An Essential Determinant
Aug. 24th, 2024 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muchtooarrogantLJI Week 7: Hikikomori
How many times have you heard the expression, "Humans are gregarious creatures?"
There are a few variations. Sometimes "animals" is swapped out for "creatures," and "social" is substituted for "gregarious," but the overall meaning is the same. The overarching idea is that humans are convivial, fond of company, companionable. Oxford's list of adjectives even stretches to include "clubbable" which I frankly doubt is a word, but ya know, Oxford and all.
My reaction to the expression? I'm amused every time I hear or read it. Obviously, I understand that the statement is referring to humans collectively, not just one curmudgeonly blind dude, but still. So many of my foundational experiences were antithetical to that idea.
While researching this topic, I happened across an interesting article. The neurobiology of human social behaviour: an important but neglected topic
As someone who has a bit of lived experience in this area, I'm going to push back on that a bit. Can blind people form social relationships? Obviously yes. Does the inability to see facial expressions sometimes make that a challenging or fraught process? Again, yes. What effect might that lack of input have on overall social development? "Essential determinant" sounds really cool, but using that as a baseline glosses over so much.
I grew up in a popular suburb outside of Austin, TX, but not in a traditional neighborhood with multiple blocks of houses. Our property was made up of five acres, was accessed by a two-lane country road, and was surrounded by cow pastures. The great thing about this was that my parents kept a pretty light rein on things I was not allowed to do, which meant that I frequently roamed all over our property exploring with one of our dogs, climbed up to the roofs of sheds and out buildings, created ill-conceived structures out of wood, and on rare but painfully memorable occasions, wandered into areas frequented by yellow jackets. The not so great part, from a socialization aspect anyway, was that my group of playmates was composed of one person, me. While this taught me the very valuable trait of self-reliance, I think I also internalized the idea that solitude was not only okay, but in most cases was actually preferrable to group activities.
School, an undoubtedly important motivator in the socialization journey for most kids, affected me a little differently. I attended a school for the blind through fourth grade, which was recommended to my parents as a good way of introducing me to concepts that a public school might not teach as well. Learning how to read braille, traveling independently with a cane, etc. The problem was that while they did a good job teaching those blind centric tasks, as a state institution they didn't do quite so well in teaching core concepts like reading, writing, and mathematics. So, in fifth grade, I was transferred back to my local school district.
Can you say culture shock? Normal class sizes at the school for the blind were around five students, whereas public school classes were easily four times that number. At the school for the blind, I was surrounded by people who were either blind like myself or TVI's, Teachers of the Visually Impaired. In fifth grade, there was one TVI who was only at the school part time, and none of the other students were blind or knew anything about blindness. The most common way kids introduced themselves to me was by asking, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Zero, after I break them all!" Oh, did I say that out loud?
Suddenly, I was the odd one out. Unless the teacher had assigned seating, chairs around me tended to remain empty. In some cases, if the assistive technology I was using was too large to fit on a standard student desk, I was actually seated at a separate larger table in the front or at the back of the classroom. Conversations took place around me, but did not include me. In one memorable instance, a student teacher decided to give the class a quiz, but because they didn't have the material prepared ahead of time, an established process they should have known about, I sat at my desk with nothing to do while everyone else in the class took the quiz and graded it.
Please don't misunderstand me, I will forever be grateful that my parents transferred me back to public school; education is everything! In the beginning though, as a ten-year-old kid, I was overwhelmed by the number of people I had to navigate around in the halls between classes, and significantly underwhelmed by the personalities on display. As time passed, already a pretty solitary kid, I pulled back even more.
I should mention here as well that, for me, self-doubt never entered the equation. I was socially isolated, partially by my own choice, and partially by immature group dynamics and prejudice—oh my god, he's blind, what if it's catching—but it never occurred to me that I was to blame. Sure, I was lonely at times and would've enjoyed having more friends, there just weren't any good candidates. It was a bit like that old television complaint, hundreds of channels, but nothing good to watch.
One day in world history class, the teacher had divided us into teams and was asking questions designed to help us review for an upcoming test. Each team took turns answering questions, but it wasn't like we were allowed to consult with each other. If it was your team's turn and you knew the answer, you raised your hand. If the teacher picked you and you answered incorrectly, your team forfeited and the other team got a chance to answer. We'd been playing for a while, and it was my team's turn again. The teacher asked a question, I knew the answer, and raised my hand. I must not have been the only one though because instantly at least four people screamed my name for the teacher to pick.
My thought was, "Oh, so now I'm popular?" I was a little too competitive to screw them over by giving the wrong answer on purpose, but I was very tempted!
If you're thinking that was a pretty negative outlook on my part, you're absolutely right! By high school, I had developed not caring about my peers or their opinions into an art form, and except for a couple of close friends, brushed off attempts from other students to get to know me. I actively shunned most school activities, with the exception of a few, like speech and debate, that I enjoyed.
Looking back now, I can't really blame the younger me for deciding, "This is bullshit!" Sure, I would advise him to tone it down a bit, dial back on things he said primarily designed to communicate thinly veiled contempt, and maybe not shoot down everyone who tried to reach out. (I mean, some of those were girls!) Even now though, I hesitate. Experience has taught me the value of social relationships, but if I'm being honest, I'm still not particularly good at maintaining them. In college, I started meeting people I could relate to, and since it was a new environment, I also let down my guard enough to begin developing those acquaintances into longer term relationships. The career choices I made led to training people one-on-one, then training groups of twenty-five or more, and eventually presenting to audiences at large conferences.
For the most part though, I'm still a pretty solitary person. Gatherings with friends and family are cool, but usually after I'm about an hour in, I start thinking about whether I can sneak off to another room, close the door, and read my latest Kindle book. A gregarious creature? Not me!
How many times have you heard the expression, "Humans are gregarious creatures?"
There are a few variations. Sometimes "animals" is swapped out for "creatures," and "social" is substituted for "gregarious," but the overall meaning is the same. The overarching idea is that humans are convivial, fond of company, companionable. Oxford's list of adjectives even stretches to include "clubbable" which I frankly doubt is a word, but ya know, Oxford and all.
My reaction to the expression? I'm amused every time I hear or read it. Obviously, I understand that the statement is referring to humans collectively, not just one curmudgeonly blind dude, but still. So many of my foundational experiences were antithetical to that idea.
While researching this topic, I happened across an interesting article. The neurobiology of human social behaviour: an important but neglected topic
Human social neuroscience is receiving increasing attention, but much of the current work concerns social cognition. For example, studies on the activation of different brain areas in response to faces with different expressions are interesting and important, but they are not central to the regulation of actual social behaviour. If response to faces was an essential determinant of social interaction, then blind people would not be able to form adequate social relationships and the use of text messaging would not be nearly as widespread as it is.
As someone who has a bit of lived experience in this area, I'm going to push back on that a bit. Can blind people form social relationships? Obviously yes. Does the inability to see facial expressions sometimes make that a challenging or fraught process? Again, yes. What effect might that lack of input have on overall social development? "Essential determinant" sounds really cool, but using that as a baseline glosses over so much.
I grew up in a popular suburb outside of Austin, TX, but not in a traditional neighborhood with multiple blocks of houses. Our property was made up of five acres, was accessed by a two-lane country road, and was surrounded by cow pastures. The great thing about this was that my parents kept a pretty light rein on things I was not allowed to do, which meant that I frequently roamed all over our property exploring with one of our dogs, climbed up to the roofs of sheds and out buildings, created ill-conceived structures out of wood, and on rare but painfully memorable occasions, wandered into areas frequented by yellow jackets. The not so great part, from a socialization aspect anyway, was that my group of playmates was composed of one person, me. While this taught me the very valuable trait of self-reliance, I think I also internalized the idea that solitude was not only okay, but in most cases was actually preferrable to group activities.
School, an undoubtedly important motivator in the socialization journey for most kids, affected me a little differently. I attended a school for the blind through fourth grade, which was recommended to my parents as a good way of introducing me to concepts that a public school might not teach as well. Learning how to read braille, traveling independently with a cane, etc. The problem was that while they did a good job teaching those blind centric tasks, as a state institution they didn't do quite so well in teaching core concepts like reading, writing, and mathematics. So, in fifth grade, I was transferred back to my local school district.
Can you say culture shock? Normal class sizes at the school for the blind were around five students, whereas public school classes were easily four times that number. At the school for the blind, I was surrounded by people who were either blind like myself or TVI's, Teachers of the Visually Impaired. In fifth grade, there was one TVI who was only at the school part time, and none of the other students were blind or knew anything about blindness. The most common way kids introduced themselves to me was by asking, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Zero, after I break them all!" Oh, did I say that out loud?
Suddenly, I was the odd one out. Unless the teacher had assigned seating, chairs around me tended to remain empty. In some cases, if the assistive technology I was using was too large to fit on a standard student desk, I was actually seated at a separate larger table in the front or at the back of the classroom. Conversations took place around me, but did not include me. In one memorable instance, a student teacher decided to give the class a quiz, but because they didn't have the material prepared ahead of time, an established process they should have known about, I sat at my desk with nothing to do while everyone else in the class took the quiz and graded it.
Please don't misunderstand me, I will forever be grateful that my parents transferred me back to public school; education is everything! In the beginning though, as a ten-year-old kid, I was overwhelmed by the number of people I had to navigate around in the halls between classes, and significantly underwhelmed by the personalities on display. As time passed, already a pretty solitary kid, I pulled back even more.
I should mention here as well that, for me, self-doubt never entered the equation. I was socially isolated, partially by my own choice, and partially by immature group dynamics and prejudice—oh my god, he's blind, what if it's catching—but it never occurred to me that I was to blame. Sure, I was lonely at times and would've enjoyed having more friends, there just weren't any good candidates. It was a bit like that old television complaint, hundreds of channels, but nothing good to watch.
One day in world history class, the teacher had divided us into teams and was asking questions designed to help us review for an upcoming test. Each team took turns answering questions, but it wasn't like we were allowed to consult with each other. If it was your team's turn and you knew the answer, you raised your hand. If the teacher picked you and you answered incorrectly, your team forfeited and the other team got a chance to answer. We'd been playing for a while, and it was my team's turn again. The teacher asked a question, I knew the answer, and raised my hand. I must not have been the only one though because instantly at least four people screamed my name for the teacher to pick.
My thought was, "Oh, so now I'm popular?" I was a little too competitive to screw them over by giving the wrong answer on purpose, but I was very tempted!
If you're thinking that was a pretty negative outlook on my part, you're absolutely right! By high school, I had developed not caring about my peers or their opinions into an art form, and except for a couple of close friends, brushed off attempts from other students to get to know me. I actively shunned most school activities, with the exception of a few, like speech and debate, that I enjoyed.
Looking back now, I can't really blame the younger me for deciding, "This is bullshit!" Sure, I would advise him to tone it down a bit, dial back on things he said primarily designed to communicate thinly veiled contempt, and maybe not shoot down everyone who tried to reach out. (I mean, some of those were girls!) Even now though, I hesitate. Experience has taught me the value of social relationships, but if I'm being honest, I'm still not particularly good at maintaining them. In college, I started meeting people I could relate to, and since it was a new environment, I also let down my guard enough to begin developing those acquaintances into longer term relationships. The career choices I made led to training people one-on-one, then training groups of twenty-five or more, and eventually presenting to audiences at large conferences.
For the most part though, I'm still a pretty solitary person. Gatherings with friends and family are cool, but usually after I'm about an hour in, I start thinking about whether I can sneak off to another room, close the door, and read my latest Kindle book. A gregarious creature? Not me!
