Parents in the performing arts

A random Minnie Mouse keychain
as if from
T's keychain collection

This meditation on memorials post is dedicated to T.  T was somewhere past 50 when he died several months ago. His memorial approaches. 

T, like RantWoman had a parent in the performing arts. T like RantWoman had this idiosyncratic gift: pick a venue. Tell either of us how the aisles are laid out and how the seats are numbered and we can give at least approximate directions all day if needed.

RantWoman needs just to say and hold a thought she does not dare be in the presence of T's mother for fear of blurting out:

"Your son was blind and had epilepsy. He was proud of his family and family was still a dance. The posthumous part of the dance: if you are going to make a slide show of family memories for the memorial, PLEASE consider learning enough about alt text to caption the photos and then find a way to share the memories with his blind friends who you are NOT inviting to the party except RantWoman who has a conflict."

RantWoman, CHILL OUT. Write and ask for a copy of the slideshow even if you don't offer to help prepare it. 

Don't even think of going all Dr. Seuss about captioned images in Powerpoint, one category or reasonable accommodation. Another category: getting people documents they cannot read in electronic format or by email.  

People who need reasonable accommodations need accommodations here. They / We need them there. We need them in the office at school while playing the fool in church, while left in a lurch. We need them today and tomorrow and not just someday someday  or after someone has um, missed the point of the last how many zillion requests. We need specific access, not just vague surveys or bales of academic verbiage, academentia suffused screeds about disability justice. We need specific things. We need them everywhere and one really simple way to make RantWoman feel included is to respond promptly when asked to provide copies of hopefully documents either by email or on a link.

RantWoman, you are supposed to be writing about T. Well, okay, T doesn't need these things anymore. The tirade above may or may not have been his agenda. Doesn't matter what T needs. What matters: how about imagining that EVERYONE has what they need to feel included?

RantWoman has a conflict about the upcoming memorial, delayed after T's passing because of COVID, and so far RantWoman is not saintly enough to call up and offer to help about the media prep herself, but maybe RantWoman is supposed to consider that.

RantWoman first met T in vocational rehab screen reader and screen enlarger class. He was one but not the only reason RantWoman wound up basically working independently and teaching herself. RantWoman does not particularly hold this against either T or the other students. Vocational rehab did not really know what to do with RantWoman and RantWoman had to try a bunch of things just to figure out.. 

T found remembering the lessons more of a challenge. T was not the only person in the class with that problem. They all had pleasant enough voices though, a gentle murmur beyond RantWoman's headphones.

Somewhere in here, RantWoman learned that T collected key chains, a LOT of keychains. Some days he probably would have been glad to tell RantWoman about every single one, all thousands of them. T came to RantWoman's tech meeetup and always seemed to have the newest device and by struggling to figure it out. T was also not the only guy who liked to linger and chat long after the meetup was over.

 

RantWoman is touched. At the last blind group Christmas party before the pandemic lockdowns, there was a white elephant gift exchange. T brought a fleece blanket, more of a throw than a full-sized blanket. The gifts get distributed by lottery and a person can pick someone else's gift and make the loser pick another gift from the pool. RantWoman is not quite sure how things lined up but T really wanted RantWoman to have the blanket. RantWoman does not think there was any romantic intent--or if there was, it was completely lost on RantWoman. Even it seems to be more than RantWoman needs for summer.

Rest well, T, with lots of videos of your mom's roles and your family.

My summer blanket