The Wednesday April 29th performance of Kiss the Moon, Kiss the Sun is being offered at a special rate for all friends and family of CLD.
Meet Robert, an intellectually challenged young man with a sense of humour that will knock you off your feet.
Meet Holly, a young woman whose unexpected pregnancy has knocked her right off her feet.
When their worlds collide in this touching comedy, the power of this extraordinary friendship changes their lives forever.
*Due to mature content and language, this production is not recommended for younger audiences.
Call the Theatre Orangeville box office and mention Community Living Dufferin to receive the special rate of $23.10 (includes GST) for the Wednesday April 29th performance.
519-942-3423
Monday, March 30, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
ARTirondack Chairity Raffle
BUY A RAFFLE TICKET
for your chance to win these beautiful,
unique, one-of-a-kind
hand-made and hand-painted
for your chance to win these beautiful,
unique, one-of-a-kind
hand-made and hand-painted
ARTirondack Chairs and table
or hand sewn Quilt
Tropical Pond Chair
(front, back, side view)
Jungle Chair
Hibiscus Table
Hand sewn Quilt
TICKETS $2.00 each or 3 for $5.00
Email karenf@communitylivingdufferin.ca
to order your tickets or call 519-941-8971
Lottery License number M609696
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Community Living Dufferin invites you to join us
for an evening of observance & reflection as we present:
The Freedom Tour
a documentary DVD created by People First of Canada.
March 31st commemorates the official closure of the last 3 remaining institutions in Ontario designed to house people who have disabilities. The Freedom Tour brings awareness to the work that is required to close those institutions still operational in our Prairie Provinces.
Tuesday March 31 ~ 7pm
A candlelight remembrance service will be held
immediately following the movie.
29 Centennial Road, Unit 10, Orangeville
The Freedom Tour
a documentary DVD created by People First of Canada.
March 31st commemorates the official closure of the last 3 remaining institutions in Ontario designed to house people who have disabilities. The Freedom Tour brings awareness to the work that is required to close those institutions still operational in our Prairie Provinces.
Tuesday March 31 ~ 7pm
A candlelight remembrance service will be held
immediately following the movie.
29 Centennial Road, Unit 10, Orangeville
RSVP by March 27th: Karen Murphy-Fritz
519-941-8971 ext 165
karenf@communitylivingdufferin.ca
Visit these websites for more information:
Friday, March 6, 2009
Minuteman Press donation
As reported last month, Steve McLeod of the newly opened Minuteman Press offered to donate a portion of his February sales to Community Living Dufferin's Building Dreams Together capital campaign.
Today Steve dropped by our office to present his cheque for $227.50 to Sheryl Chandler, Executive Director.
Our sincere thanks to Steve for this most welcome and generous donation to our campaign.
For more information on our Building Dreams Together campaign visit:
For more information on the services and products available at Minuteman Press please visit:
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Sheltered from my son
Having a disabled child means learning to stand up to ignorant people, people who are afraid of my son.
I was shocked.
Completely and utterly shocked.
I was so surprised by the stupidity of her comment that it took me a few moments to find my voice and mumble an astounded, "Too traumatic? Did you just say it would be too traumatic for young kids to be around disabled children like my son?"
Being a parent of a severely disabled child is indescribably difficult and filled with so many challenges, not the least of which is a constant battle against fear borne out of ignorance.
But there is no reason to be scared of my son. His disability is not contagious, though his laughter is. And it is so hard to deal with people who don't understand that.
Around the time that new mothers are starting to feel comfortable with their new bundles of joy, I was thrust into the terrifying and unexpected role of protector. Not in the typical "I won't let anyone push you in the playground" way. I was learning to stand up to ignorant people, people who were afraid of my son.
I am not naive enough to believe that everyone must accept my child without hesitation. He is different. He can't sit by himself, he drools and, although he understands everything that goes on around him, his communication skills are limited to yes and no responses.
It's not easy to look at a beautiful little boy, with thick dark hair and a giggle that makes you want to laugh too, in a body that doesn't work properly.
But when someone takes the time to come close to him and look a bit deeper, they can see so much life and mischief in his gigantic green eyes, lined with enviously long black eyelashes.
Over the course of Jacob's six years, I have seen that young children are incredibly accepting of differences.
When he was 3, Jacob attended a summer camp with "regular" kids. Although his bunkmates understood he was different — he couldn't walk, talk or eat like they did — he still fit in. When the group participated in a scavenger hunt, some kids helped him collect his pieces without a counsellor's prompting.
At the end of another summer-camp experience, the director called to tell me she thought the staff and other campers benefited at least as much from being around Jacob as he did from being at camp. She told me a group of children would take turns sitting next to him, recording their voices on his communication switch, which he uses to make himself understood, and reading to him after lunch. I was not surprised, but I was proud of my son.
Two years later, at another camp, I was told that Jacob had made a new friend. A few days into the session, this friend announced that Jacob was her new "number 1 best friend". By the following week, Jacob was Taryn's boyfriend. She told everyone she knew that she liked to "kiss his eyeballs." At 6 years old, 10 days younger than Jacob, this little girl wasted no time getting to know him.
Jacob's experience with typically developing kids has always been positive — young children tend to gravitate toward him, not savvy enough to notice their parents' discomfort over how to react in the presence of a severely disabled child.
So when I was told by a senior administrator at a private school that exposing young kids to disabled children was not something the school would support, I was horrified.
We were discussing whether her Grade 2 students, some of whom knew my son, could perform their class play for the students at Jacob's school.
I questioned whether she meant the experience would be too traumatic for the students or for the teachers. She reiterated that according to her advisers, it would be "too traumatic for the students."
As this discussion was unfolding, the stupidity of her words reverberated in my head. My amazement at her ignorance grew until I wanted to scream. This person was a senior educational administrator but was devoid of confidence in and understanding of her students' abilities to interact with others who were different.
My heart was beating so quickly. I felt sick to my stomach and angry at myself knowing that I had considered sending my twin daughters to this school.
After we ended the phone conversation and I allowed some time for my racing heart to calm down, I realized that some people live sheltered lives. They don't allow themselves to experience the joys that come from learning something new and being exposed to someone who is different.
This school is located in a beautiful building, has a lovely and colourful playground and modern facilities. But it lacks something so much more important — compassion.
I do not know a single person who would say their child has been negatively affected by my son. But I can list many people who would say their lives have been sweetened by spending time with Jacob and watching their children make him laugh his contagious laugh.
Marcy White lives in Toronto.
From Monday's Globe and Mail March 2, 2009 at 12:00 AM EST
I was shocked.
Completely and utterly shocked.
I was so surprised by the stupidity of her comment that it took me a few moments to find my voice and mumble an astounded, "Too traumatic? Did you just say it would be too traumatic for young kids to be around disabled children like my son?"
Being a parent of a severely disabled child is indescribably difficult and filled with so many challenges, not the least of which is a constant battle against fear borne out of ignorance.
But there is no reason to be scared of my son. His disability is not contagious, though his laughter is. And it is so hard to deal with people who don't understand that.
Around the time that new mothers are starting to feel comfortable with their new bundles of joy, I was thrust into the terrifying and unexpected role of protector. Not in the typical "I won't let anyone push you in the playground" way. I was learning to stand up to ignorant people, people who were afraid of my son.
I am not naive enough to believe that everyone must accept my child without hesitation. He is different. He can't sit by himself, he drools and, although he understands everything that goes on around him, his communication skills are limited to yes and no responses.
It's not easy to look at a beautiful little boy, with thick dark hair and a giggle that makes you want to laugh too, in a body that doesn't work properly.
But when someone takes the time to come close to him and look a bit deeper, they can see so much life and mischief in his gigantic green eyes, lined with enviously long black eyelashes.
Over the course of Jacob's six years, I have seen that young children are incredibly accepting of differences.
When he was 3, Jacob attended a summer camp with "regular" kids. Although his bunkmates understood he was different — he couldn't walk, talk or eat like they did — he still fit in. When the group participated in a scavenger hunt, some kids helped him collect his pieces without a counsellor's prompting.
At the end of another summer-camp experience, the director called to tell me she thought the staff and other campers benefited at least as much from being around Jacob as he did from being at camp. She told me a group of children would take turns sitting next to him, recording their voices on his communication switch, which he uses to make himself understood, and reading to him after lunch. I was not surprised, but I was proud of my son.
Two years later, at another camp, I was told that Jacob had made a new friend. A few days into the session, this friend announced that Jacob was her new "number 1 best friend". By the following week, Jacob was Taryn's boyfriend. She told everyone she knew that she liked to "kiss his eyeballs." At 6 years old, 10 days younger than Jacob, this little girl wasted no time getting to know him.
Jacob's experience with typically developing kids has always been positive — young children tend to gravitate toward him, not savvy enough to notice their parents' discomfort over how to react in the presence of a severely disabled child.
So when I was told by a senior administrator at a private school that exposing young kids to disabled children was not something the school would support, I was horrified.
We were discussing whether her Grade 2 students, some of whom knew my son, could perform their class play for the students at Jacob's school.
I questioned whether she meant the experience would be too traumatic for the students or for the teachers. She reiterated that according to her advisers, it would be "too traumatic for the students."
As this discussion was unfolding, the stupidity of her words reverberated in my head. My amazement at her ignorance grew until I wanted to scream. This person was a senior educational administrator but was devoid of confidence in and understanding of her students' abilities to interact with others who were different.
My heart was beating so quickly. I felt sick to my stomach and angry at myself knowing that I had considered sending my twin daughters to this school.
After we ended the phone conversation and I allowed some time for my racing heart to calm down, I realized that some people live sheltered lives. They don't allow themselves to experience the joys that come from learning something new and being exposed to someone who is different.
This school is located in a beautiful building, has a lovely and colourful playground and modern facilities. But it lacks something so much more important — compassion.
I do not know a single person who would say their child has been negatively affected by my son. But I can list many people who would say their lives have been sweetened by spending time with Jacob and watching their children make him laugh his contagious laugh.
Marcy White lives in Toronto.
From Monday's Globe and Mail March 2, 2009 at 12:00 AM EST
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