Play & Book Excerpts
Fall and Recovery
(She Writes Press)
© Joanne De Simone
The following is an excerpt from Joanne De Simone's new book, "Fall and Recovery." In chapter 11 ("If You Don’t Breathe, You Die”), Joanne recounts her dogged efforts to find a New York City school willing to accept her son Sebastian, following an unsuccessful year in inclusion kindergarten and a successful lawsuit against the city's Board of Education. After a year of searching, she and her husband were made to consider uprooting their lives in Brooklyn for better education opportunities in New Jersey.
Back in Brooklyn, I walked the streets trying to free myself from the fear of leaving. I never imagined Sebastian would be the reason to drive us out. How had we come to the point where he had no place to fit in? I couldn’t get past the feeling that the last two school years had set up a miserable educational foundation. Would he ever be able to build a stable platform? I still believed in his progress, even though my dreams for an inclusive environment had been replaced by the reality that a self-contained classroom would be a better fit. I had also been looking for after-school and social skills programs, but in NYC they were too difficult to find and usually too expensive to consider. Everything felt like a battle, but fear of failure is a powerful anchor.
There is one thing that can challenge fear. Rage.
On an otherwise uneventful day, the four of us went to a local drugstore and ran into some neighbors. The longer we talked, the more overactive Sebastian became. In between my sentences, I would redirect him. “Don’t touch that. Stay over here. Come closer.” I got a strong sense someone was watching me. I continued to instruct Sebastian, “Stop jumping. Look at this toy.” He managed to escape my field of vision when I took a moment to care for Benjamin, but I quickly found him in the next aisle.
As we continued the conversation with our friends, a woman standing idle on a lengthy checkout line distracted me. Although I never made eye contact with her, she scowled in our direction from time to time. I’d guess she was in her late sixties and wore a spaghetti-strapped white-and-red floral sundress with three-inch red pumps. From behind I’d assume she was a much younger woman. The conflict between my expectations and reality amused me. Surely, she wasn’t annoyed at us? I have a habit of being paranoid that I am doing something wrong at any given time. I attribute this to thirteen years of Catholic school.
Sebastian’s patience for our shopping expedition had clearly peaked. I took him to the store’s vestibule. It was a large open space between two sets of automatic sliding doors where we could see ourselves on the store’s security television. This had a calming effect on Sebastian, despite the fact that our presence was frequently activating the automatic doors. As we talked about our images, red pumps huffed by us. Her aggravation toward us was real.
My true Brooklyn spirit boiled to the surface. “What is your problem?”
“You should put him on a leash. My dog is better trained.”
A man standing outside handed her a dog leash. I yelled something back, but it didn’t make an impact as they calmly proceeded down the street.
I wanted to summon my South Brooklyn warrior and chase her down, but I couldn’t leave Sebastian unattended. Still yelling after her, furious that I hadn’t thrown the ultimate insult back, I turned to make eye contact with John for his support. He and the long line of customers were staring at me. Their horrified faces snapped me out of my rage. They hadn’t heard the exchange. From their point of view, I was experiencing an unprompted breakdown. For Sebastian’s entire life I had tried to be the picture of strength my mother had modeled for me, but I was all out of fight.
It was at that very moment I realized Brooklyn was no longer the place to raise my sons. That woman embodied everything I wanted to leave. I wouldn’t live in a community that had so little tolerance. My supportive neighbors weren’t enough to compensate for our lack of belonging. Like any unhealthy relationship, I had to face the fact that my love affair with Kings County needed to end. I didn’t want to be furious in the middle of the vestibule, or frantic in the middle of a major life decision. The doors slid open, and we stepped out.
There is one thing that can challenge fear. Rage.
On an otherwise uneventful day, the four of us went to a local drugstore and ran into some neighbors. The longer we talked, the more overactive Sebastian became. In between my sentences, I would redirect him. “Don’t touch that. Stay over here. Come closer.” I got a strong sense someone was watching me. I continued to instruct Sebastian, “Stop jumping. Look at this toy.” He managed to escape my field of vision when I took a moment to care for Benjamin, but I quickly found him in the next aisle.
As we continued the conversation with our friends, a woman standing idle on a lengthy checkout line distracted me. Although I never made eye contact with her, she scowled in our direction from time to time. I’d guess she was in her late sixties and wore a spaghetti-strapped white-and-red floral sundress with three-inch red pumps. From behind I’d assume she was a much younger woman. The conflict between my expectations and reality amused me. Surely, she wasn’t annoyed at us? I have a habit of being paranoid that I am doing something wrong at any given time. I attribute this to thirteen years of Catholic school.
Sebastian’s patience for our shopping expedition had clearly peaked. I took him to the store’s vestibule. It was a large open space between two sets of automatic sliding doors where we could see ourselves on the store’s security television. This had a calming effect on Sebastian, despite the fact that our presence was frequently activating the automatic doors. As we talked about our images, red pumps huffed by us. Her aggravation toward us was real.
My true Brooklyn spirit boiled to the surface. “What is your problem?”
“You should put him on a leash. My dog is better trained.”
A man standing outside handed her a dog leash. I yelled something back, but it didn’t make an impact as they calmly proceeded down the street.
I wanted to summon my South Brooklyn warrior and chase her down, but I couldn’t leave Sebastian unattended. Still yelling after her, furious that I hadn’t thrown the ultimate insult back, I turned to make eye contact with John for his support. He and the long line of customers were staring at me. Their horrified faces snapped me out of my rage. They hadn’t heard the exchange. From their point of view, I was experiencing an unprompted breakdown. For Sebastian’s entire life I had tried to be the picture of strength my mother had modeled for me, but I was all out of fight.
It was at that very moment I realized Brooklyn was no longer the place to raise my sons. That woman embodied everything I wanted to leave. I wouldn’t live in a community that had so little tolerance. My supportive neighbors weren’t enough to compensate for our lack of belonging. Like any unhealthy relationship, I had to face the fact that my love affair with Kings County needed to end. I didn’t want to be furious in the middle of the vestibule, or frantic in the middle of a major life decision. The doors slid open, and we stepped out.
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Joanne De Simone is a graduate of Hunter College with degrees in dance and special education. After dancing professionally with companies including José Limón and Dianne McIntyre, she dedicated her life to teaching children with disabilities and supporting families.
Currently, Joanne is a special education advocate for the Alliance of Private Special Education Schools of North Jersey. Her writing has appeared in the Washington Post, Exceptional Parent Magazine, and The Rumpus, among other publications. She is a contributing author to “Barriers and Belonging: Personal Narratives of Disabilities.” Joanne and her son, Sebastian, were instrumental in a legislative change allowing students with intellectual disabilities to participate in NCAA D3 intercollegiate sports. Joanne has been featured in the Philadelphia Inquirer, on HuffPo Live, CNN, and GMA3. |
Joanne De Simone
Photo Courtesy: Joanne De Simone |
