We all know them, in fact we may be them. Folks that put a lot of stock in the labels attached to their shirts, the inside of their shoes, the butt of their jeans, the back of their car. Urban Dictionary (I LOVE Urban Dictionary) even has a label for people who love labels..."Label Whores". For those who are so impressed by labels but don't have the funds to sport the real thing, these aptly named, "Label Ho's" crawl into vans or sneak into back alleys to buy faux Louis Vuitton, Prada and Gucci praying that the local authorities don't raid the joint until their fake bag is safely tucked under their arm a block or two away.
I admit it, I have been both a "Label Whore" and a "Label Ho". The real and the faux (OMG, I'm starting to sound like Dr. Seuss). At age 12, I had real Jordache Jeans I purchased, well, my parents purchased, on a trip to NYC. I thought these jeans would be the perfect thing to wear on the first day of Middle School to prove how hip and cool I was. Wrong. Instead of everyone loving me for my label jeans, they despised me wondering who in the he** I thought I was in my way too baggy, way too big, but had to buy them designer jeans. Today, I have decent clothes, but very few things Carrie Bradshaw would want to borrow. No Manolo Blahnik, Prada or Vintage Gucci. Once upon a time, Dan bought me a pair of expensive designer jeans because, well, everyone was wearing them. And just like Cinderella's dress after midnight, within a year those costly fairy tale jeans had holes in both knees from scrubbing my floors (ok, that floor scrubbing really is a fairy tale) and I didn't have a Fairy Godmother to wave her magic wand to patch them up. A few years later, a Kate Spade bag from Saks was a surprise Christmas gift. The real surprise came 48 hours later when the strap broke on this costly bag while my glued on "Label Ho" faux Louis bag sat in the corner of my closet mocking me in it's flawless pleather. Hmmm...? Maybe that label on the outside that everyone is meant to see really isn't what matters. Maybe what's more important is the label hidden deep within the seams that no one can see and is stamped with "Made in China."
Yes, we love our labels. We have labels for shoes, handbags, dresses, jeans and cars. We have cell phones with labels on them for which you can purchase a case that has another designer label prominently displayed. Or if your cell phone label is so important you can't bear to cover it up (the horror) you can buy a case with a hole cut out so that cell phone label is still visible for the world to see. Yep, we have labels for EVERYTHING...including people and sometimes it takes a designer handbag strap to break and slap you in the face to recognize there is more to labels than meets the eye (the eye wearing designer shades of course).
When I was a young 20 something juvenile probation officer I was going to save the world, or at the very least, the kids on my caseload. With every kid that was re-arrested or shot (yes, shot...drug dealers have a high probability of being shot), I felt like a failure. How could a fresh out of college, childless, white, middle class, country girl not be able to save the day for these mostly impoverished, inner-city, multi-racial kids? It didn't make sense.
With each juvenile's re-arrest came the initial police report detailing the new charges of my latest failure. Quickly following the police report came the psychological evaluation with what appeared to be the current vogue, flavor of the month label. Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Personality Disorder, Conduct Disorder, etc. One report with numerous labels sticks out in my mind quite vividly even today, 15 years later. The report was for a 12 year old boy who had molested a 4 year old girl. This boy's psych report had many labels, but the one that was missing was "monster". I read all those labels stuck on this boy by super smart people and I read the details of that awful police report written by the investigators who had interviewed the victim and I made up my mind before ever laying eyes on him. This kid was a lost cause and I was not looking forward to meeting him. When I heard the secure door to the detention center open for my first meeting with this boy, I prepared myself for a cyclop monster with snakes for hair, but there before me stood the cutest, politest, 12 year old boy I have ever had the privilege to meet. This child was not a monster, but a kid who was abused himself and ended up repeating a vicious, horrible cycle that he had been exposed to most of his childhood. Of course, this wasn't discovered until much later when he was in treatment, when people stopped worrying about the labels stuck on the outside and took the time to discover what was on the inside.
Labels can be dangerous when placed in judgemental hands and I can AWEnestly say it sucks when you are on the other side of that label. When it's your kid with a label attached to his name while others make assumptions based on kids bearing a similar label they have seen before. I think this is called karma. With my background and experience you can imagine my reluctance to share Ryan's diagnosis. Just like my son is more than a number, he is more than a label. At the start of each school year, I met with Ryan's teacher and discussed his strengths, his weaknesses and what made him unique. I also shared his "label", but it was years before I handed over THE evaluation with the offical diagnosis school wide. I have no regrets. In fact, just two weeks ago, the EXACT reason I didn't share his report sat right next to me at Ryan's 504 Meeting.
A 504 Plan basically provides Ryan with accommodations in the classroom without the need of an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), thus keeping him from wearing yet another label, Special Education Student. One day he may need that label, but so far he has not. My first several 504 meetings I would cry as soon as I stepped into the conference room and I would cry pretty much throughout the entire meeting. Oh, how times have changed. In Ryan's most recent 504 update, I sat beside my former, young, inexperienced, change the world self and I wanted to slap me. Having never met my son, she quickly made assumptions based on his initial psychological evaluation, his 504 accommodations from years past and his PSSA scores and within 5 minutes this young, former version of myself quickly deduced Ryan should be re-evaluated "just in case" he would need the autistic support classroom next year? Hold the phone! Ryan has never needed anything more than some extra time with longer tests and some prompts in writing, he was meeting or exceeding 5th grade standards at the beginning of the school year and he is "mastering" or "developing proficiency with steady progress" on his report card (whatever happened to A's and B's?), but since the middle school has 35 kids in a class, let's just assume he is going to struggle and prepare to have him placed in the autism support classroom, I mean after all, he has the label, right? Not on my watch.
When my old BFF, Denial took a hike, I had her take Wussy Mom with her. I no longer cry at those meetings, like a mama bear, I protect, advocate and fight for my son and someone made the costly mistake of taking a stroll between this mama bear and my cub. With proclamations of wanting what was best for Ryan, a child she never met, this former version of myself drew conclusions and made wrongful assumptions faster than you can say Prada. Her actions spoke only of concerns for the teachers, not my son. She was the EXACT reason we waited to share Ryan's label and she reminded me that once again, as his mother, I did the right thing. This woman saw the Gucci label and she had already determined what that Gucci bag should look like. Well, guess what former self, Gucci bags come in all shapes and sizes, some have buckles and zippers, some are over the shoulder bags and some are clutch. Some are every day and some are red carpet only. The Gucci label does not make them all the same.
When I was a young 20 something juvenile probation officer I was going to save the world, or at the very least, the kids on my caseload. With every kid that was re-arrested or shot (yes, shot...drug dealers have a high probability of being shot), I felt like a failure. How could a fresh out of college, childless, white, middle class, country girl not be able to save the day for these mostly impoverished, inner-city, multi-racial kids? It didn't make sense.
With each juvenile's re-arrest came the initial police report detailing the new charges of my latest failure. Quickly following the police report came the psychological evaluation with what appeared to be the current vogue, flavor of the month label. Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Personality Disorder, Conduct Disorder, etc. One report with numerous labels sticks out in my mind quite vividly even today, 15 years later. The report was for a 12 year old boy who had molested a 4 year old girl. This boy's psych report had many labels, but the one that was missing was "monster". I read all those labels stuck on this boy by super smart people and I read the details of that awful police report written by the investigators who had interviewed the victim and I made up my mind before ever laying eyes on him. This kid was a lost cause and I was not looking forward to meeting him. When I heard the secure door to the detention center open for my first meeting with this boy, I prepared myself for a cyclop monster with snakes for hair, but there before me stood the cutest, politest, 12 year old boy I have ever had the privilege to meet. This child was not a monster, but a kid who was abused himself and ended up repeating a vicious, horrible cycle that he had been exposed to most of his childhood. Of course, this wasn't discovered until much later when he was in treatment, when people stopped worrying about the labels stuck on the outside and took the time to discover what was on the inside.
Labels can be dangerous when placed in judgemental hands and I can AWEnestly say it sucks when you are on the other side of that label. When it's your kid with a label attached to his name while others make assumptions based on kids bearing a similar label they have seen before. I think this is called karma. With my background and experience you can imagine my reluctance to share Ryan's diagnosis. Just like my son is more than a number, he is more than a label. At the start of each school year, I met with Ryan's teacher and discussed his strengths, his weaknesses and what made him unique. I also shared his "label", but it was years before I handed over THE evaluation with the offical diagnosis school wide. I have no regrets. In fact, just two weeks ago, the EXACT reason I didn't share his report sat right next to me at Ryan's 504 Meeting.
A 504 Plan basically provides Ryan with accommodations in the classroom without the need of an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), thus keeping him from wearing yet another label, Special Education Student. One day he may need that label, but so far he has not. My first several 504 meetings I would cry as soon as I stepped into the conference room and I would cry pretty much throughout the entire meeting. Oh, how times have changed. In Ryan's most recent 504 update, I sat beside my former, young, inexperienced, change the world self and I wanted to slap me. Having never met my son, she quickly made assumptions based on his initial psychological evaluation, his 504 accommodations from years past and his PSSA scores and within 5 minutes this young, former version of myself quickly deduced Ryan should be re-evaluated "just in case" he would need the autistic support classroom next year? Hold the phone! Ryan has never needed anything more than some extra time with longer tests and some prompts in writing, he was meeting or exceeding 5th grade standards at the beginning of the school year and he is "mastering" or "developing proficiency with steady progress" on his report card (whatever happened to A's and B's?), but since the middle school has 35 kids in a class, let's just assume he is going to struggle and prepare to have him placed in the autism support classroom, I mean after all, he has the label, right? Not on my watch.
When my old BFF, Denial took a hike, I had her take Wussy Mom with her. I no longer cry at those meetings, like a mama bear, I protect, advocate and fight for my son and someone made the costly mistake of taking a stroll between this mama bear and my cub. With proclamations of wanting what was best for Ryan, a child she never met, this former version of myself drew conclusions and made wrongful assumptions faster than you can say Prada. Her actions spoke only of concerns for the teachers, not my son. She was the EXACT reason we waited to share Ryan's label and she reminded me that once again, as his mother, I did the right thing. This woman saw the Gucci label and she had already determined what that Gucci bag should look like. Well, guess what former self, Gucci bags come in all shapes and sizes, some have buckles and zippers, some are over the shoulder bags and some are clutch. Some are every day and some are red carpet only. The Gucci label does not make them all the same.
I shouldn't be too hard on labels and those who love them. There are good things about labels. The green Mr Yuk labels make our kids aware of the poison that hides under our sink in pretty, colorful containers (of course these were on every possible toxin in my home). The label stuck on a fabulous pair of shoes that screams "Half Off" is a beautiful label to behold. And even the labels we give to people can be very beneficial. Many times these labels open the door for a child to get services that without a label, the child would continue to struggle alone. It truly is not the label itself that is dangerous, it's the people making assumptions, judgements and decisions based on the label alone. By only taking into account the label on the outside, you are missing the child who lies behind that label. I know my younger, former self who sat next to me at that meeting and mistakenly stepped between this mama bear and my cub did not wish any ill will for Ryan. In her defense, she was trying to help my son, but trying to "find" him on a piece of paper is like looking for a real, vintage Gucci bag in a back alley street vendor stand. By only seeing the label, you fail to see the boy. The boy who works so hard to write a fantasy paper even though he thinks fantasy is "utterly ridiculous and a waste of time", the boy whose math teacher writes on his report card, "he is a calming force in the classroom" and who "appreciates his insights", and the boy who is unique from every other boy who has come before him wearing the same label.
If we are going to continue to love our labels, then maybe with each label should come another label...a warning label, kind of like the Surgeon General puts on a pack of cigarettes. The designer Italian bag you paid a mint for should warn you it's not made in a cute boutique on the streets of Florence, but sent overseas to China where it is made in the same factory for the same price as the knock off bag sold at Target. Children wearing an autism spectrum label should have a warning label too, but not for the child, for the people assuming they know "this child" because they knew "that child". It could go something like this...."The autism spectrum label attached to this child may explain what you "see" on the outside, but failure to see past the label may cause blindness, ignorance and stupidity to the beholder." Just like the Gucci bag you envy and can easily spot by the "G" label prominently displayed on the front of the bag, from a distance you can't be certain if it's real or faux. You need to take a closer look to see what it is really made of. I am my son's warning label and I will continue to caution anyone involved in his life that he can't be found in a psych report, PSSA score, or an indecipherable report card. Take the time to know my son and other children like him. See past the label to the kind, compassionate, funny, unique boy who loves pudding, Mario video games and his family. Failing to heed this warning could be hazardous to your health because this mama bear may not have sharp claws and teeth, but she swings a faux Gucci bag like a champ and pleather is very unyielding when it smacks you upside the head.
The only "A" label visible here is Aeropostale.
RSS Feed
