Communication technology breakthroughs have always been scary and disruptive—the invention of the printing press, to name one, was considered an enormous threat to the of order of the day. As were inventions like the telephone and television.

The technologies themselves have never been good or evil per se. It’s the behavior of  people who use the technologies that are good or evil. The current technological power may be unprecedented, but really, in terms of the hill we humans have to constantly climb regarding behavior and ethics remains the same.

Take Twitter. In my lifetime, by my view, we’ve always had an analog version of it: bumper stickers. A car whizzes by, or sits there parked; the sticker—a virtual middle finger—reads “I’m right, you’re wrong,” later! Oh sure, Twitter is theoretically “interactive,” but really, online forums don’t invite true conversations; they enable us to chuck spears back and forth. Unless we decide not to.

And Facebook? Sure, there’s good (outside of its corporate behavior). But the analog to the bad in Facebook, to me, has always been the Christmas letter. Or at least some Christmas letters (I’m not a total Grinch). The ones from people we’re out of touch with that detail everything from kids’ test scores to bouts with IBS. If you’re in my inner circle and I’m in yours, I’d already know. If not, and you just want to say you’re thinking of someone, well, that’s where Christmas cards come in.

What got me thinking about all this was a piece in The Atlantic on the difference between grieving and mourning in the age of social media. The author had lost her young sister to cancer. And she observed what happened online in the aftermath—it wasn’t all good. In the piece she does not condemn social media, but invites participants to think about what they’re doing in times of other people’s loss. The basic idea is that there are people grieving a terrible loss, and what you do in mourning online can help or hurt. Or perhaps, best, do nothing.

She starts by describing a modern phenomenon: Learning on social media that someone died. Here’s a taste of her phenomenally well written and considered piece:

The morning after my sister Lauren died was cold and quiet, a mid-March prairie dawn, lit by gray half-light. For several hours I tried to figure out how to get out of bed. The most routine tasks are extraordinarily difficult in the early days of grief—Lauren’s death had torn a hole in my universe, and I knew the moment I moved I would fall right through it. Meanwhile, across the city, a former classmate of Lauren’s learned of her death. I’m still not sure how—she hadn’t kept in touch with Lauren during the three years since they graduated high school. But bad news travels astonishingly fast. The classmate selected what is perhaps the only picture of the two of them together, and decided to post it on Lauren’s timeline. Beneath it, she wrote “RIP” and something about heaven gaining an angel.

This Facebook post is how many of Lauren’s close friends learned that she had died. We—her family—hadn’t yet been able to call people. The first post sparked a cascade of statuses and pictures, many from people who barely knew her. It was as though an online community felt the need to claim a stake in her death, through syrupy posts that profoundly misrepresented who she was and sanitized what had happened to her.

The author goes on to spotlight the important difference between mourning, which is a public act, and grieving, which is private and internal. She doesn’t condemn social media outright, and acknowledges that it may be valuable in terms of shared mourning. (BTW, I came to find the article via…social media.) She just says let’s be careful and thoughtful out there.

She concludes with this advice about how to behave on social media in the wake of a death:

My proposal is simple: Wait. If the deceased is not a close family member, do not take it upon yourself to announce their death online. Consider where you fall in the geography of a loss, and tailor your behavior in response to the lead of those at the center. Listen. Rather than assuming the bereaved are ready for (or comfortable with) Facebook or Twitter tributes, send a private message, or even better, pick up the phone and call.

If you don’t feel comfortable expressing your condolences to the deceased’s friends and family, perhaps it isn’t your place to publicly eulogize.

I’m going to heed that advice, and hope you will, too. I also hope you’ll read the entire piece.

My Seeing Eye dog Whitney and I gave presentations to three more groups of third graders this past Tuesday.

Whit’s always up for a class visit.

It’s Disability Awareness Week at Sherwood Elementary and Red Oak Elementary Schools in Highland Park, Illinois. An athlete who is blind had been at both schools the day before to give presentations, and the third graders were eager to tell me all about her. “She was born blind,” one of the kids called out. “She learned to use that white stick when she was in first grade,” another young voice added. “She’s a triplet!” one exclaimed. “And she does triathlons!” I had to laugh. “One thing you’ll learn for sure today,” I told them. “Some of us blind people don’t have a lot in common!”

I’d learn later that the young woman who’d visited them Monday was Ashley Eisenmenger. An article I found in Illinois Country Living Magazine reports that she competes as a member of a Paratriathlon Development Team Through the Dare2Tri triathlon club based in Chicago.

The third graders were rightfully impressed with Ashley’s athleticism, but the questions they asked during my Q&A Tuesday revealed they were far more interested in the differences between being born blind and becoming blind:

• Do you sleep with your eyes closed or open?
• Did you go from being able to see to only seeing in one eye and then being blind?
• How do you know what person you are talking to?
• How do you know what you’re eating, do you just smell it and know?
• Do you have a husband?
• That lady who was born blind uses a stick that looks like a candy cane, if you’re born blind can’t you get a guide dog?
• How do you use the bathroom?
• When did you get blind?
• Can you drive?
• Is it hard to be a blind author?
• Are you going to be blind forever?
• When you dream can you see colors?
• If your husband isn’t home, how do you know what you are wearing?
• What author are you, anyway?
• Do you play video games?
• Are your dreams puffy?
• Would you prefer to be seeing?
• How do you know that your dog sat down when you told him to sit?
• How do you take a shower?
• Even if you can’t see, does sitting close to your computer screen hurt your eyes?
• If you don’t have a white stick, then how will you know if there is a big rock in your way?
• Is it busy in Chicago and its hard?
• Does your dog ever go to sleep?
• Do you know a second language?

That last question may seem out of nowhere until you learn that kids are taught in English and in Spanish at Red Oak Elementary: it’s a dual-language school. And my answer to that question was yes. “Of course I do,” I said with a smile. “I know Braille!”

Last week I wrote about how our plans to surprise our friend Nancy to see Elton John together went awry. But we still managed to have a lovely time.

It’s all about the dog.

Well, another plan has gone awry, and this one’s a little harder to swallow. We’ve had it all figured out for months: My organization, PHIUS, puts on a conference each year, and this year happens to be in D.C. Great! Beth and I made plans to travel ahead of the conference dates and stay with our friends Pick and Hank. I’d stay on for the conference, and Pick would usher Beth to the airport to come home on her own—with Whitney, of course.

But wait! There’s more! As regular readers know, Whitney has been showing signs of wanting—needing—to retire. She’s just not up to rugged city life any more. Well, Beth did the paperwork to get a new dog and she was scheduled to arrive in Morristown, New Jersey, December 2. Poifect! Instead of flying back to Chicago, she’ll hop a train to Newark, New Jersey, where the Seeing Eye will pick her up.

With all that sorted, our only questions were:

• Do we have a retirement party/Seeing Eye fundraising event for Whitney?
• If yes, when?

But wait, unfortunately, there’s more. Last week Beth got a call from the Seeing Eye. Well, the good folks out there know Beth leads an active life and that she lives in the heart of a bustling city. They know from experience that not every dog is suited to those circumstances. And, as it happens, none of the dogs that have been in training for the December class match the requirements.

On the one hand, I can’t say enough about the Seeing Eye and how careful and serious they are about making things work for their dogs and their human students. On the other hand, well, this kinda sucks.

December works because Beth’s off from teaching. I’d be gone at my conference for one of the three weeks of training, so that was good too. Plus, I love Whitney, but she’s really testing Beth these days. It’s time.

Now, Beth has to juggle her teaching schedule and make it work with Whitney another month.

Which is all doable. There’s just something to working so hard to getting used to something you didn’t want to do in the first place (retire Whitney, and going through the process of teaming with a new dog), getting wrapped around that, and then, dang.

For me, it’s an inconvenience. For Beth, it’s a bigger deal. The Seeing Eye dogs are wonderful, and improve the quality of our lives immensely. The Seeing Eye is a terrific organization. We’re grateful.

But junctures like this, well, it’s sort of like Beth’s talking computer. It’s terrific. It’s life changing. But, if Beth had her druthers, or I had mine, she wouldn’t need either.

But she does. And like she has done since 1985, she, and we, will do what it takes.

I’m still hoping for a German Shepherd.

I have a part-time job moderating the blog for Easterseals national headquarters, and we published a post there this week that I’m sharing here, too.

Some of you might remember Bernhard Walke from previous guest poasts – he and his wife Rosa are the proud parents of nine-year-old Elena, and every year he comes up with a creative, clever and cute costume for her to wear on Halloween.

When Elena was a baby and could still be carried around, Bernard went as a thief, and his daughter went as a bag of money.

Another year she was a bulldozer, and last year Elena went to the school party dressed as Frida Kahlo! This year is a little different, though, and her dad’s guest blog post explains why.

As Frida Kahlo.

by Bernhard Walke

It’s no secret around the Walke house that I love Halloween. Perhaps it’s because it’s the last few days of decent weather, before the stress of the winter holidays sets in, and the last few days of daylight savings time. More likely is that Halloween provides me with an excuse to buy tacos de sesos (tacos made with brain).

In the past few years, my wife and my daughter haven’t really celebrated my enthusiasm for Halloween, but they’ve tolerated it at least. This year is different, though. Boy — is it different.

My daughter, Elena, lives with quadriplegic cerebral palsy and uses an electronic communication device to communicate. I thought that it would be a good idea to ask her school learning specialist and speech pathologist to task Elena with selecting a Halloween costume and writing about it. Perhaps, I’d get responses such as a rock star, a superhero, or a goblin. Who knows?

Elena gave us two options: a cat or myself. Since we weren’t sold on the idea of her going as herself, we thought that cat would suffice and we suggested getting cat ears, painting on whiskers and maybe putting on a tail. No, no, and no, were her responses. We were able to coax her into wearing a cat shirt and pants but that was about it.

So, we’ll probably have the most underwhelming Halloween costume this year, but I have to make peace with that because it’s Elena’s choice. And the more I think about everything, it makes sense. Elena tends to stick out wherever she goes. Even though the looks she gets are never mean spirited, she probably gets sick of it and just wants to go about things normally. My not-so-little daughter will be turning 9 in a few days and I’m assuming she’s getting to the point in her life where she just wants to blend in a little bit more rather than be such a courageous person. I get that.

So, we’ll still go trick or treating, give out candy, and hang out with cousins, but it’ll be more low-key. It’s what she wants, it’s honestly less work for me and I still get to enjoy my tacos de sesos.

A version of this post appeared earlier this week on the Easterseals National Blog.

The whole thing started months ago by a lucky accident. Our friend Steven bought a pair of tickets to one of Elton John’s farewell concert tour stops in Indianapolis as a gift to his partner Nancy—the two of them would celebrate their anniversary at the concert. Then about a week later, he forgot he bought the tickets. So he bought another pair.

Nancy takes her Elton concerts seriously.

That little mistake hatched a great plan.

Steven gave us the extra two tickets! The concert was not a surprise, Nancy knew they were going. But she didn’t know that Beth and I would show up at dinner before the show and the four of us would see Sir Elton together.

Steven and I and Beth had been careful about communicating—loose texts sink ships, after all. No slips of the tongue when we saw each other the past few months. Pretty amazing none of us let the cat out of the bag.

Finally, the date came this past Saturday. I showed up at a downtown car rental location to pick up our mid-size rental car and drove off with…a so-called minivan that seemed the size of a cruise ship. Whitney didn’t know what to make of it and took a long time settling in the vast expanse. (Also, is it a rule that all non-airport rental car locations have to look like the Unabomber’s quarters?)

After a three-hour+ drive through torrential rain and wind, we arrived at our Courtyard by Marriott. Which was connected to a Homewood Suites and a W. It was Marriott-land. Steven and Nancy were staying at one of the other hotels, but we avoided any accidental meetings.

Beth and I went downstairs to stretch our legs, and I left my phone in the room to charge.

It wasn’t until we were getting ready to order a ride that I noticed texts and voicemails from Steven. All I gleaned from the text was that the news was not good.

Well, we made it to our rendezvous at the restaurant. But by the time we did, the the jig was up on the surprise. That’s because Elton John got sick and canceled late in the afternoon. When that happened, Nancy started exploring other things they could do in Indianapolis for the evening, so Steven ultimately had to come clean and tell her that they had to keep the dinner date…with us.

Ah, the best laid plans. The concert plans might have been star crossed, but we had a fantastic time. We’re all, um, mature enough to take things like this in stride, and in a funny way, somehow, the whole occasion seemed even more special. It was great to toast to them, conversation was great as always, and the meal was scrumptious. After dinner we went our separate ways.

Back at our hotel, Beth and I stopped for a nightcap and to watch the World Series. Well, one thing led to another and we learned the young man who I started talking baseball with was from…Chicago. A White Sox fan. He’d driven with his parents (who’d come up from Florida) and his wife to see…Elton John. From there it was strangers on a train, we learned more about each other in about 15 minutes than seemed possible. Along the way, another couple got pulled into conversation. Well, they’d come from Cincinnati to see…Elton John. And then we were off: She’s from Oregon, that’s where they met (he was a military brat). And they’d lived all over and…well….

We had a blast. Sometimes thinks don’t turn out the way you planned. And sometimes, that’s just fine.