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Professional writing profile of Marjorie Clayman

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CHAPTER FOUR: Helping Can Be Hard

by Margie Clayman

“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” ~Dalai Lama

Imagine this scenario: you are in a grocery store, in the produce section. You see a person with dwarfism looking up at the top shelf and trying to reach something up there (eggplants are usually near the top for some reason, so we will say they are trying to reach an eggplant or two). Do you have a moment of hesitation before approaching to see if you can help? Do you offer to help at all, or do you just keep walking? Alternatively, do you have no idea why I would even ask those questions?

This is not a time to self-judge. It’s about your blink reaction. Hang on to your answer.

Trying to Give Help

If you have that moment of hesitation, or if you keep walking, what are possible reasons why? I would guess some of the following:

  • Fear that you will come across as condescending, ignorant, or ableist
  • Fear that you will not verbalize your offer to help in an effective manner
  • Maybe the person will bite your head off
  • Maybe you are even worried that if you help grab that eggplant, you’ll be obligated to follow the person around and help them grab other things, too

Perhaps you have been in such a scenario, decided to offer your assistance, and even though the person was obviously struggling, they shrugged off your offer and said something like, “I got it. Thanks.” Once you get a reaction like this, I would imagine it would tamp down your future motivation to offer help in similar situations. 

Let’s talk about why it can be so difficult to help someone with dwarfism.

Trying to Get Help

There are several reasons why, speaking for myself of course because I can’t speak for everyone or anyone, may hesitate in accepting help. Here are a few common ones.

  • I like to come across, as all humans do, as “normal.” Sure, scaling a shelf might not epitomize normal, but I am still reaching what I want on my own with no assistance. There is a slight sense of empowerment there that getting help can diminish. 
  • I don’t like to feel obligated. Perhaps it’s my midwestern sensibility, but if someone goes out of their way to help me, even if it’s just reaching something for me, I feel like it is a debt I can’t pay back. There is not going to be a scenario later where I can reach up for something and grab it for them, for example. Explaining why what they did was such an extraordinary help also seems a bit awkward for just a small act of assistance. No one wants to hear your life story when they hand you that eggplant. 
  • I’ve been burned when I have asked for help before.

You read that last bullet point correctly. There have been times when I have asked for help and immediately regretted it. While I don’t know how common this is for people with any kind of disability, I would guess it is more common than it should be. Let’s look at a couple of examples.

“Cut their heads off.”

When I was in high school, I had to take Algebra II. I did not really understand why I HAD to take Algebra II because I certainly had not enjoyed Algebra I, but so it goes. I don’t remember how the seating was assigned in the classroom, but I was nearly at the back of the room. As you might imagine, it was hard for me to see the blackboard (perhaps dating myself here) over the heads of my fellow students. Despite the risk of feeling even more self-conscious than I normally did in high school, I decided to take the teacher aside after class one day. “Can I move my seat more to the front? I can’t see very well over everyone’s heads.” 

“Just cut their heads off,” he replied. And then he walked away. End of conversation.

I was rather taken aback. This happened some thirty years ago and it is still as fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday. Teachers, one thinks, are there to assist. Not only had I been dismissed, I had been dismissed in a rather crass and gratuitously mean way. Why would I expect better from someone not in a position to help me out?

The Grocery Store Experience

Going to the grocery store is one of my least favorite household tasks. Inevitably, at least 25% of what I need is on the highest possible shelf. This might be ice cream, it might be those tiny glass jars of artichokes, or it might be that eggplant I mentioned at the start of this chapter. When people ask me why I don’t ask for help and instead try to mountain climb my way up the freezer, I tell them a few of the comments or responses I’ve gotten in these situations. 

  • “Good job looking up that high!”
  • “I’m so glad I’m actually taller than someone”
  • “I bet you hurt your neck looking up there”

The worst experience i have ever had in a grocery store happened in the produce aisle. No, I was not trying to get an eggplant. I actually was reaching for a produce bag, which for some reason that I never have understood has to hang practically from the ceiling. I was reaching when a man approached to my right and said, “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” He pulled off a bag and handed it to me, and then he pulled another one and handed it to me. “I only need one,” I said. In rather a menacing tone that is hard to describe he said, “You’ll just end up asking me for another one anyway.” 

I legitimately felt threatened, and I asked to be escorted to my car when I was done because I was so scared. This in turn got me many smirks and chortles from the store staff. 

The Downside of Not Accepting Help

It’s all well and good to say, “Do me a favor and DO NOT help me.” However, in my mind this has at times devolved into shooting myself in the foot. I’ll give you an example. 

When I was in high school, my parents told me that there were scholarships available for people with dwarfism. Maybe I should apply for one. Being in high school I of course did not consider the potential savings that might have given to my parents. I mean, when you’re in high school it’s pretty much about you and yourself. However, I flat out refused to even research the concept. I did not want to touch that kind of scholarship with a ten-foot pole. Why?

Well, there were a couple of reasons. First, it was back to the being self-conscious aspect of having dwarfism. Did I want to go to the awards ceremony at the end of the year and have it announced that I had won a scholarship from Little People of America? I could already hear the snorts and chuckling. The stronger reason, however, was that I wanted no special treatment. Somehow I had gotten it into my head and heart that if I was going to do anything good, I wanted to do it from my own strengths and efforts. I wanted nothing that I would perceive as pity or charity. 

Sometimes people with dwarfism, or even just people who are bit shorter than average, are told they have “Napoleon syndrome” if they have an attitude like this. I never had a desire to conquer anybody, but I wanted to achieve as if I was on a level playing field even though I wasn’t. If I was hiking with my Girl Scout troop, I would trample up and down the same hills. I would do all of the same trail building activities, from cutting down trees to using a pulaski to clear roots. What did this get me? Extra sore arms, the occasional sprained ankle, and various other injuries. However, my pride was untarnished. I did not accept any special help. I did not want it. I hated the idea.

A person offering me assistance has to deal with all of my internal dialogue before I can even get to their external offer to help.

How You Can Help

This chapter has been all about the issue of help, and I’ve spent most of the time explaining why you might hesitate to give help to a person with dwarfism and why a person with dwarfism might hesitate to receive it. So, what am I saying here? Should you just walk on by when you see anyone with a disability having a hard time? Of course, the answer is no!

If you see a man or a woman with their arms full and you reach the door first, won’t you hold it open for them? I hope so (although not everyone has attained this skill). You are not likely making a statement with this gesture. It’s common courtesy. My best advice when trying to approach someone with dwarfism is to have that exact same frame of mind. You do not need to provide a preamble about how you have a relative who is also small. You do not need to make any commentary on what I am reaching for or how pleased you are that you can reach something I can’t. All you have to do is say, “Hey, can I help you get something?” I will most likely say with gratitude that you sure can. The only time I might abstain is if I already pretty much have it in my hand. I say thank you. You say no problem. That’s it. 

As for bigger issues, like if you know a young person who might be able to benefit from a scholarship specific to their disability, you really have to feel that out based on the individual. I’ve explained what my thinking was back when I was 17 or 18, but not everyone will feel that way. Other people may even be more vehemently against such suggestions. My best advice in these cases is to present the opportunity as assistance, not as a charitable gift or a sign of pity. Maybe you can try to make it utilitarian. “You’ll need adaptations for your car and help with college will leave more money for that expense.” 

Unfortunately, the cliche about leading a horse to water but not being able to make it drink applies here. I suppose you could force the issue, but I would imagine that would create a huge sense of resentment on the part of the person you are trying to help. 

Above all things, as you would hopefully be with anyone, just be decent as a fellow human being. Nine times out of ten, that will be enough to make me happy and filled with gratitude. 

Filed Under: It's a Little Thing, It's a Little Thing, Uncategorized

Seeing Double: African American Literature

by Margie Clayman

Please find below the syllabus for my class entitled Seeing Double: African American Literature. All classes will be live on Facebook in a private group created for this class on Mondays from 7:30-8:30.

Monday, March 15: The Signifying Monkey

Monday, March 22: Jupiter Hammon and Phillis Wheatley

Monday, March 29: Double Talk in Phillis Wheatley — The Amazing Performing Pet

Monday, April 5: The Slave Narratives of Frederick Douglass and Harriet Jacobs

Monday, April 12: Of Race and Gender: Sojourner Truth

Monday, April 19: Two Sides of the Same Coin: Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. DuBois

Monday, April 26: Living in Two Worlds: Passing, a novel by Nella Larsen

Monday, May 3: Paul Lawrence Dunbar: “We Wear the Mask”

Monday, May 10: The Double Talk of Langston Hughes

Monday, May 17: Striving Creates a Hole: The Street, by Ann Petry

Monday, May 24: Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man

Monday, May 31: Redefining [Black] Womanhood: Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison

Monday, June 7: Gender and Race Revisited: Audre Lord

Monday, June 14: Liquid Time: The Works of Octavia Butler

Monday, June 21: Modern Voices Double Up: Dr. Ibram Kendi, Ta-Nahesi Coates, Amanda Gorman

Monday, June 28: Does the Double Still Exist Today?

If you are interested pleased comment here or contact me at facebook.com/mjclayman. I will then add you to the Facebook group.

Filed Under: Musings, Uncategorized

The portrayal of the infertile woman in entertainment

by Margie Clayman

Have you seen or heard a description of a woman or a girl that used the word “hysterical”? Perhaps you’ve used the word yourself when speaking to a toddler or…someone else. “God, this is no reason to get hysterical.”

We have the Greeks to thank for the word “hysteria.” Back then, it was thought that when a woman got too emotional it was because her uterus was wandering around, discontented. These Democratic deacons would put nicely scented spices around the woman’s private area to lure the uterus back to its place. And you wonder why women may have been discontented.

The female psyche continues to be an absolute mystery to men, and maybe even amongst women themselves. This is nowhere more apparent than in the portrayal of infertile women in television shows and movies.

The Root of All Evil

The pain and grief a woman experiences when she has a miscarriage or when she is diagnosed as unable to have a child is a red hot grief that most people strive to keep away from as much as possible. Part of this apparent taboo is the LONG history of barrenness, as it was once called, being treated as a sign that God was displeased with you. Professor of Religion Cynthia Chapman writes up a great summary here). While people often like to think that we have evolved over the last 3,000 odd years, our treatment of women who experience infertility in one way or another has hardly manifested in any better way.

Infertility Makes You Crazy

The history of infertile women being cast as absolute psychos in films and shows is surprisingly long. Check out this Refinery29 post for proof of that.

What got me thinking about this is a more recent viewing experience — Dead To Me. I don’t want to give away any spoilers as the show is still pretty new (I only just got to it through all of my pandemic TV binging). Let’s just say that a woman who has suffered several miscarriages is cast as being a character of sympathy KIND OF because she had that experience. It is an excuse for psychotic behavior. At the same time, the show seems to be trying to acknowledge that infertile women do not get the support they need. In an oddly placed dialogue, the character discusses her loss and says, “Oh, it’s nothing,” and it is the other character who corrects her and says, “No, I mean, I think you lost something real.”

In fact, women who miscarry are most often haunted by a sense of guilt and/or shame. The only person who might suffer more is the husband, because of course men are not allowed to express any feelings, especially sad ones. There still is a sentiment in this country that if you are not getting pregnant, you are doing something wrong. A woman on The Biggest Loser awhile back wanted to lose weight because her doctor told her she was too overweight to get pregnant. Women are told that they are too stressed. “As soon as you stop worrying about it it will happen.” Very seldom is there an acknowledgement from other women that this pain exists. By the way, women who do have children may feel guilty talking to a woman who has miscarried. “Does having my kids with me make it seem like I’m rubbing it in her face? Best to stay away.” This leaves the grieving woman alone and feeling isolated.

What can we do about it?

So how can we change up this whole conversation? Well, first, we need to stop looking at infertility as just a female problem. First of all, men can also be infertile, a condition derisively referred to at times as “shooting blanks.” We have to stop discounting male dreams about parenthood. They are just as valid.

Second, we have to stop shaming women and making them feel that if they can’t have children, they should go hide in a grief-stricken corner, away from all of the “regular” people. Yes, women who have miscarried or who have been diagnosed with infertility or who otherwise have experienced loss will grieve. Grief can take all forms, and it’s never comfortable. If grief was comfortable we wouldn’t dread it so much. We need instead to extend support to women. This needs to happen from the doctor offering the diagnosis to support groups to pharmacists to everyone else.

Finally, we have to stop ostracizing women who are suffering in our modes of entertainment. Is it easier to hate a female villain if she has infertility as her rationale? Is she less wholesome? What exactly is the message women are supposed to garner from this trend?

These kinds of messages are the subliminal messaging we are bombarded with every day. It is time to buck the trend and start over.

Image Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/185967312@N04/49203622652/in/ via Creative Commons

Filed Under: Musings, Uncategorized

Chapter 3: A Weird Thing Happened Today

by Margie Clayman

Today I went out to recess and I was looking for my friend Mark. He lives down the street from me. He gave me a few shiny rocks from his collection. He is two years older than me and has bright red hair. When I was looking for him I heard a big kid yell, “Midget, midget.” I thought that it was a special kind of bird so I looked up. My mom loves birds but I had never heard of a midget before. I didn’t see anything weird in the sky so I looked around and I saw two guys on the swing set. They were big kids and they were even older than Mark. They were laughing and looking at me, and I realized that they were calling me a midget. Maybe that was my super power kicking in. I am not sure. I had the idea that they were not being nice.

I told my mom about it after school and she said they were just mean guys and I shouldn’t worry about them. I am not really worried about them. But I want to know what a midget is and why I am called that by people who are making fun of me. I think before I can fix things I need to understand what the whole problem is. So I need to understand what these guys were saying. And I need to understand why it was funny. I don’t like the idea of big kids laughing at me on the playground. It makes me feel kind of bad. But then I remember I am a super hero, and I know that I will figure it out. I do think sometimes that I am better at fixing problems for other people. I seem to go slow when I am bad.

Filed Under: Molly Maggie McGuire, Musings, Uncategorized

Chapter 2: The First Fixings

by Margie Clayman

I thought maybe you don’t understand what I mean that I can fix anything, and maybe I should tell you more about that. A lot of times when I tell grown-ups that I have a super power they think that I am playing around. That’s why I want to get all of this stuff into writing, so that later in life when people laugh I can show them I have always been like this and didn’t just make it up. But since I’m a kid people always think I’m making things up.

The first time I ever fixed anything was because of my friend Anna. Anna was friends with another friend of mine and her name was Becky. I liked Anna and Becky equal. My best friend at that time was Liz, and she is still my best friend. One day at recess I saw Anna sitting on a bench and her face was red, really red. It looked weird so I thought I should check on her, and when I got close I saw that she was crying but was trying not to let people see she was crying. I sat down next to her and asked her what was wrong and why was she crying, and then she started to cry really hard. I felt bad and it was gross too because a big glob of snot bubbled out of her nose and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. I didn’t have any kleenex to give her like my mom always has. I think maybe moms just know to always have kleenex.

Anna said, “I don’t think Becky likes me anymore!” and then she started to cry again. More snot came out of her nose and I really wanted to give her a kleenex or maybe just a leaf because it was hard to look at her face like that without laughing because normally she was always really pretty. Laughing when someone is crying is not a good way to fix things.

I said, “What? You and Becky have always been friends. She likes you. Why do you think she doesn’t?”

“When we lined up for recess with our recess buddies she didn’t choose me, she chose Stacey. We are always recess buddies. Why didn’t she choose me this time?” She wiped her face with the back of her hand again.

“Well,” I said, “Sometimes we think someone is mad at us but maybe they are just feeling weird that day. Have you asked Becky if she is mad at you?”

“No,” Anna said. “She is ignoring me so I will ignore her.”

“OK,” I said. “But maybe she isn’t ignoring you, and now maybe she thinks you’re mad at her because you aren’t talking to her. Why don’t we go talk to Becky and I’ll come with you.”

So, Anna and I walked over to where Becky was sitting with Stacey. They were talking to each other and were paying close attention to each other. They didn’t notice that we were standing there for a little bit and Anna started to walk away, but I grabbed her arm to make her stay. That’s my super power. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fix things if she did that, but I don’t know how I knew that. I decided to be rude even though my mom and dad have told me that when two people are talking you shouldn’t bug them.

“Hi guys,” I said. “Anna and I were going to work on the dance moves we practiced last week (we were all in the same dance class) but we wanted to know if you wanted to do it with us.”

Becky and Stacey looked at each other. Becky looked at me and she looked happy, but then she looked at Stacey and Stacey looked like she was sad, but she didn’t want us to know she was sad. Becky said she wanted to talk to me for just a minute. Anna started to walk away again and I said, “Anna, why don’t you keep Stacey company for a minute?”

Becky walked aways away from where we had been and then stopped. She said, “Stacey is feeling really sad because her mommy just found out she has cancer and she knows my mom had cancer so she is talking to me to see what it’s like. She doesn’t want a lot of people to know but she is talking to me a lot. I feel like I need to be around for her to talk to.”

“Oh, I said.” Well, can you talk to Anna and tell her that? She was crying because she thought you didn’t like her anymore.”

“What?” Becky seemed mad almost and I almost started to say it wasn’t my fault. Then she said, “Why would she even say that?”

I told her how she and Anna were always recess buddies but today Becky had chosen Stacey. That seemed to make sense to Becky. She went over and talked to Anna, and it looked to me like Anna had been listening to Stacey too. We all decided to practice our dance moves together, and we even made sure Stacey did it because we thought it would help her take her mind off being sad. The next day Anna was Stacey’s recess buddy and Becky chose me, and we had a lot of fun. And that’s how I fixed things for Becky and Anna.

A few days ago also I helped a grown-up fix something. My mom was making biscuits because her friends were coming over for dinner. She was in the kitchen for a long time and then I heard a lot of slamming and swear words. I didn’t know why because I smelled something amazing. I went down into the kitchen and asked Mom what was wrong. She said, “I have been working on these biscuits and they just aren’t rising. I don’t understand what the problem is.” Well, she didn’t say it quite like that. There were words I’m not allowed to say.

My super power fed me the idea that yeast makes bread rise. I don’t even know what yeast is or how it works but I asked my mom if she had put the yeast in. She checked her ingredients and then opened the cabinet door and took down two little packets. “I think I forgot the yeast!” She said. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or happy so I decided to leave. She didn’t seem to notice that I had said anything and that happens to me sometimes. Sometimes I say something to fix things and people act like they thought of it themselves. But that’s ok. I know that super heroes aren’t supposed to blow their own horns. I know that I gave my mom that idea and her biscuits ended up really good.

These are just two things that have happened lately that show you how my super power works. Do you believe me?

Filed Under: Molly Maggie McGuire, Musings, Uncategorized

Chapter 1: My Name is Molly Maggie McGuire

by Margie Clayman

Hello. I am Molly, and this is my story that you are reading. I am a super hero, and my super power is that I can fix anything. I am five years old. My favorite movie is Elizabeth, which is about Queen Elizabeth the First, not the one who is queen now. Adults ask me a lot of times what my favorite movie is and I always say the same thing, but a lot of times they laugh after I say it. I don’t really know why. I like the movie Elizabeth because she proves to everybody that she can do things they don’t think she can do, and I like that. I am doing that too. Like a lot of times I’ll hear adults talking about a problem and I will ask if I can help, and they will say no, or they’ll laugh again. But I know I can do it, and sometimes when grown-ups aren’t looking I’ll go in and fix things. Then they get all surprised and wonder how it happened. Sometimes I don’t say it was me.

Also I like Queen Elizabeth because I like history a lot. When I grow up I want to be an archaeologist. They fix things in a way, after digging things up. They put things back together and that helps explain how people used to live. I don’t want to be the kind of archaeologist that digs up dinosaur bones. That’s cool, but I like learning about people and how they lived.

I’m writing things down now because the other day I noticed something weird, and it made me realize that maybe even when I’m all grown up people won’t believe I have my super power. I was walking in line down the hall to an assembly. We had to learn about fire drills and what to do if your house catches on fire. I already knew what I would do but sometimes I have to make myself stay quiet so the other kids don’t roll their eyes at me. Anyway, we were walking down the hall past all of the big windows that look over the playground, and I noticed that our line dipped down where I was walking. Everyone seemed like their heads were all pretty much in the same place, but I was lower down. I didn’t know that my head was so much further down than everybody else’s, and I feel kind of weird now. So I decided to start writing things down so that people wouldn’t have to believe me just based on what I was saying right then. I can give them this book and they’ll be like, “Wow. You’ve done a lot. This must be true, too.”

What else should I tell you about me? My dad makes the best spaghetti, and my mom makes me poached eggsontoast when I feel sick. I have a little brother and he likes to roll around and make fighting noises a lot. Um, I like jewelry and sometimes I try to make things with beads, but my mom gets mad at me because I always drop beads and I don’t get to pick them all up all the time and she steps on them and that hurts her foot. Fixing that would be easy if I could always see where the beads go, but sometimes they roll away into places I don’t think they would go to.

I guess you’ll let me know if there is anything else I should tell you. Probably other things will come up when stuff happens that I tell you about.

Filed Under: Molly Maggie McGuire, Musings, Uncategorized

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