What I learned today

For the last couple of weeks, we have asked Joey what he wants to be for Halloween. And he has said he wants to be a Little Bear. Oh, good, that costume is all made.

This morning, he gives me a funny look, and says, "I wanna be Blue!"

"You want to be Blue?" Signing Time is on the TV. No sign of Blue;s Clues anywhere.

"Halloween! I wanna be Blue!"

Oh, no.

And it hit me, He's been saying he wants to be Little Bear because he was Little Bear last year. He associates being Little Bear with Halloween. This morning, he realized he could be anything he wanted. And he wants to be Blue.

Excuse me while I attempt some Halloween magic.

Edit: A photo of the work so far:


Edit 2: Here it is!


Perhaps not on the par of the Happy Kitty Cottage, but I hope it does the trick. I'll probably be doign a good deal of hemming in the morning- it looks big to me.

Wordless Wednesday: Harvest Day

Finding the Key

One of the problems with relying on standardized testing to determine whether children are being educated is that "standardized" and "individualized" are extreme opposites. Even with non-disabled children, you learn more about their ability to take a test than any material that may be on that test. And I grade standardized writing tests for a living.

Joey is a whiz at math. Hey, its numbers, how hard can it be? Numbers, with predictable, unwavering rules and answers! No problemo!

Joey is not a whiz at language. He has a lot of difficulty with expressive speech, he has some issues with connecting events and scanning (just try to ask him to find anything, such as a toy he left in the kitchen).

Word problems can pose a challenge to all sorts of people with language and processing issues. The ability to analyze a statement and glean relevant information is something I have college students struggling with in my classes. However, in standardized testing,Joey will be expected to look at a word problem and come up with the answer. Just like that. It isn't that he can't do it- it is the time it takes him to do it. Not only do you have to answer correctly. Next grading period, he will also have to do it fast.

A little flashback: when I was in fifth grade, we took tests to determine which math and reading sections we would be in. Those of you who were not in the nerd crowd in fifth grade may not realize the consequences of taking those testing and ending up in the wrong section. You were already a social pariah; being a misfit even among misfits was like finding yourself a reindeer with a stupid glowing nose on the Island of Misfit Toys. It was social and academic ruin.

These tests were not just about getting the answers right- you had to get them fast. In the end, kids who finished the test, even though they got questions wrong, were rated higher than kids who got everything they did right, but didn't finish. So I, already teetering on the brink of Extreme Nerd-dom, was pushed over the precipice. Every question I answered was correct. I just wasn't fast enough. I spent the entire fifth grade bored to tears in the second-tier math section. It wasn't math that was the problem. It was processing and writing.

Therefore, I hate timed math tests.

Meanwhile, Joey needs to learn to do word problems, or suffer the same fate, only worse, because what he really needs to do is be in the second-grade math class, not piddling about in some second-tier first-grade math class. But we have to prove it via standardized test- his classwork isn't enough. Especially when he is being assigned "P" grades* in math, despite his boredom.

So we (his case manage Mrs. Huff and I) swung into action, and called his speech therapist, Ms. Nikki, to help. And here is what happened:

Ms. Nikki, being a genius, explained to Joey that word problems were like little stories, and playing a game of "Blue's Clues." He needed to find all the clues in the story, put them together, and answer the question.

She then gave him some word problems, and showed him how to "find the clues", how to figure out how to put them together (creating the abstract equation- are we adding the numbers or subtracting them?), and then how to "answer the question" (such as "how many more..." or "What is the total...?")

Not only did he learn to do it himself by the middle of the session, he was having fun, he was proud of himself for figuring it out (he's really smart!), and he understood what he was supposed to be doing.

She gave him something to connect to, and understand what was expected. She used his love of reading (stories!) with his love of The Mighty Striped Man and his Blue Sidekick, and got him to really be interested in what he needed to be doing. I bet we have very few problems with those word problems- unless being timed gets him.


*In our school, the lower grades do not get ordinary grades. They get "S" (Satisfactory), "P" ("Progressing with Effort") and "N" ("Needs Improvement"). So this lady spent our meeting telling me how great he was doing and how bored he was with the math, then basically gave him the grade of "C" for his math. Huh?

Note to Self

If the OT comes out and asks if she can make some weird, space-age slime with your son to take home, say NO.

Because he will put it in his pocket. And it sticks to fabric. And it doesn't wash out.

Harvest Festival: Part One

A few pics to tide you over until I can find more minutes to write all about it.

What can i say?

So, after a glorious afternoon at Harvest Fest, we settle the boys in for the evening, and then to bed. Andy and I made up our latest installment of T-Rex and the Lizard Friends- they went to the Harvest Festival and had a really great time with the rides and the pumpkins and the haunted house and all.

Then my dear, darling son reaches over with both hands and starts kneading my boobs like bread.

"What is dis, Mommy?" he asks innocently enough and I brush his hands away.
"That's my chest, dear..."
"I like dem. Dey is squishy," he announces and he kneads them again.
"It isn't polite to squish a lady's chest, hon," I try again.
"But I like to squish them!" he protests.

I think I have cracked a rub trying not to laugh.


(***Stay Tuned for Harvest Fest post and pics***)

Saturday Retrospective: The Passing of a Generation

The Heinz sisters (left to right): Junie, Esther, Marie (in lap), and Ruth. Ruth died very young. Marie was my Granny Pinkie.


Esther, Marie, and Esther's husband Fred.


My Granny Pinkie, my Great-Uncle Frank, and my Great-Aunt Barbara Hope. Aunt Barbie Hope was my grandfather's sister, and Frank was her husband.


My Granny Rabbit and Pop-Pop. These were my father's parents. I don't currently have any photos of my grandmother's sisters, Tressa and Pauline (my grandmother was Mary).


The grown Heinz sisters: Junie, Marie, and Esther.


We are unsure who the adults are in this photo, but I suspect they are my grandmother's grandparents (the Heinzes). If I am correct, we have: my great-great grandmother Annie Krug Heinz, my great-great grandfather Evan A. Heinz, my grandmother Marie, my great-uncle Evan (he died when my mom was young), my great-aunt Esther, my great-aunt Junie, and my great-aunt Ruth.


This is the Perrygo clan. I know who some of these people are, but not all of them- and though I know the names, which face does the name belong to? I can say my grandfather had a lot of brothers and sisters, and I think this photo has most of them. Clint, Annette, Margaret, Edgar, Maurice, Elmer, Percy, Watson, and my grandfather, Leroy. It is likely that his parents, Elmer and Rosa, are also shown here.


My Pop-Pop Conway, the real Santa Claus (Mr. King), my Granny Pinkie, and the real Mrs. Claus (Mrs. King). I grew up with these people being Mr. and Mrs. Claus... period.


My grandmother, my grandfather, my great-aunt Betty, and my great-uncle Bob. Bob was my grandfather's brother. Betty was his wife, and she died this morning.

They are all gone now.

Meltdown in 3... 2...

And unfortunately, I am not referring to my children.

Its a rainy day. I've been trying to engage my children in an activity that does not involve the television or the computer to no avail. No interest in making bead-chains, decorations, water-colors. Joey briefly got interested in drawing cupcakes and coloring them and cutting them out, but then he wanted to take them to a friend. Great.

So I give up, put them in shoes and coats to go for a walk in the lull of the rain. We are out to collect leaves and other now-wet items, and Joey had put his paper cupcakes in his bucket, so I offered to hold them. I take the cupcakes and store them in a safe pocket- to be left also holding the bucket. "No, Joey," I hand him back his bucket. "You have to carry this."

And then the "I have to be first" game starts. Joey runs screaming down the street because Andy is ahead of him. And then he gets ahead of Andy, and Andy starts to run to get ahead of Joey. And they are both screaming. And no one is looking at leaves, or acorns, or even where they are going. We live in the town, you have to watch for things like cars.

So I call them back, and try to explain that we are trying to have a nice walk and... Joey starts chewing on his bucket, wandering away down the street, paying not one nevermind to me at all... actually, he's just avoiding me. Right into the street.

So I recall him, and take the bucket so he will pay attention to what I am saying, and he starts emptying his lungs.

We gather ourselves together, and we start to continue the walk...

And it starts to pour. We need to go home. So I say, "It's raining, we have to go home." And Joey commences screaming again, now a good tantrum- how frustrating to be told everything is fine, only to it suddenly not be fine for an entirely different reason.

I melted down on the spot.

I manage to get hold of hands and half-drag my children back to the house, with Joey screeching the whole block home.

************************************
Edited a couple of hours later: JOey is in front of the computer Andy is watching his beloved new favorite, Max and Ruby. All quiet on the eastern front.

LRE Catch-22

A couple Falls ago, we- that is, my sons and I- started attending church. We gave a couple of churches around a try, and had a lot of trouble the minute the word “autism” was uttered- local churches, particularly Sunday School teachers- wanted no parts of it. Some of you may want to drawl on about how Sunday School teachers are volunteers, they have no special education training, they aren’t prepared to deal with special needs, yadda, yadda, yadda. And I say to you: this is supposed to be a Christian community. Joey is part of that community. I’m happy to help and talk with you and even be in the classroom to support him; but you have to welcome him in. We were turned away.

So we ended up in one of the big downtown churches, mostly because when I mentioned that Joey was autistic, the Sunday School supervisor said “OK.” And when I asked to meet with her and with his teachers, they all said, “Wonderful.” And then we met, and talked, and it may not have been a perfect world of support and understanding, but everyone did their best and the teachers loved Joey just as they loved all the other kids in their class, and stressed that we’re all God’s children and He loves us all just as we are- including Joey. Some of the kids liked him, and were friendly; some of the kids didn’t, and weren’t, and it was funny how this was mirrored in their parents’ reaction to meeting him or seeing him. We were glad to have a place where Joey could be an active participant in his community among his peers.

Then we moved on a year, and the next teacher wasn’t interested in meeting, and it was a little less successful a year, and the supervisor that was so willing to listen left. That’s the way Sunday Schools go. Some people stick it out forever, some folks come and go. Andy’s Sunday School teachers had been at it for fifty years.

And then we signed up for Vacation Bible School. I would call that moderate success. We had some incidents, but overall, he had a good time, and all was OK, even though I had to be there with him instead of letting him be on his own a little. The new supervisor of Sunday School mentioned there were plans for a special needs class in the Sunday school, and would I like to get into the discussions about it? There was a problem where the upper-levels (second grade and up) do “Rotation Sunday School.” This means that the kids have rotating themes throughout the year- and they move from room to room for different activities. We had a couple of the older set that couldn’t handle all that change so quickly (Sunday School is only about an hour, remember). So I said I’d be glad to help, and heard nothing more about it.

I’ve been working on a lot of Sundays. The Fall is the busy season for one of my jobs, and as it also has a slow season, I like to try to build up some cash now to tide over the slower months (although it usually ends up making money to play catch-up from being through the slower months). We finally got a chance to go to Sunday School last week, as my work was cancelled for the day. So we went to introduce the guys to their new rooms: Andy to the preschool-4’s (the teachers Joey had his first year), and Joey to the First Grade room.

So I arrive and take Andy to his room, and one of the ladies pulls me aside and asks me about Joey. How is he doing? Where am I taking him?

We got guided not to the First Grade room, but to a new class- the Disabilities class, which currently consists of those two older kids, and now Joey. They have two people who “alternate” covering the class, and they are both special educators in their real lives. (How is “alternating” the teacher going to help kids with trouble with transitions and change?)

In other words, for Sunday School, Joey just got put in the self-contained classroom. And I find myself in a bit of a Catch-22.

Apparently, the first grade teacher doesn’t want Joey in her room, because she had one of the now-older kids, and didn’t know what to do with him. In other words, she was not properly supported before, and has no desire to be left in the cold twice. That may be reasonable enough, but where does that leave Joey? Isolated and closeted in a self-contained environment- a class that I am being given the strong impression was created specifically for him and these two other kids, one of which isn’t showing up regularly, either. He will get one-on-one (or nearly so, if the other kid shows up) attention for reading the little weekly reader things and the week’s Bible lesson. But he’ll be shut away from his friends, from his peers, and they are shut away from him.

I appreciate the effort and thought of trying to support people with special needs, but what about supporting them in the least restrictive environment?

What is more important? Learning Bible stories, or being included in the community of his peers? You probably have figured out my answer to that. If you haven’t, please note nowhere else in this post have I said anything about Bible stories.

That may seem strange to some folks, but we’re Methodists. The Bible stories themselves aren’t nearly as important as the lessons they teach- love, acceptance, honor, respect, living a life that spreads God’s grace in love through positive action and attitude. What good is memorizing The Good Samaritan if you keep passing by on the other side of the road every time you see someone in need? Teach the kid to help the person in need. They can read the Bible story later.

So we are left with a Sunday dilemma. Do we go back? Do we leave Joey in the self-contained room, or do we fight to have him in a room where the teacher doesn’t want to deal with him? Should we be looking for a new church home?

To the pumpkin patch!

We went to the pumpkin patch this afternoon. It is supposed to rain tomorrow, Andy has Harvest Day on Sunday, Halloween is Friday, so today was the day. We were pleased to see lots of other folks at Snead's Farm, because that means Snead's made money today, and we like them. We got to pick out pumpkins, play in the hay in the barn, check out the goats, llamas, and chickens, and have a great time. Yay, Fall!

Joey loves pumpkins. This year he's been into odd-colored pumpkins. He has a white one he bought with Grandma, and today he picked out this green one. He spent a good part of the afternoon cradling it in his arms, patting it lovingly, and referring to it as his "baby pumpkin." Which, it is- a baby, unripe pumpkin. Smart boy.

Andy picked out this little tiny pumpkin. Now, when I was a mere lass, my brother and I picked out a pair of pumpkins together. His was very tall and thin, and mine was tiny. We called them "Laurel and Hardly." Andy would have been in love with Hardly.
Then we went for a good chicken chase. Andy likes pretending to be a T. Rex and run after the chickens, roaring. He scared the bejeebus out of some chickens today. Sorry Myrtle May.

Joey preferred to chase the chickens while crowing like a rooster. Or just crowing. He sounded remarkably like a real rooster. Maddy's son would be so proud of him.

Yummy chocolate for Andy's school

Andy's school is having a fundraiser selling Gertrude Hawk chocolates. Very yummy yummy chocolate. If you are interested, you can order online (just click here), and they just ship it to you. Yummy yummy chocolate. To your door. And Andy's school gets money. Yummy.

Dismissed

For almost two years now- or is it longer?- Joey has insisted that someone sit in his room with him while he drifts off to sleep. Trying to leave before the child was fully asleep meant starting over in the whole 30-40 minute process. JoeyAndyDad has taken on the task the vast majority of evenings, sitting in the chair that was once my grandfather's, turning on his iPod to listen to a book once Joey was calm and quiet and just dropping off. Sometimes Joey likes to watch his aquarium light for a while before really going to sleep.

Every once in a while, we get a glimmer of possibility that this ritual may be ending.

Last night, Joey dismissed his dad after story time. I was still reading to Andy and making up our latest T-Rex and the Lizards installment, so when Andy was all tucked in, I wandered over to Joey's room to check on him. He has his fish light on.

I was also dismissed after a good squishing.

He went to the bathroom once, and spent the rest of time in his own room, being quiet. And then he fell asleep all by himself.

I think my baby is growing up.

Never Forget

"In Germany, they came first for the Communists,
And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist;
And then they came for the trade unionists,
And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist;
And then they came for the Jews,
And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew;
And then . . . they came for me . . .
And by that time there was no one left to speak up."
-Martin Niemöller

There are many times when someone said or did something ignorant and mean, and I have spoken up. Every time I do so, I of course get my share of folks who support and folks who just plain don't get why I'm unhappy. Such is the way of the world; ignorance is hard to admit to and give up.

And there are plenty of moments when I have been reminded of my own ignorance, bias, and thoughtlessness. Thinking and changing is part of growing, and may I never stop growing until I'm dead. There is always more to learn.

But it remains hard to realize that there are some lessons people should have long ago learned and generalized, and yet the mistakes remain part of our society, even praised. Being"politically correct" once meant you showed respect to others and engaged in constructive dialogue using constructive language; somewhere along the way, that got lost in a frenzy of semantics and bulldog attitudes that insisted the point was more than to not offend. Is it really more respectful to say "disabled" instead of "handicapped"? The idea of asking a disabled or handicapped person- particularly the person standing in front of you- got lost in the war of folks on one side or the other. So much for being politically correct. The phrase got picked up and bashed by those who only wanted to think of themselves, which is so much easier, anyway.

Why is it is still "funny" to laugh at people, instead of with people? Most of us recoil at the idea of blackface being funny, but still laugh at the "retard." We fail to see the difference between Bill Cosby talking about having to kiss his aunts or dropping his ice cream and Topsy jokes. Do you know the difference? Why is latter offensive, and the former not? Why do people still think it funny to laugh at other people, when it is well-known that laughing at someone because of their race or religion is unacceptable?

There is a huge difference between laughing at someone, and laughing with someone. Laughing at people is mean. I refuse to condone it.

Wordless Wednesday: Today's accomplishment

Eep. Or, What's happening here.

Sorry for the post lag. I am grading the worst set of midterms I have ever gotten. We are trying to figure out what is going on with Joey in math. I had to put away the boys' big pool-slide today before it starts to really freeze around here. And I've been working like the Little Beaver Who Could.

Joey read Green Eggs and Ham to me last night, entirely by himself. He had his first box of 64 Crayolas today, which are right now his greatest treasure- all those colors, including "macaroni and cheese"! He was having some tummy distress in the car- the return of car sickness is not a good sign for sensory integration (here comes another sensory shift! AAAA!)

Andy's after-school mood is consistently Crabby. We took him for pizza yesterday because he positively would NOT go into the Olive Garden (where we normally have lunch when we go out with Grandma). He still likes dinosaurs. We're now making up the Adventures of T-Rex and the Lizard Brothers regularly at bedtime (maybe I should write them down and start a new classic children's story series). We've added Spider, Fox, Frog, Spooky, and Pumpkin to our list of characters this week. They tend to like to blow bubbles and play Hide-and-Seek.

I have two hours off tomorrow. I would dearly love to spend it curled up in my living room watching Time Bandits whilst stitching up something pretty from mom for Christmas in front of a small, comfy fire in the fireplace. Maybe if I feel energetic, I could arrange the mantel for Halloween. But I'm placing my money on the two hours being spent mulching the garden, digging through the guest room to even try to get to the Halloween decorations, and maybe some random cleaning-type activities. Because i suck.

But I will ltry for a few minutes of blogging. Really.

Fly on the ceiling of my car.

"aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj ..."
"We found dinosaurs! Mommy! Dinosaurs!"

"Well, they didn't do too bad. It was a pretty long service, we couldn't have stayed for the whole thing anyway."
"Andy was asleep through most of it."
"That helped."

"aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj ..."
"Dinosaur bites the babies. They get in the water splash and crocodiles eat them. They dead."

"The people behind us seemed very nice. They didn't even complain about Joey telling the church to be quiet."
"Yes, they were very patient."
'And the folks in front of us were nice about the kicking."
"Very."

"aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj ..."
"AAAARRRRRGGGG! T-Rex eats the crocodile!"

"Considering how loud it was, they did really well."
"Yes, I'm very proud of them."

"aaEEEE{snort} onmyGREEshur aasisma anj Look at the pretty leaves! onmyGREEshur aasisma anj ..."

Sunday Retrospective: In Memory of Love Lost II

Just sayin'

I can hardly wait for the series of ads about the word "retard." Mean is such a huge part of human culture and experience. Want to solve some global problems? Start with using respectful and appropriate language. Be specific and clear. Randomly insulting others to make your point only displays your own ignorance and lack of language fluency. Don't like the little chef figure? It's dumb, it's ugly, it's weird to you. Say that. "Look at that chef, man- it's so stupid! Those pants are too wild! Check it out!"

Being disrespectful is just that. All we need is a little Golden Rule: treat others as you would want to be treated. This shouldn't be a revolutionary concept in human society anymore- it is thousands of years old now.

Bloggie Love

To my great surprise and delight, abfh gave me a beautiful new award! Surprised, because we often go head-to-head on important issues, delighted because I always learn something new when we do.

Now I get to pass this on to my eclectic taste in blogs.

First and foremost, this absolutely must go to Maddy at Whitterer on Autism, always good for a new insight into life with people who think about the world in a very different way from you do- and live in the same house. And not just the autistic people. I also recommend her blog Sandwiched Genes, which includes more of the old-style Maddy posts about conversations in her house, as if you were a fly on the wall. I'd get swatted, of course, because the room would hear me giggling.

This also must go to Stimey at Stimeyland, who embiggens us all. One of these days I'm getting up there for a playdate, Stimey. Really. I think our kids would have a blast. Discover her adventures in having sons, with and without autism.

Here is to Miss Kitty at Educated and Poor, and her adventures in academia. Miss Kitty taught an awesome class about country music over the summer- how cool is that for a comp lit prof? Better yet, she has a chicken named Myrtle May, and lots and lots of kitties at the Happy Kitty Cottage!

Please go visit Ambulance Driver at A Day In the Life of an Ambulance Driver. The evil Sumdood lurks in the corners of a world of coffee, midnight ambulance runs, hurricanes, and a beautiful little girl named KatyBeth. AD addresses issues of entitlement, disability, compassion, and trying to make sense of complete nonsense in the medical world.

One of the new blogs I'm following- and finding really interesting- is Jen at I'm Going Coconuts. I'm kind of lurking there, but I think it is worth a look at her life with her beautiful children, including a child with Asperger's Syndrome. She's starting to navigate through the special ed world.

Here's one for Kristina at Autism Vox, where we discover the larger issues of disability rights and experience, combined with personal notes abotu her family and experience close-at-hand with autism.

And then everybody ought to go say hello to kristi at Autism, Blessings, Challenges her her wonderful TC. It's a straight forward blog about day-to-day living in a world that includes autism.


abfh already awarded it to Niksmom at Maternal Instincts, but I thought I'd let her know I'd give it to her, too, But it doesnt' count to give it to somebody who already just got it, right?


There are a few other blogs I could pass this to, but most of them don't care about awards and stuff, and I'm only supposed to give seven, and wow, this was hard to choose. Thanks everybody for your fabulous blogs and insights!

Why it isn't funny

Club 166 has drawn our attention to an offensive skit put on by Saturday Night Live, and now showcased on NBC's website. The fact that people find this funny is very disturbing. This isn't laughing with someone (such as The Birdcage might be to the gay community). This SNL skit is nothing but pure mean. 100% pure mean. If you think something this mean is funny, all I can say is, wait until this kind of meanness is directed at you.

Even though Joey stayed home from school today with his cough, we went ahead and had OT. It's amazing how much work my boys have done in the last few years. Andy's OT saw us there, so she fetched the results from his latest eval and sat down with me to look at it. He's gone from moderate deficits in motor control and sensory integration, to being fully functional in the classroom and displaying normal-range motor skills in our year of OT. We have a number of strategies for dealing with the remaining sensory issues. We are considering having him in a group OT setting over the summer, but for all intents and purposes, he's discharged. How's them apples?

Around the corner came a friend of ours from school. His mom is big in the disability community around here. He's in middle school now. He's come a long way; he asks and answers questions now, even though his speech pattern consists of rises and falls of inflection that give his speech and eerie, sing-song sound, he does speak with good control of language. He flapped his hands happily to see his mom in the waiting room. He had come out to get some water, and the OT aide came with him to guide him over to the sink, where he got his own water, though it took some prompting and a few tries. A sing-song stream of talk on his favorite subject accompanied the process, then stopped abruptly when it was time to return to the session.

I thought of that SNL skit, and realized, with a deep sense of grief and anger, that people who think that skit is funny, probably will think this child is funny. And stupid. And not worth knowing.

And how wrong they are. The child has problems with social behavior and cues, but his ability to read and do math are amazing. Listening to his knowledge on his favorite topics is like listening to a living dissertation. He tells jokes- good ones. He has his own way of doing things, many very inventive ways of getting around his own motor skill difficulties. He's a good, smart, hard-working kid. To think of him as the butt of jokes because of his challenges just makes me see red.

Joey comes out, and I know he will also be facing those people who think mean is funny. He tilts his head, smiling as he jogs in a tight circle while his OT tells me about the session. He shows me the pumpkin he drew, a beautiful orange jack-o-lantern, with "Jack-o-lantern" written in his blocky letters on the back. I have a first grader who can spell "headphones" and "smudge" and "cheeseburger", who can read on a third-grade level, who can add three numbers together- but he is still considered by some people to be a joke. Something to be scorned, laughed at, put down.

Then they tell me to "get over it."

I don't think so.