TOPIC 4: Like it's on rails
I stood up.
I stood up, and all three people in my view stared at me, mouths agape. I wondered for a brief moment if I was about to attract a crowd.
But I just needed croutons. That was the day for a fancy salad, you see, and the croutons were on the top shelf. Fancy salads need croutons, right? It's just that I couldn't reach the top shelf from my wheelchair, and my shopping buddy was in a different aisle hunting down Italian dressing. And fancy salads call for that Olive Garden stuff, so it was taking him a while to find it.
So I stood up and snatched a bag of croutons. By everyone's reactions, you'd think Jesus himself had lifted me out of my chair and blessed me. "You are healed, my child." Blessed me so I could reach the croutons. Because Jesus has priorities.
It was pretty clear these folks thought it was impossible for a wheelchair user to stand. It's a pretty common assumption, but it confused me a lot in the beginning. Wheelchairs are for people who have trouble walking, right? We see frail elderly people step from them into their caregiver's cars all the time and never question it. Was that the problem? I wasn't frail? I feel pretty frail. My joints get injured so easily, and my bruises are horrifyingly large rainbows of pain. Maybe it's the fat. Too fat to look frail. Would standing seem more normal if I were skinny? Or is it the age thing? I can't rush wrinkles. Though they do make gray hair dye.
I had a lot of strange thoughts about how others perceived me back in the beginning. A lot of strange thoughts about how I could tweak those perceptions so the shock didn't always melt into that look of disgust. That look that screamed, "Fucking faker, you don't need that chair, look at you standing." I always wanted to respond to the look. I don't even know if I wanted to respond to the person wearing it, but I wanted to respond to the look.
I wasn't faking. Why would I fake this? What benefit could I possibly gain? What is it about wheelchairs that make people think this is about fun and games?
Maybe it's rooted in the mentality of those jokes they always make. If I turn a corner sharply: "Wow, look at the handling on that thing!" If I move at the pace of a brisk walk: "Whoa, slow down or you're going to get a speeding ticket!" If I am buying a bottle of wine: "Don't drink and drive that thing!"
They talk about my wheelchair like it's a zippy little convertible breezing through stop signs. No one sees it like I do: As a part of my body. An extension of myself as much as my arms or legs. No, to them, it's just an object, an extra in Fast and Furious. Maybe that's why they all feel they have the right to touch it, move it, steer it around without ever asking my permission.
Though at least if they did that with my car, I could call the police. Grand theft cripple autonomy? No one cares about that.
I don't worry so much about those looks now. I still get them, but what do they matter? Some people will always find a reason to condemn. I know my abilities, I know my needs. I might be able to reach some croutons, but I need that chair to get around the store. Someone shooting daggers out of their eyes at me doesn't change any of it. All it does is prove their need to work on kindness and compassion rather than judgement and scorn.
By the way, that salad was fantastic.
I stood up, and all three people in my view stared at me, mouths agape. I wondered for a brief moment if I was about to attract a crowd.
But I just needed croutons. That was the day for a fancy salad, you see, and the croutons were on the top shelf. Fancy salads need croutons, right? It's just that I couldn't reach the top shelf from my wheelchair, and my shopping buddy was in a different aisle hunting down Italian dressing. And fancy salads call for that Olive Garden stuff, so it was taking him a while to find it.
So I stood up and snatched a bag of croutons. By everyone's reactions, you'd think Jesus himself had lifted me out of my chair and blessed me. "You are healed, my child." Blessed me so I could reach the croutons. Because Jesus has priorities.
It was pretty clear these folks thought it was impossible for a wheelchair user to stand. It's a pretty common assumption, but it confused me a lot in the beginning. Wheelchairs are for people who have trouble walking, right? We see frail elderly people step from them into their caregiver's cars all the time and never question it. Was that the problem? I wasn't frail? I feel pretty frail. My joints get injured so easily, and my bruises are horrifyingly large rainbows of pain. Maybe it's the fat. Too fat to look frail. Would standing seem more normal if I were skinny? Or is it the age thing? I can't rush wrinkles. Though they do make gray hair dye.
I had a lot of strange thoughts about how others perceived me back in the beginning. A lot of strange thoughts about how I could tweak those perceptions so the shock didn't always melt into that look of disgust. That look that screamed, "Fucking faker, you don't need that chair, look at you standing." I always wanted to respond to the look. I don't even know if I wanted to respond to the person wearing it, but I wanted to respond to the look.
I wasn't faking. Why would I fake this? What benefit could I possibly gain? What is it about wheelchairs that make people think this is about fun and games?
Maybe it's rooted in the mentality of those jokes they always make. If I turn a corner sharply: "Wow, look at the handling on that thing!" If I move at the pace of a brisk walk: "Whoa, slow down or you're going to get a speeding ticket!" If I am buying a bottle of wine: "Don't drink and drive that thing!"
They talk about my wheelchair like it's a zippy little convertible breezing through stop signs. No one sees it like I do: As a part of my body. An extension of myself as much as my arms or legs. No, to them, it's just an object, an extra in Fast and Furious. Maybe that's why they all feel they have the right to touch it, move it, steer it around without ever asking my permission.
Though at least if they did that with my car, I could call the police. Grand theft cripple autonomy? No one cares about that.
I don't worry so much about those looks now. I still get them, but what do they matter? Some people will always find a reason to condemn. I know my abilities, I know my needs. I might be able to reach some croutons, but I need that chair to get around the store. Someone shooting daggers out of their eyes at me doesn't change any of it. All it does is prove their need to work on kindness and compassion rather than judgement and scorn.
By the way, that salad was fantastic.