I don't have an actual memory of the day I realized I was different. It's more of a created memory, bred from hearing the story more than once and analyzing the event objectively. Up until this particular point, I lived in blissful ignorance. I can't say with any certainty that I even knew, at the time, what "different" meant.
Today, it's multi-zillion dollar affairs thrown by guilt-laden parents hoping to earn the affection of their entitled children. In the '90s, it was Chuck E. Cheese. But, in the '80s, the happenin' birthday party spot for the under-10 set was McDonald's. I know; I was there. I must have attended a large handful of these parties, always fearful that the clown mascot would suddenly appear. (Hey, clowns are scary. Deal with it.)
At one of these parties, when I was about 5, I learned that I was different. When I entered the restaurant with my parents, a young boy (about my age, I guess) stood up and repeatedly announced to the entire population, "She's in a wheelchair!" Needless to say, staring commenced. Pairs and pairs of eyes swiveling toward me, a little girl, cute in her party dress, suddenly not the girl she was five seconds before she came through the door. Even thinking about it 20 years later makes me want to claw my skin.
It had never occurred to me to realize that sitting down made me fundamentally different than just about everyone I encountered. No one else seemed to notice, so why should I? My parents didn't make a big deal out of it, unless it was for my own physical safety. It just was as it was.
I believe that boy, unknown to him the great power he wielded, changed my life. Sure, my perception would have altered sooner or later, but he happened to be the lucky one to draw that card from the deck of my life. His inexplicable and unexpected assertion that being a wheelchair user was somehow "wrong" robbed me of the innocent nature most children possess. The belief that everyone is just a good/bad/indifferent as everyone else.
I have done my best to re-instill that belief in my mind. For the most part, I do believe that, unless they prove otherwise, all people are just as worthy as all other people. And yet, there is this twinge from time to time at the back of my mind that says, "Except for you." Now, the part of my brain that doesn't listen to what other people say or pay attention to what other people do blows this off with a flip of the wrist. The rest of my brain dredges up 26 years worth of stares, name calling, rude questions and all-around "make you feel different" stuff.
I wonder from time to time if that boy, whomever he was, carries around any memory whatsoever of me. I doubt it, seeing as how I can't even recall the Day That Changed My Life. I wonder what he would think if he did remember. Would he feel guilty for stomping all over my rose-colored glasses? Would he blow it off with a flip of his wrist, rationalizing that it would have happened sooner or later? Would he care at all? Or, as I fear, is he one of those people who don't believe I'm as good as any girl on two legs?
Today, it's multi-zillion dollar affairs thrown by guilt-laden parents hoping to earn the affection of their entitled children. In the '90s, it was Chuck E. Cheese. But, in the '80s, the happenin' birthday party spot for the under-10 set was McDonald's. I know; I was there. I must have attended a large handful of these parties, always fearful that the clown mascot would suddenly appear. (Hey, clowns are scary. Deal with it.)
At one of these parties, when I was about 5, I learned that I was different. When I entered the restaurant with my parents, a young boy (about my age, I guess) stood up and repeatedly announced to the entire population, "She's in a wheelchair!" Needless to say, staring commenced. Pairs and pairs of eyes swiveling toward me, a little girl, cute in her party dress, suddenly not the girl she was five seconds before she came through the door. Even thinking about it 20 years later makes me want to claw my skin.
It had never occurred to me to realize that sitting down made me fundamentally different than just about everyone I encountered. No one else seemed to notice, so why should I? My parents didn't make a big deal out of it, unless it was for my own physical safety. It just was as it was.
I believe that boy, unknown to him the great power he wielded, changed my life. Sure, my perception would have altered sooner or later, but he happened to be the lucky one to draw that card from the deck of my life. His inexplicable and unexpected assertion that being a wheelchair user was somehow "wrong" robbed me of the innocent nature most children possess. The belief that everyone is just a good/bad/indifferent as everyone else.
I have done my best to re-instill that belief in my mind. For the most part, I do believe that, unless they prove otherwise, all people are just as worthy as all other people. And yet, there is this twinge from time to time at the back of my mind that says, "Except for you." Now, the part of my brain that doesn't listen to what other people say or pay attention to what other people do blows this off with a flip of the wrist. The rest of my brain dredges up 26 years worth of stares, name calling, rude questions and all-around "make you feel different" stuff.
I wonder from time to time if that boy, whomever he was, carries around any memory whatsoever of me. I doubt it, seeing as how I can't even recall the Day That Changed My Life. I wonder what he would think if he did remember. Would he feel guilty for stomping all over my rose-colored glasses? Would he blow it off with a flip of his wrist, rationalizing that it would have happened sooner or later? Would he care at all? Or, as I fear, is he one of those people who don't believe I'm as good as any girl on two legs?
6 comments:
This is a powerful post. It's so true how others' perceptions of your disability framed your disability - labeling you different when nothing about you/your disability had changed.
When my nephew was going through additional diagnoses a few years ago, I remember his emotional pain as he felt himself being re-labeled, more "different" perhaps?
I think this is a really interesting post. Do you blame that boy for what he did? I fully sympathize with how awful it must have felt, but from his perspective he was probably just surprised, confused, and curious. I'm working on a project to help make kids more familiar with disabilities so that they aren't as surprised when they see a wheelchair. Wouldn't it be great if that boy had seen you and thought nothing of it? I think that this is a real possibility. People, especially children, need an education about disability so they are familiar with it and come to think of it as normal, just the same way that you thought of yourself before that boy called you out.
Hey, Laura, you've been tagged!
Hi Laura,
This is a wonderful post and I am wondering if you would mind if I cross-post it at the [with]tv blog? I would copy your post, acknowledge you as author and include a link to your blog. I would then include you on the blogroll I'm putting together.)
I've posted the following message on the Planet of the Blind so you can see what I'm up to.
Dear Friends,
As a volunteer working with the folks at [with]tv I have recently been honored with the title “blog master”. In that capacity I am writing to disability bloggers I know and respect to ask for support. I (we) are hoping you would be willing to either write a post, submit a post you’ve already written, or even join us as a “columnist” and submit posts whenever the mood strikes.
Posts can be submitted to my attention at articles@with-tv.com. The blog can be found at http://withtv.blogspot.com/. It is a work in progress and I (we) sure would appreciate your support. While you’re there, please sign the Guest Book and let us know what you think. We’re working hard to spread the word. Anything you can do to help would surely give us a boost!
Thank you,
Connie Kuusisto,
Blog Master, [with]tv
Hi Laura,
I've now cross-posted your article on
http://withtv.blogspot.com and I appreciate your allowing me to do so.
[with]tv welcomes comments and articles from people interested in disability. Please keep us in mind in the future!
Connie Kuusisto
Blog Master, [with]tv
Haha. You know, I think kids are the most difficult to deal with. They'll ask you anything, and it's hard to fault a kid for inadvertently offending you. One time, I was in the elevator at K-Mart, and this cute little girl and her mother got on. Then the girl looked at me and said, "Wow. What's wrong with you? Your hands are so tiny and your face is so big!" She giggled. I swear, my face is not that big. I mean, I might have a big head, but geeze! "Oh... [little brat]," I mumbled under my breath. (I wrote a whole post on "What happened to you." http://wheel-world.blogspot.com/2007/09/what-happened-to-me.html)
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