Published: July 05, 2009 12:24 am      

KEPPELER: When 'they' are just like you and me

LOCKPORT — “Because it could happen to you. It could happen to me ... and all of those we love.”

I wrote those words a long 10 years ago, a young reporter in my first full-time journalism job, in a column that ran in another Western New York newspaper.

A couple in the city in which I worked at that time was taking great offense to the notion that a home for people with developmental disabilities was being built in their neighborhood, so much so that they sought to stop it. They weren’t reticent in their tactics: Harsh words and fear and claims of danger and problems to come were being used to great effect to get others on their side.

People from the group, parents of those with disabilities and those with disabilities themselves had banded together to combat this, saddened by the misinformation and rather angered that someone who just didn’t understand — nor wanted to — would resort to it. Their children deserved the chance to live in a residential, rather than a institutional, setting, they said. Wouldn’t you want the same for your kids?

I went to the meetings, I listened to the words and I wrote a column standing by the latter group, suggesting that others try to learn some compassion and, well, get over themselves. It earned me some angry letters from the former. I didn’t respond, and I didn’t much care, content in my self-righteousness. What can I say? I thought I knew it all.

The following year, I left that paper to take a job with Greater Niagara Newspapers. As often happens when we get older, things changed. I met a guy, got married, bought a home. Then I got pregnant.

And when I was 4 months pregnant, 30 years old, I got the news that so many of those parents I’d talked to so long ago had dealt with before I’d ever met them:

My son had Down Syndrome.

And everything changed. And nothing changed.

On Monday, this newspaper ran a story about group homes for the developmentally disabled and how they’re getting some of the fallout from the death June 8 of Renee Greco, who was a youth counselor at Avenue House, a group home for troubled teens in Lockport.

Of course, they’re entirely different things. Those at places like Avenue House are usually mandated by court order to be there. Residents at group homes like those and their families run by Opportunities Unlimited — and the one I wrote about 10 years ago — are there by choice.

Peter Drew, chief operating officer of Opportunities Unlimited, said misconceptions about the homes and the developmentally disabled have created obstacles in the past.

“We’ve had problems opening group homes in North Tonawanda and in Wheatfield,” he said. “For both of those homes, the neighbors really hadn’t had much (experience) ... they just didn’t know what to expect.”

Charlotte Cunningham, director of residential and support services for the Eastern region, noted how well the residences blend in with their neighborhoods.

“We’re good neighbors, too,” she said. “We watch out for the people in the neighborhood, and they watch out for us.”

In other words, they’re real people. They’re individuals. They’re not numbers, and they’re not dangerous or scary. They might be just a bit different because of a roll of the genetic dice ... but that doesn’t change their wishes or their right to a home of their own.

My son is 4 years old now. He goes to preschool, which he adores, and likes to do the same things most 4-year-old boys like to do.

Like many other preschoolers, he has an obsession for fire trucks, likes to watch “Sesame Street” and tries to persuade me every day to walk to the playground. He tolerates his baby brother — and sometime even deigns to play with him. He likes playing hockey with Daddy in the driveway and swimming and visiting his grandparents.

He talks (a lot!), runs, plays, sings, counts ... call him disabled, call him delayed, call him whatever, he’s a bright kid. We have high hopes for him: elementary school, high school, perhaps college if he’s up for it. A job, an apartment, a so-called “normal” life.

And if an independent apartment isn’t something that works out, maybe a group home would be a good fit.

I can tell you how I’d feel if it were my son — far more like everyone else than unlike — and someone, with no basis in fact whatsoever, tried to say he couldn’t live near them because he might be “dangerous.”

I’d feel like I’d been kicked in the stomach. And then ... I’d be angry.

I’d write that column I wrote 10 years ago again today. And like I did 10 years ago, I’d end by making this suggestion:

If you learn that a home is moving in near you, I’m not asking you to go over with a plate of cookies — although that would be a very nice thing to do — but learn a little more about it before pointing fingers and calling names. Visit. Say hello. Be a good neighbor.

Someday, I may be there greeting you — because my son is getting his first apartment.

You see, it happened to me. And it could happen to you ... and all of those you love.

Jill Keppeler is a page designer for the Tonawanda News and Union-Sun & Journal. She can be reached at jill.keppeler@tonawanda-news.com.