Getting The Low-Down On Down's

The older I get, the crankier and more miserable I appear to become. I would like to be able to put this down to old age, yet the reality is that I have sometimes allowed my mindset to perpetuate this notion, since not everyone I know of a similar age is necessarily so. COVID-19 has tested my resolve to its limits and my tendency for being Mister Grumpy has worsened during each successive lockdown. The third, and hopefully final, installment of this wretched episode in modern-day human history has hit me the hardest. Although why? I am privileged to live in a lovely home with a generous garden and have every conceivable piece of modern technology at my fingertips. I am at little risk of going hungry and an escape to the open countryside is within touching distance. And I know that with the vaccination roll-out in full swing a return to a more normal life is agonisingly close. I can metaphorically beat myself over the head with the usual line that I should be grateful for, but this has only a limited effect.

Walking around the local supermarket recently, mask and beanie hat on, looking like an extra from some low budget crime drama, was my excitement for the day although I was angry. I wanted my life back. Then I met the one thing I could easily vent my venom at and instantly recoiled in the fruit and vegetable aisle as I looked towards the clothing section. A big smiling face! It dominated my vision taunting me with its misplaced happiness. The advertisement hording hung from above. Then again, the model had Down syndrome. They are always happy and smiling, aren’t they?

Back home as I scrolled through LinkedIn, I came across the incredible story of twenty-two-year-old Heba Asaad who recently became the first Egyptian flight attendant with Down syndrome. A cursory search on social media revealed that she was also an undergraduate media student, radio presenter and actress. She was smiling too. At that precise moment I felt like crawling under a stone. My activated unconscious bias, a trait in others that I regularly acknowledged with the utmost revulsion, had hijacked my thinking. The conversations I had in my head about Down syndrome had become an unhealthy reality and if I had one piece of decency left it was the urge to investigate. I had proudly announced on my journalist bio page that I write about things that have puzzled, surprised, and overwhelmed me. If ever there was a trigger point that connected all the dots, then this was it.

Talking to Kate, mum of nineteen-year-old Duncan, opened my eyes and heart to an element of humanity that has enriched me. More importantly, if this piece can steer away just one person in the future from the catastrophe that is ignorance of human disability, then I will have achieved my greatest piece of journalism.