully intend to teach Schuyler about Jesus Christ, among the other philosophers of history.

The bad news is that we intend to teach her about Christians, too. The good, the bad and the ugly. Because we're promoting information as the answer to life's problems.

Purple snowflake

Some things are hard to see when you are standing close to them. The passage of time masks growth and allows you to hold a tiny little baby and barely notice as she grows into an actual large human person thing.

And then you receive her fourth grade school portrait, taken by someone else at a place you never saw, on a day like any other when you put your baby girl on a bus and sent her into a world that sees her as a five foot tall preteen girl, You see the photo, and the person looking back at you is both the most familiar being in the world, and a mysterious stranger.

Schuyler is ten years old. I knew that, of course. But when I look at this photo of a girl who is not a baby and isn't even going to be a child much longer, the reality lands on me in a way that I guess it hadn't before.

In most ways that's no different from any father who has a hard time letting go of his little girl, I suppose. It's a cliche, I know. It's not one I particularly enjoy embodying, mostly because in matters of Schuyler and her well-being, I pride myself on being a fierce advocate for her. It's important, that position, the most important in my life, the one that really matters. I feel like it requires clarity and understanding and focus. Being all mushy-headed and "Aw, my widdle baby is all grown up, waah" feels like an idiotic, cartoonish distraction. I have no desire to be that familiar buffoon dad from any of a hundred forgettable sitcoms. And none of us really has the time for it, either.

As with all things Schuyler, however, it's not that simple. Last summer, I spoke briefly with a doctor and researcher who is familiar with both Schuyler and her monster; indeed, he is one of the world's top experts on disorders like hers. He pointed out how well Schuyler is doing and how unusual her manifestation of polymicrogyria really is. On one hand, her speech is affected, profoundly so. At the same time, she's completely ambulatory, can write and eat with only minor impediments, and appears to be cognitively high-functioning as well. She walks through the world like a perfectly normal little girl her age, and yet she's not like any other.

"I've never seen PMG manifest itself with quite such a narrow focus," he said. "Schuyler is probably unique in the whole world."

I knew that, I've always known that on some level, but to hear it put like that made it even more real. Every kid is different, I know; every child is a snowflake. But as far as that goes, Schuyler is wholly unique, like a purple snowflake.

Being Schuyler's father, then, isn't a job that always corresponds to precedence. She's a ten year-old girl who wears a bra and wants to experiment with makeup and dances around the living room to Lady Gaga. She argues with her parents; she fake pouts when she wants something and does it for real when she doesn't get it. She's like your kid in a lot of ways.

But Schuyler is also a ten year-old girl who has never had a conversation on the telephone with anyone other than her parents; actually, I don't think she's ever dialed a phone in her life. When she writes sentences using her spelling words for school, she composes pieces that work grammatically and convey meaning but also demonstrate that her understanding of language and the world is abstract and different, developed as it has in an internal world mostly her own. Schuyler has never whispered a secret in another little girl's ear. Indeed, she doesn't spend much time with other kids her age outside of school, which breaks my heart. She lives a sheltered life, of necessity, and I can feel how that's beginning to stifle her a little. But the ways out of that are complicated, and they require a level of peer acceptance that I simply can't control.

Schuyler is growing up, and she's doing so in a world that isn't completely sure what to do with her. It scares me, in part for reasons that are just those of any father in the world, but also for some that are literally mine and mine alone. In that respect, I'm a bit of a purple snowflake, too.

Twenty years

Undated: My father
Originally uploaded by Citizen Rob

My father died twenty years ago today.

It's strange to think about it now, especially as I hurriedly run around packing for a trip today. I used to be acutely aware of this date every year. For the first few years, I would actually make the drive out to Robert Lee, Texas, thenothing little West Texas town where he's buried. It's been a long time since I've been out there, though. After I moved away from Texas, I think in some ways I moved away from some of my grief as well. It's one of those boxes I never entirely unpacked once I returned.

Even now, I'm not sure that "grief" is the right word. We had a complicated relationship, to put it mildly. When he died, my father left a lot of family strife and unanswered questions; he suffered a massive heart aneurysm and was almost certainly dead before he hit the ground. We were all subsequently denied any sort of dramatic, confessional death bed scene, but honestly, I don't know that it would have been any easier if he'd lingered. My father wasn't very good at expressing his emotions, and he was especially bad at processing guilt. I suppose in some ways, I am, too.

I could write so much about my father, but I don't think I'm even going to try today. I'll simply say that I'm not sure that I miss him exactly, but I miss having the feeling and the possibility that there might be a day in the future where he and I could figure things out, and I might know for certain, in a way that I absolutely don't know now and maybe never have known in my life, whether or not my father loved me.

If I only get one thing right with Schuyler, it will be that she will never have to wonder such a thing.

Nashville stalkers, get your chloroform ready

Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC)

Workshop at Vanderbilt University

Nashville, Tennessee

Presentation: Friday, March 26, 2010, 6 - 7:30 p.m.

A Parent’s Journey with AAC

Location: Mayborn Room 204, Peabody College

Keynote Speaker: Robert Rummel-Hudson

Author of Schuyler’s Monster: A Father’s Journey with His Wordless Daughter

Open to everyone. No fee. Registration required. May attend presentation without attending Saturday’s Workshop.

• 6:00-6:05 - Welcome
• 6:05-6:45 - Robert’s journey
• 6:45-7:25 - Questions
• 7:25-7:30 - Closing remarks

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Workshop: Saturday, March 27, 2010, 9 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.

We Dance, We Sing, We Do All Kinds of Things | Using Assistive Technology with Young Children with Multiple Disabilities

Location: Room 8380 Medical Center East, South Tower, Vanderbilt Bill Wilkerson Center

Karen Casey, M.S., CCC-SLP (over 25 years of experience with assistive technology)

This workshop will cover a wide range of strategies and easy-to-use communication systems, including low to high assistive technology options, designed to increase communication opportunities for children with multiple disabilities.

For speech-language pathologists, special educators, other professionals in related fields, students, parents, and family members. * May attend workshop without attending Friday’s presentation. This workshop will be offered for .6 ASHA CEU’s (intermediate level; professional area).

Early Bird Registration (by March 15): $175 professionals, $50 students/parents, Additional $25 for late registration. $125 Group Rate for 2 or more persons from the same agency or organization. * Workshop fee includes: lunch/breaks, two CDs of instructional resources, and make-and-take materials.

More information...

Father of the Year nominations are now closed.

A few facts about the next few days, along with an inescapable conclusion.

Fact: Two of my best friends are getting married in Las Vegas on Monday.

Fact: They have asked me to take pictures at the event, which I am thrilled to do.

Fact: Julie cannot attend, as she has to work.

Fact: Julie can't watch Schuyler while she works, and school is out for the year.

Fact: Schuyler also turns ten on Monday. (Yeah, I know. Ten.)

CONCLUSION: I will be taking my sweet little girl to Vegas for her birthday.

When Child Protective Services meets us at the airport, I hope they'll help with our luggage.

Post-Carolina

On the plane
Originally uploaded by Citizen Rob

I just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone from the North Carolina Assistive Technology Expo for a fantastic conference. Schuyler and I were made to feel welcome, and we met some truly amazing people, which is hardly a surprise by now. Our thanks to Chip Clarke and Dawn Haynes from PRC for their generosity, and to April Furr and my friend Elizabeth for making the logistics of presenting at something like this by myself with Schuyler even feasible.

It was a fun trip, despite the efforts of the TSA at the Raleigh-Durham Airport to ruin our return trip. (TSA Agent to Schuyler: "What's your name?" Schuyler: "Aye-er." Me: "Her name is Schuyler." TSA sarcastically, to Schuyler: "What, you can't talk or something?" Schuyler and I both: "No...") I never mind traveling with Schuyler, and she's got more patience for the inevitable inconveniences of flying than any adult I know.

She loves a rough flight, so when everyone else is white-knuckling, she's laughing her little head off. True story: When she asked me what was causing the plane to bump around, I told her it was a monster, because I'm that guy. She loved that answer, because she's that girl, and asked me the monster's name. "It's the Turbulence Monster," I said. Not five seconds later, the captain came on and apologized for the turbulence, and when he said the word, she looked at me in wonder and joy as if what I'd said just might be true. Thanks, captain, for that unexpected credibility.

It's funny, but in so many ways, I am reminded on a trip like this most of all that Schuyler is growing up, and into the young woman that I always wanted her to be. Happy, chaotic, funny, in love with everyone and afraid of nothing.

I had a realization today, something of an epiphany, really. It's one that I started to have, very tentatively, when I was writing the book, and I even wrote about it at the very end, although whether or not I always believed it is probably debatable. Today I realized that Schuyler is at a point in her life where there's no turning back. She's going to make it. She's not there yet, and not even close, but she knows what she has to do to get there, and there's a whole village of people watching her who literally will not allow her to get lost or fall through the cracks now.

I think I can see now that if something were to happen to me today, Schuyler would be okay. And that means the whole world to me.

Road Trip with Schuyler

Too cool to smile
Originally uploaded by Citizen Rob

Schuyler and I are coming to North Carolina this week, for the North Carolina Assistive Technology Program's 2009 Assistive Technology Expo. Julie has to work (retail and the holidays make for scant flexibility, as some of you doubtless know already), so it'll just be the two of us.

Will there be trouble and chaos? Come see us and find out. (Smart money says chaos for sure.)

Here are the details:

December 3, 2009

10:00am (Opening Session, Salons A, B, C, D ) - Keynote Address: “Fighting Monsters with Rubber Swords” - Robert Rummel-Hudson (Author, Parent)

12:30pm (Salon C) - “Implementing the Big Box of Words: A Parent’s Perspective” - Robert Rummel-Hudson, Author, Schuyler’s Monster: A Father’s Journey with His Wordless Daughter (St. Martin’s Press 2009) - Listen to a father’s observations on the implementation of AAC in the daily life and school curriculum of a nonverbal child.

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December 3 - 4, 2009

2009 Assistive Technology Expo
North Carolina Assistive Technology Program
North Raleigh Hilton, Raleigh, NC

What: The Assistive Technology Expo is an exciting two-day event designed to increase awareness and provide current information on assistive technology. Conference offerings include an exhibit hall (on 12/03/09 only) featuring 30-40 vendors exhibiting the latest in assistive technology products and services, 40 concurrent sessions, a poster session and a Keynote address. Featured Tracks: Work, Education, Vision, Home Modifications and Promoting Healthy Living/Recreation.

Who: Each year between 550-700 registered participants from across the country attend the NC AT Expo and approximately 1250 attend the free Exhibit Hall. Participants include: persons with disabilities, family members, teachers, therapists, Vocational Rehabilitation and Independent Living staff, rehabilitation counselors, employers, engineers, college professors, medical staff, college and university students, and authorized state purchasers.

Dads on an Uncertain Mission

October 31, 2009 | 2009 Texas Book Festival | Austin TX
Saving Your Children: Dads on an Uncertain Mission

(l-r) Antonio Ruiz-Camacho (moderator), Rupert Isaacson, Michael Greenberg, Robert Rummel-Hudson

With Michael Greenberg, author of Hurry Down Sunshine

With Rupert Isaacson, author of The Horse Boy

On Columbus Day

I just realized that today is Columbus Day, and in doing so, I remembered writing about this holiday once. When I went and looked it up, I realized that it was actually six years ago. I can't believe it's been so long; I actually wrote this shortly after Schuyler's diagnosis, when we lived in New Haven, Connecticut.

Anyway, I remembered it as being amusing, and you know how I live to amuse, so here it is, along with a short followup.

-----

October 8, 2003

I was looking ahead on Schuyler's social calendar and realized that her day care is going to be closed on the 13th. (Child-nappers, take note: not a good day to grab her.) When I did some probing investigation (i.e. asked someone), I was surprised to learn that the center (and presumedly a bunch of other stuff) will be closed because of Columbus Day.

Columbus Day? I was sort of surprised to learn that Columbus Day is still a national holiday, much less one where people get to stay home and drink beer. I guess I figured that Columbus had been tossed out in a blaze of political correctness, which actually would be fine with me. I'm not sure many of the indigenous populations he "discovered" would be inclined to throw a barbecue in his honor. I can't imagine that "Smallpox Day" is a popular holiday in the Bahamas.

I'm not sure why we even bother with Columbus Day, really. He's not much of a role model, after all. He mooched money off of swishy inbred monarchs in order to finance his expeditions. He was a failure as an administrator of the lands and peoples he subjugated. He was famous in his day as a visionary and a skilled mariner, but history has judged Columbus as a greedy, ruthless imperialist, a bit of a religious kook, and the earliest vanguard of the European plunder of the New World. He was brutal to the native population, even trying at one point to introduce them as slaves to Spain. Perhaps most importantly, he never actually set foot on the North American mainland and was never shaken from his belief that he had reached Asia.

So it would seem that Columbus was a bit of a doofus. ("Hi, I'm Columbus, your host. Welcome to Japan!") But of course, the main problem with celebrating Columbus as the European discoverer of America is that he was beaten to the punch by about five centuries.

We shouldn't be celebrating Columbus Day. We should be celebrating Viking Day.

Vikings reached North America around the year 1000, probably led by either Leif Ericson or his son, and for a decade or so they stomped around and presumedly set shit on fire and engaged in lots of indiscriminate recreational killing. The Vikings even tried to establish a colony for about three years before getting sick of fighting with Indians and returning to pillage boring old Europe again.

Vikings in America! How cool is that? I imagine them getting out of their long Viking boats, with their big beards and their horned helmets and furry boots and big giant monster axes and swords. They jump out of their boats, look around menacingly, and then say "YAR!" and start killing everything and setting shit on fire. They run around killing bears and and biting the heads off of rabbits, and then they see some gentle Indians walking out of the forest bearing gifts of welcome. The Vikings say "YAR!" again and start killing all the Indians. They pillage and burn and destroy, then they sit around a big fire eating some of the animals they slaughtered, wiping their big greasy hands on their new pelts.

I imagine the Indians looking out of the woods at them and thinking, "Oh man. White people. This isn't going to end well."

So yeah. I think Vikings are a much better representation of the American spirit. They sailed around and invaded other countries, burning stuff and killing people and generally being a pain in the ass. They were primitive barbarian badasses who drank wine out of human skulls. And unlike Columbus and the "explorers" who followed him, Vikings didn't pretend like they were doing their victims a favor. They pillaged, but they were up front about it, at least. I think that as Americans, we've sort of lost our way in that respect.

Viking Day. Think about it. Yar!

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June 9, 2004

I'm always interested and amused at the unexpected things that draw people's ire from my writing.

Do you remember the entry (one of my favorites, honestly; it's one of the very few times that I managed to crack myself up) where I wrote about Columbus Day and the Vikings? I wrote about how the Vikings beat Columbus to the New World by about five centuries and made better role models for Americans anyway.

Now, this wasn't an entry that I expected to receive much irritated email about. If anything, I thought I might get some sort of "what's a mattah YOU?" email from some proud Italian-American out there (remember that episode of The Sopranos?), but what I DIDN'T expect to get instead was a stern correction from a Viking re-enactor (I swear to God) who wasn't happy about my representation of Vikings. They didn't wear horned helmets, she said, and didn't rape and kill indiscriminately, and CERTAINLY didn't drink wine from skulls. (She could have been right about that last part, I might have made it up.)

I guess my point is that I never know what's going to piss someone off, and it is honestly one of the reasons I keep writing online. It's like some sort of wacky social experiment that I'm carrying out on YOU, my Slobbering Minions. (I did have someone unsubscribe from my notify list because she didn't like being called a Slobbering Minion. That was perhaps less surprising than the Viking thing, now that I think about it.)

Incidentally, I'll admit that the wine drinking from human skulls thing was probably bogus, but I'm standing firm on the horned helmets. I mean, how else would people know that the barbarians burning down their village were actually Vikings? It's not like you'd want to go to all that trouble, only to have someone ask you, "Hey, who are you guys? Visigoths?"

It's all about the uniform.

The Boomtown Curse continues (or "Why does Jay Leno hate America?")

You know, sometimes I hate being right.

NBC Cancels Well-Regarded ‘Southland’

Today, NBC canceled one of the best-reviewed shows of recent years, the police drama “Southland,” before it had a chance to get on the air for its second season.

The show, which premiered in the spring and had a strong start in the ratings, though it struggled in its later episodes, had six new episodes produced for the new season. But NBC delayed its start date from mid-September until Oct. 23. NBC has been filling that hour — 9 p.m. on Fridays — with the newsmagazine show “Dateline NBC.”

Now NBC has dropped “Southland” altogether. Ratings for Friday shows have become universally low, and expensive dramas seem to be faltering especially on Fridays. “Dateline” can be produced for a fraction of the cost.

“Southland” started as a 10 p.m. show on Thursdays, and its style was consistent with others that have played there for decades. But NBC no longer has any 10 p.m. periods for drama because it has moved the new “Jay Leno Show” into that slot every weeknight. The style of “Southland” was largely distinguished by gritty police work and sometimes dark, troubled characters — not unlike previous NBC hits like “Hill Street Blues.”

The rest of you can get all worked up about Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize today. All of my tinfoil hat-wearing outrage is directed at NBC, the network which is, if I hadn't made this clear yet, DEAD TO ME.

Texas Book Festival schedule announced

Saving Your Children: Dads on an Uncertain Mission
with Michael Greenberg, Rupert Isaacson, and Robert Rummel-Hudson

Date: Saturday, October 31, 2009
Time: 12:00 - 1:00
Location: Capitol Extension Room E2.030

Being a parent is hard enough without having to cope with a sudden, inexplicable illness striking your child, challenging you in ways that seem inhumane. Even with today's modern medical advancements, there are still little to no explanations for what causes autism or severe psychotic episodes. In this session, three fathers who've had to confront such confounding illnesses in their children discuss their long, often arduous journeys to understanding and dealing with such issues that seem to have no explanation behind them. Michael Greenberg's teenage daughter was struck mad on a New York City street, Robert Rummel-Hudson's beautiful infant daughter soon revealed that a monster within her had stolen her ability to speak, and Rupert Isaacson seeks the guidance of Mongolian shamans as he tries to keep his five-year-old autistic son from unraveling completley. Antonio Ruiz-Camacho, an experienced journalist who is currently writing a memoir about his upbringing as a part of a Mexican mixed-class family and his relationship with his father, will moderate the session.

Authors:
Robert Rummel-Hudson
Rupert Isaacson
Michael Greenberg
Moderated by: Antonio Ruiz-Camacho

Things to do in Wylie TX on a Thursday night

September 24, 2009
Author appearance
The Authors Express Event
Sponsored by the Wylie and Sachse Public Libraries
Bart Peddicord Community Center
100 West Oak Street
Wylie TX 75098

The Authors Express features local authors at Barnes and Noble, Firewheel, Sachse, and Wylie from Saturday, September 19 through Monday, September 28.

Authors Express Kick-off at Barnes and Noble featuring Paranormal authors Maria Lima, Lorraine Heath, and Sandy Blair on Saturday, September 19 at 2:00pm.

Maria Lima, author of Matters of the Blood talks about her book at the Wylie City Hall on Monday, September 21 at 7:00pm.

William Manchee, author of the Tarizan series, will present a talk on Tuesday, September 22 at 7:00pm at the Sachse Public Library.

Robert Rummel-Hudson, author of Schuyler’s Monster, will talk about his experiences with his learning disabled child. Rummel-Hudson will speak on Thursday, September 24 at 7:00pm at the Wylie Community Center.

Frank Luksa, author of Cowboys Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be a Real Fan will be at the Sachse Public Library on Thursday, September 24 at 7:00pm.

Bob Huffaker and Bill Mercer, were reporters at the Kennedy assassination. When the News Went Live describes their experiences. Join them at the Sachse Public Library on Monday, September 28 at 7:00pm.

The Authors Express is a partnership with Barnes and Noble, Firewheel, the Sachse Public Library, the Smith Public Library, the Friends of the Sachse Library and the Friends of the Smith Library.

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(And yes, Schuyler will be there.)

2009 Texas Book Festival

Yesterday, former First Lady Laura Bush announced the author lineup for the 2009 Texas Book Festival, and lo and behold, I was on the list. I've actually known about this for a while, but was sworn to secrecy until yesterday's announcement. I wouldn't want to steal Mrs. Bush's thunder anyway. Her life can't be a picnic on the best of days.

(Because my narcissism is as vast as the sea, I actually spent yesterday evening looking for video of the announcement, just to see if she actually read my name off a list. I have Issues.)

Anyway, it's official now, and I'm happy as a clam (clams being notoriously jolly and well-adjusted mollusks). From the moment I found out that Schuyler's Monster was going to be published, I wanted to be a part of the Texas Book Festival. Back in my Austin days when I was employed at the big fancy Barnes & Noble Arboretum, I actually worked at one of the festivals, selling books. Coming back as an author feels like a real homecoming, and I'm thrilled that my book was selected this year.

(Congrats also to my friend, the very cool Gwen Zepeda, who will be presenting as both a children's author and novelist. Nobody likes a showoff.)

The schedule of events hasn't been released yet, and I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a secret, too. (I hope not, because here I go.) Apparently I am to appear on a panel with Rupert Isaacson, author of The Horse Boy: A Father's Quest to Heal His Son (about his efforts to reach his autistic son through equine therapy and Mongolian spiritualism) and Michael Greenberg, author of Hurry Down Sunshine: A Father's Story of Love and Madness (about his experience as a father with his teenage daughter's sudden manifestation of bipolar disorder). I've read Greenberg's book, which is really exceptional, and I'm working on the Isaacson now.

Both of their books have received a tremendous amount of critical acclaim and media attention, and I'm really honored and pleased to be able to join them as we talk about… whatever we talk about. As I said, the panel information is still being put together, but I'm going to go out on a limb and predict that we'll be discussing fatherhood and our relationships with the "different" child. Because otherwise, I might need to learn about horses in a hurry.

If you're in Austin at the end of October, I hope you'll attend. Schuyler will be there, and she's as jazzed as ever about her participation in all the book madness. Yesterday she was showing me a new book she'd gotten. She pointed to the cover of Judy Moody Gets Famous! and then pointed to herself.

"Like me!" she said.

Princess Protagonista. I've created a monster.

Citizen Rob

The Plano Independent School District initially planned to broadcast President Obama's September 8 address to the nation's school children, but after a much-publicized letter by a local conservative parent, the Plano ISD made the following policy decision:

Upcoming Presidential Address

The United States Department of Education sent a letter to all school districts on August 25 announcing a presidential address to school children on Tuesday, September 8. The topic of this public broadcast is the importance of education. To clarify questions and concerns about this presidential address, Plano ISD notes the following:

• This event is not a component of the Plano ISD curriculum and is therefore not a mandatory activity.
• Viewing the broadcast is not a planned classroom activity for September 8.
• Like many historical events, the address will be made available for students and teachers via the digital video library.
• The video will also be posted on this home page.

As much water as I have carried for this school district and its commitment to education and to community, I can't tell you how disappointed I am. I've heard the arguments, about how that scary socialist Obama is going to hypnotize our precious children and read Karl Marx to them. I'm sure I'll read some more of those arguments in the comments of this blog.

Here's the thing. HE'S THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. Much like Ronald Reagan was the President of the United States when he spoke to the students of America, Barack Obama was elected by the majority of the citizens of this country. I think it's safe to assume that at least some of those citizens DON'T hate America. I can't tell you how many times I heard conservatives go on about respecting the office of the president during the years that said office was being held by George Bush. And all that talk? Complete and total lip service.

The simple truth is that for all our talk about patriotism and love of our country, Americans have completely lost their sense of community. You see it in the arguments against providing health care for every American, because it might have some small detrimental effect on some people's bottom line, and that, friends, is socialism, plain and simple. You see it in the "us versus them" in our political dialogue. You see it every time you hear someone describe an America that only reflects their ideology and rejects the beliefs of other citizens.

Where does your community end, America? Does it stop at the wall surrounding your gated neighborhood? The boundaries of your church, or your political party headquarters? Because if your community stops anywhere short of the edge of the map, then you are not a patriotic American. You are the problem.

I was especially annoyed to see the president of the Plano ISD Council of PTAs, Cara Mendelsohn, quoted by The Associated Press as saying that President Obama is "cutting out the parent" by sneakily addressing students while they are in school. This is the PTA President, being quoted in her capacity in that position. Does her conspiracy theory represent that of the Plano ISD PTA? Should it?

I was annoyed, but also intrigued. Oddly enough, the Plano PTA's site doesn't seem to prominently display information on how to actually join the PTA, but that's okay. I'm a smart guy. I can find it.

Insult + Injury

So I've been having a pretty sorry run of luck in recent years where television is concerned.

This past year or so has been particularly bad, with the (planned) ending of my favorite show, Battlestar Galactica. (The new, bleak, 9/11-metaphor version, obviously, not the goofy Tribute to Feathered Hair from 1979.) I didn't like having to deal with BSG going away, not at all. But almost as bad was the cloud of doom that seemed to be hanging over my other favorite show, a phenomenally well-written and well-acted cop drama on NBC called Life.

My worst fears were realized when NBC decided to give Jay Leno his own show five days a week during prime time. Not being very industry savvy, apparently, I was confused. Doesn't Leno already have a show five nights a week, conveniently programmed at a time when I can easy avoid it? Ah, yes, but this new show will air at 9pm Central, during the time that was usually reserved for dramas. Sure enough, NBC cancelled Life after only two seasons.

It occurs to me that NBC and high-quality L.A. cop dramas are not a match made in heaven. (Look out, Southland, which is a great show but one that I am trying not to fall for, lest it break my heart, too.) First came Boomtown, easily the best show I have ever seen on television, after one season. I've still never gotten over that one. Then came Raines, also done by the same writer and producers of Boomtown and Band of Brothers. Raines only lasted for seven episodes, even though it starred Jeff Goldblum. Come on, NBC. Jeff Goldblum? You don't cancel Jeff Goldblum. Jeff Goldblum cancels YOU.

Anyway, I recently ordered the newly released box set of Life: Season 2, and it arrived yesterday. It was bittersweet, of course, but I decided to make the best of it, right up until I opened the case and saw the ad that NBC included with the set.

Dick move, NBC. You are dead to me.

"Family Confidential" interview

Earlier this summer, I did an interview for noted author and educator Annie Fox, for her "Family Confidential" podcast. It was a fun interview, and I've been looking forward to it going live for a while now. It was posted today, for your listening enjoyment.

Podcast for Parents: Advocating for your special needs child

Annie is a fun and very smart interviewer, and I was only moderately mumbly and incoherent. (Update: Okay, I just sat down and listened to it again, and this time, I realized that I WAS sort of mumbly and incoherent much of the time, especially as things got going. Yikes. I could probably use some media training. Anyway...)

My two favorite parts of the interview:

1) I actually cracked myself up a little with this quote, concerning Schuyler and the fact that she seems to share exactly none of my anxiety about the future:

It's like having this little Buddha in the house. "You guys freak out, and whenever you're done, I'd like to watch Spongebob, please. I have no time for your tragedy."

And you know, that hasn't changed. And I suspect when I'm a bitter old man and have all my old man issues, she's still going to be like "Okay, well, call me when you're done and I'll take you to bingo. I have no use for that now."

2) At the end, Schuyler joins in, both on her device and verbally, and it's the best four minutes of the whole thing.

So check it out, and be sure to spend some time on Annie's site. It really is a treasure trove of good information.

A Very Very Very Horrible Story

Did not like.
Originally uploaded by Citizen Rob

Okay, so something you need to know about me: I hate spiders.

First of all, I don't like the term "arachnophobia". Wikipedia says this about phobias:

A phobia is an irrational, intense, persistent fear of certain situations, activities, things, or people. The main symptom of this disorder is the excessive, unreasonable desire to avoid the feared subject.

I reject those words "irrational" and "unreasonable". If I were afraid of clouds (Nephophobia) or puppets (Pupaphobia ) or hard-ons (Medorthophobia, I kid you not), then yeah, I'd own up to my issues, but spiders are different. Being afraid of spiders seems like a healthy fear to me. For example, do you know how many species of spider are venomous? It's a trick question. The answer is, ALL OF THEM. They're not all dangerous to humans (supposedly), but they are all venomous. It's one of the defining characteristics of spiders. If you're calling yourself a spider but you aren't venomous? Sorry pal, but you're a crab.

Anyway, Google "spider bite photos" sometime and see how unreasonable my fear is. Spiders are unlike anything else on the planet. They are creepier than bugs, they have four pairs of eyes, and here's a fun fact that you might not have known: they don't have extensor muscles in their limbs. Instead, spiders extend their nasty little legs using, no joke, hydraulic pressure. They are like the most horrible little cyborgs imaginable. If archeologists were to one day discover a tiny little spaceship buried in the rock from millions of years ago, and it turned out to be the craft by which the first spiders came to Earth from some bizarre alien planet, you might be amazed, but you probably wouldn't be skeptical. Honestly, part of you would be saying, 'Well, yeah, that actually makes sense."

Spiders. Man oh man. Okay, moving on.

Late last night, I was outside by the duckpond, enjoying the night air and the big wicked moon rising over the trees. What I was NOT doing, apparently, was watching where I was going, because as I walked through the gazebo next to the pond, I walked right into a gigantic spider web.

If you've ever done this, you know that it is an indescribably terrifying physical sensation. I don't care if you are some sort of weird spider-loving nutbag, there is something primal and awful about feeling that stuff on your face and in your hair and immediately wondering where the angry, venomous monster who built it might be at that moment. There is just no way to be cool at that particular moment, either. I don't care if you're Samuel Jackson. You will do the spazzy panic song-and-dance, and your voice will go up an octave.

Still, I was handling it okay. Until I felt something on my face, scratchy little poking things that I realized were a big spider's crabby, horrible little feet.

That's right, friends. I HAD A SPIDER ON MY FACE.

My reaction was probably what you might expect. I had my phone in my hand, which I apparently tossed into the darkness. I might have been swearing, but honestly I think I was just making incoherent howling noises. I swatted furiously at my face, and I felt it. I hit something that felt like a pebble and saw it hit the sidewalk.

It was one of those big wood spiders, with a fat body the size of a grape. Fangzilla sat for a moment before activating its weird little cyborg hydraulics, extending its nasty little legs and storming around angrily, looking for the giant dumbass who destroyed its home while squealing like a little girl.

I found my phone fairly quickly, despite the fact that I was still punching myself in the head and muttering "GET OFF ME, GET OFF ME!!!" I went inside, cleaned all the web off my head and my glasses, and spent the next hour alternating between the heebie jeebies, the willies, the shivers and the creeps before finally going to bed and embarking on the inevitable dreams where I just keep walking into web after web until the alarm went off.

I don't really have a good ending for this story, but then, that's probably fitting, because for me, this story never ends. For the rest of my life, I get to wake up every morning and say to myself, "Oh, hey, remember that night when I had the giant spider on my face? Yeah, that was pretty fucking horrible..."

Pause

This is Serious Rob.
Originally uploaded by Citizen Rob

I've been somewhat absent from most of the online world for a short time now, and I guess I ought to post something about that. Not a word of explanation so much, because I'm not sure I can explain it this time more than any other. Really, I guess what I'm asking for is a bit of your indulgence.

For some reasons which are external but others no doubt on account of a familiar, tiny but reckless monster of my own, I am finding myself in kind of a dark place. If you've read my book or even this blog (or its online journal forefathers), you know that it's not the first time. You also know that I'll work my way through it, and take care of my personal and professional responsibilities as I do so. I've negotiated these waters before, through much worse storms.

I'm not much of a fan of those weeping, self-indulgent, never-ending depression posts on some blogs, and I know how very little you'd enjoy reading that sort of thing here. So I'll simply say that if I seem scarce for a few days, I hope you'll keep the faith a bit longer and be here when I come back. Because I always come back, and I do so renewed. And often with an amusing beard to show for it.

Thank you. I love you all, and shame on me for not telling you that more often.