Perceptions

This was first performed at MAM Behind the Mike in Smock Alley but was developed for The Moth.

Your life changes when you have a child and your perception of what that change is very different from the reality.

When your child has special needs, your perception of parenting changes, you usually have to write your own manual.

With a child with additional needs, people’s perception of you changes. “ You are so strong” – “I couldn’t do that”- as if you have a choice.

We have little choice but to take strength from that perception and often refer to ourselves as warriors as we have to for our children’s rights every day and often on several fronts at the same time

Your perception of your family changes when you have a child. We realise that our parents were as lost, clueless and as sleep deprived as we are. Family lore and legends are re- examined and reassessed usually to look for similarities  between the newly arrived and the previous generations.

When my daughter Poppy was born, I was prompted to reassess my perceptions of my maternal grand-mother, Lil.

Lil died of Alzehimers when I was five and because my grandfather remarried, it was almost impolite to discuss her. All I knew was that my mother had little time for her. Emelie, my mother was sent to a boarding school at an early age and I think she felt ( though she would never state it) excluded. What I knew was this… Lil was a champion flower arranger, liked a neat house, a poor golfer and cook. She was religious and always well turned out. An insubstantial woman was my perception, a bit of a corporate wife, air head, but even then I couldn’t reconcile this image with other stories.

I know for instance that she had eloped to marry my grandfather ( a flame haired Scots Presbyterian)) She was disowned by her family for doing so… not really the action of a social butterfly.

It was nagging at me.Rubbing like a pebble in a shoe. It was my step grandmother, Patsy who was a good friend to Lil and though brought her own unreliability was more reliable and comfortable with the topic than Emelie. She told me that Lil had 9 miscarriages before Emelie was born with a shock of flame like hair on the Sabbath day- Bonny Bright  Good and Gay!

There were more miscarriages and more pain until three years later, Stuart, her son was born.

I have vague and cloudy memories of him and until Poppy was born, he was never talked about- too painful a subject.

Stuart was profoundly physically and intellectually disabled and not expected to live. Her priest and friends begged her for the sake of her marriage, for the sake of her daughter, for the sake of her health to put him into Lota Mor, an institution. She didn’t she cared for him at home and the family suffered the isolation caused by the social stigma surrounding disability in John Charles MCQuaid’s Ireland. She was told and believed that Stuart was God’s punishment for ‘marrying out’.

When Stuart was 7 she aqueised and tried to leave him in Lota but they was so distressed on the journey home that my grandfather turned the car around.

Stuart came home.

They adapted their house ( as we have done). My mother was sent to boarding school to make friends ( which she did) and they created a home that worked and cared for their child ( as we have done).

They fundraised.

They set up support groups for other parents who chose to care for their children at home- unheard of in 1950’s Ireland.

They fought for the needs of their son , as I do for my daughter.

Stuart died aged 25 of pneumonia. Lil was very advanced in her illness and I don’t know if she was aware of his death.

The perception is that the death of a child is the worst thing to happen to a parent and it is, but given what we know now of places like Lota Mor.. The fear of the child you kept from death for 25 years being left with strangers can be worse.

I hope she knew that he had died with his father and sister beside him and his two nieces playing by the shoreline nearby. Lil died 6 months later.

 

Lil spent her life caring and fighting for her child’s right’s like me and many others- so far from an air head, she was a warrior something I would not have ever been aware of were I not to be on the same journey.

Stuart with Emelie

TEAM – the conversation

As the TEAM building closes for good, join us in a conversation about its foundation, its impact at the time and the ripple effect of its practices. Sarah FitzGibbon in association with The Abbey Theatre Invite you to The Missing Piece of the Archive The Conversation. Wednesday 28th March 1.30- 3.30 TEAM Building Marlbourgh place This being filmed and is an ideal chance to catch up with old friends and colleagues, as we are rarely short of something to say we ask that you turn up at least 15 minutes before 1.30. Feel free to add to a reminisce archive in TEAM B before or after the event.

I had worked in TEAM and along side TEAM for a lot of my early career. Indeed I had them to thank for much of my facilitation training, friendships and my partner. However there were many gaps in the narrative around its foundation, the critical impulses that drove the work and the relationship between The Young Abbey and The Children’s Tea Company in its foundation. As the building was being closed down, I saw an opportunity to bring key individuals together to have a conversation around TEAM; its foundations and practice; its influence and whether there is space for that type of  educational and socially engaged work to tour schools today. This would link with my own work on the Priming the Canon which is very much in an older Theatre in Education model of practice i.e. children ‘find’ a character and interact with them during a performance at close proximity in an educational space. There is a pre and post show element to frame the work and support the performer and the subject matter has a connection to the socio-political sphere. It was a superb day and a heart warming experience of hooking up with lots of old friends. Mairead in The Abbey’s Archive Dept. who received TEAM’s Archive when they closed down in 2013, put up a fabulous exhibition of posters which was for many a trip down memory lane. We also received some great archival materials from Nuala Hayes a key founder of TEAM who got a chance to share her piece of the TEAM narrative for the first time.

How little I knew about my grandmother

First performed at MAM behind the Mike Smock Alley April 2017

Your life changes when you have a child and your perception of what that change is very different from the reality. When your child has special needs, your perception of parenting changes. People’s perception of you changes “ you are so strong” – “I couldn’t do that”- as if you have a choice. We have little choice but to take strength from that perception and often refer to ourselves as warriors as we have to for our children’s rights every day  and often on several fronts at the same time

Your perception of your family changes when you have a child. We realise that our parents were as lost, clueless and as sleep deprived as we are. Family lore and legends are re- examined and reassessed usually to look for similarities  between the newly arrived and the previous generations.

When my daughter Poppy was born, I was prompted to reassess my perceptions of my maternal grand-mother, Lil.

Lil died of Alzehimers when I was five and because my grandfather remarried, it was almost impolite to discuss her. All I knew was that my mother had little time for her. Poor Emelie, my mother was sent to a boarding school at an early age and I think she felt ( though she would never state it) rejected and hurt.

I knew Lil was a champion flower arranger, liked a neat house  and was a good cook. She was religious and always well turned out. An insubstantial woman was my perception, a bit of a corporate wife, air head, but even then I couldn’t reconcile this image with other stories.

I know for instance that she had eloped to marry my grandfather ( a charming, golf playing Scottish  Presbyterian) She was disowned by her family for doing so… not really the action of a social butterfly.

It was nagging at me. It was my step grandmother, Patsy who was a good friend to Lil and though brought her own unreliability was more reliable and comfortable with the topic than my mother, She told me that Lil had 9 miscarriages before Emelie was born with a shock of flame-like hair on the Sabbath day- Bonny Bright  Good and Gay!

There were more miscarriages and more pain until three years later, Stuart, her son was born.

I have vague and cloudy memories of him and until Poppy was born, he was never talked about- too painful a subject.

Stuart was profoundly physically and intellectually disabled and not expected to live. Her priest and friends begged her for the sake of her marriage, for the sake of her daughter, for the sake of her health to put him into Lota More, an institution. She didn’t she cared for him at home and the family suffered the isolation caused by the social stigma surrounding disability in John Charles MCQuade’s Ireland. She was told and believed that Stuarts was God’s punishment for marrying out.

When Stuart was 7 she aqueised and tried to leave him in Lota but they was so distressed on the journey home that my grandfather turned the car around.

Stuart came home.

They adapted their house ( as we have done). My mother was sent to boarding school to make friends ( which she did) and they created a home that worked and cared for their child ( as we have done).

They fundraised, like us

 

They set up support groups for other parents who chose to care for their children at home- unheard of in 1950’s Ireland.

They fought for the needs of their son , as I do for my daughter.

Stuart died aged 25 of pneumonia. Lil was very advanced in her illness and I don’t know if she was aware of his death.

The perception is that the death of a child is the worst thing to happen to a parent and it is, but given what we know now of places like Lota Mor.. The fear of the child you kept from death for 25 years being left with strangers can be worse. I hope she knew that he had died with his father and sister beside him and his two nieces playing by the shoreline nearby. Lil died 6 months later.

Lil spent her life caring and fighting for her child’s right’s like me and many others- so far from an air head, she was a warrior something I would not have ever been aware of were I not to be on the same journey.

I missed the memo

I was a feminist.

I became a Mum… Could I still be a feminist?

I didn’t read the memo.

With one I could, I could fake it. I could pretend it wasn’t going to affect my career. The secret truth, I liked being at home. I also liked working but I was surprised how much I enjoyed being home, making a home.

I didn’t read the memo.

14 years ago I had a child, did I do the wrong thing? Can I not be a feminist now?

I had two traumatic births not beautiful experiences filled with love and joy.

I was not in control of them. They were over medicalized in many ways but necessarily so.

Can I have a ‘do over’ to make me a better at giving birth? Unlikely at 46. By passing over my birthing power to the patriarchy,  do I still not get my feminist card back thirteen years later?

It turns out, no you don’t! because you are a mum now. It is your job to raise the next generation of feminists and forget about your own. That ship has sailed. It is too late. You clearly didn’t read the memo. Hardly surprising as you are probably busy with the PTA, making biscuits, carefully balanced dinners and crafting. And what is worse you look like you enjoyed it!

Can I not be a feminist now? Why do I feel like I have failed as a feminist by doing the most powerful thing a woman can do…have a child? I am wearing Purple Stockings.

We are expected to hide the fact that we are parenting from our employers, our work network, colleagues and our peers. The only ones we can share our true frazzled status with is the other mothers we meet at the school gate. Catching up on work when the kids are asleep. Constantly tired. Constantly compromised. Fitting into neither camp.

Missing memos all over the place.

So feminist causes miss out and parents miss out.

So I ended up where the last two generations of women end up where motherhood is one of the greatest unresolved issue facing feminism in the developed world. It is still in employment and feminist terms…a dirty word.

Or is it?

Your thoughts please….