Connie’s Encounter with a Common Bond (revisited)

Universal But Hidden Dimension?

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The student ran up to Connie in a shrill scream and grabbed Connie's hair with both fists. His screeching stopped, but he adamantly held both fists of Connie's hair tightly against the top of her head.

It was one of the most demeaning acts anyone could perpetrate on Connie, for her hair -- thick and black -- was important to her self-image in 1991. After shampooing it each morning, Connie would let it dry naturally and then meticulously brush and spray it so it would stay in place throughout the day.

But Connie felt the student mangling that morning's creation in an abrupt interruption of Connie's long-range planning committee's quick tour of Silver Springs Elementary School. Connie stewed to herself: Was there no respect for leaders of the community among today's grade school students?

The boy hovered over Connie as she sat still in her mobility scooter. He had invaded Connie's space and put her in an awkward, embarrassing situation. Connie could feel the resolve in his fingers. He was not going to let go of Connie's hair.

Without moving her head, Connie glanced up at the school principal, a slender, shy woman who stood next to the classroom door in pathetic shock. After all, she was in charge. She was giving the long-range planning committee this tour of Silver Springs Elementary School, a new facility that was the gem of the school district. Connie 's group was evaluating the district's school facilities.

The student's fists relaxed, and Connie slowly hunched over the tiller of her mobility scooter, trying to protect herself. But then the boy grabbed a tighter grip. The watch on Connie 's wrist, now not more than two inches from her face, ticked off long seconds -- five ... six ... seven ...

"Why did he have to pick me as his bonding partner in front of this group?" Connie lamented to herself. She was trying to prove herself to the superintendent of schools and the committee.

True, Connie had no background in education, but she knew the elements of a strategic planning process. She was a businesswoman from a local dairy cooperative. Although she could not speak fast enough or plain enough to keep up with the more vocal members of the committee (due to lifelong cerebral palsy), she at least had a normal intelligence.

And she brought some diversity into the long-range planning committee.

But Connie also felt she was out of touch. After all, she had not been inside a school for 25 years. Since when do high schools have patrol people in the hallways? Why do you have to pass through a scanner as you come out of the school library?

And Connie didn't know about the TMR (Trainable Mentally Retarded) classes.

15 ... 16 ... 17... Connie's watch ticked on. She kept waiting for the student's teacher to help her out of this predicament, but she didn't know where the teacher was. Connie had been the last one to enter the TMR room. Connie felt the group was interrupting class time, but the principal had invited everyone into the room.

Connie had planned just to peek in from the doorway, but the principal motioned for her to enter. So, Connie switched her mobility scooter into "forward" and went in. It was then that she suddenly found herself locked into this hair-wrenching experience with one of the students.

As the student continued to pull Connie's hair, a soft purr of delight came from the student's throat. Somehow, Connie understood his delight. It was something she always wanted to do herself to the class brat she had in third grade. But, at the time, she just didn't have the courage -- or the sanity -- to do it.

Connie glanced up at the district's superintendent of schools, who stood motionless and expressionless not more than 10 feet away from her. No one knew what to do.

Finally, Connie's "companion" let go of her hair, and his teacher promptly escorted him back to his desk. The long-range planning committee, apparently not adept at adjusting to short-term situations, quickly followed Connie as she put her mobility scooter into reverse and backed out of the room into the hallway.

"Quite a welcome," the superintendent of schools whispered to Connie after the principal silently closed the classroom door behind her. Connie giggled in agreement, feeling relieved to have escaped the situation without a hassle, and looked for further assurances from others on the committee. But no one else in the group offered a comment.

"That's Steve," the assistant superintendent finally explained to the group as it moved down the hall, following the principal to the gym, the next stop on the tour. "He just joined the TMR class this week. He's still under observation."

Steering and controlling the speed of her mobility scooter with her right hand to keep up with the group, Connie ran her left hand through her hair and felt two spikes, stiff with hairspray, sticking straight up on both sides of her head. She tried to rub them down with her palm, but they snapped right up again -- a constant reminder of the incident.

As the group entered the gym, Connie grabbed a comb from her purse and tried to tame her two hair spikes, but the comb only made them floppy, like two rabbit ears. They popped up after each combing.

Were the other committee members, being politically correct in their silence, quietly repeating to themselves the cliché, "Birds of a feather flock together?" Connie had spent years trying to assert herself as an individual who didn't necessarily have a bond with every other person who happened to have a disability. Just because she was left-handed, after all, didn't mean she would have a natural affinity for anyone else who was left-handed.

But, why did Connie excite the student? Why did he pick Connie? Was it her blue suit or pink blouse? Or was it her scooter? School kids, Connie knew, were intrigued at the time by a scooter driven by batteries – and an adult.

Maybe it was, Connie surmised at the time, because he was eye-level with her. Did the contortions in Connie's face as she tried to calmly deal with the situation mirror the student's own view of the world?

Or, as Connie now asks some 30 years later with a reevaluation of the incident (and the TMR term), is there some kind of universal, common bond we do not yet fully understand? Is there a fundamental kinship we all have as human beings but rarely acknowledge or completely tap during our daily rituals with family, friends and acquaintances?

“We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this?”

That's what Louis L'Amour wrote, and Connie suspects that may be part of the answer.

At any rate, here is Connie's takeaway tip from her story: Reach out to connect with the common bonds which tie together individuals in all humankind.

Here’s to elderhood and vulnerability! 

Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “Opening Up” newsletter
“Story-guided Discussion for Finding Peace with Vulnerability”

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