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As I believe in (among other things) total honesty, I have to say, I love recognition.
No, that's not quite accurate. "Crave it like a drug" would be closer to the truth.
Even so, I find myself at a loss when I'm recognized for all the wrong reasons.
This past Tuesday, I and the fellow residents of the apartment complex in which I live took part in an annual trip that's become sort of our farewell to summer. (As summers in Wisconsin have a kind of "blink and you'll miss it" quality, we get our goodbyes in early).
Some two dozen of us were loaded onto buses and taken to the Chain of Lakes in Waupaca some hundred miles from home, where we would take a brief boat tour of that impressive waterway. The view is extraordinary, but I must confess to being drawn less to the natural wonders than I was to the excellent food at the Harbor Bar, the little bar and grill where our tour began. (Hey, if I have to travel a hundred miles in pursuit of the perfect chicken tender, I'll do it.)
Because my monster wheelchair does not fit easily into the boat's cabin, I opted this year to stay out on deck. The view was so much better than what I would have seen peering out a window indoors that it was worth the slight sunburn.
Getting off the boat for me can be a bit tricky. It required the assistance of two or three strong men (cute ones optional but preferred) and the loan of a walker from another woman on the tour (there's an advantage to living in a complex composed largely of the elderly). I managed the short distance from the deck to the pier while the wheelchair was hauled up behind me.
As I climb back on the dock, I look over to see a woman tourist staring at me. For a moment, I thought I might have been "read"--that old paranoia never goes away. She, however, looked as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment.
"You're amazing!" she gushes.
I breathed out slowly, willing my eyes not to roll. Dear God, not one of them.
I never know how to respond in situations like this, but I did manage a murmured "Thank you--I do what I can..." and got out of there as soon as my bottom hit the wheelchair seat.
When you're disabled, such people come with the territory. Over the years I've learned to hide my irritation, but one thought still gnaws at me:
Why do able-bodied people applaud me simply for doing what I do every day of my life? Or worse, stare at me with a mixture of awe and pity?
They think they're paying me a compliment, but what they're really doing, however unintentionally, is turning my day-to-day existence into "inspiration porn". And spectacularly failing to grasp how condescending that really is.
Therefore, so I'm never subjected to that situation again, I have just one thing to say to the "normies" out there.
Knock it off already.
I'm a lot more like you than you think. Like you, I play the hand life dealt me. That doesn't make me inspiring or courageous or any other saccharine word you wish to use. It just makes me someone who prefers living to the alternative.
Granted, if I were to become a famous writer tomorrow, it wouldn't bother me if I'm held up to other disabled folks--and people in general--as an example to follow.
The difference, however, would be that I'd be acknowledged for accomplishing something meaningful, as opposed to making my morning toast without getting margarine in my hair.
Got it?
I doubt the woman I encountered that day will read this. But the next time someone starts to sob when they see me, I'll have a copy of this post ready and waiting for them.
Comments
Abby Normal
Why do they applaud you? Because too often in the past, and still to some degree, people would sit in their wheelchairs out in front of whatever home they lived and do NOTHING, but sit. And that is how the media portrayed them all. There was very little portrayal of active handicapped people, Ironside being an exception.
BTW how much snow did you see on your trip?
Wisconsin
She said she lives in Wisconsin NOT Canada. :)
Went fishing on a Columbus Day weekend
Had 4-5" of snow the first evening and night.
It's the opposite extreme at the moment....
Right now, I'm estimating it's about 90 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was at least that yesterday. August around these parts is usually that final supernova of summer weather before the cold settles in. And I suspect this year, I'll be seeing that snow uncomfortably soon.
On being active: in truth, these days I'm nowhere near as active as I'd like to be. In my younger days, I'd go out on crutches and navigate my way through European streets. (Those cobblestones are murder!) My parents, bless them, allowed me at the age of nineteen to go on an unaccompanied trip to The Netherlands without batting an eye. Of course, had I not called every single day I was there, they probably would have been on the phone to the Red Cross and Interpol trying to find me.
Still, a little independence is better than nothing.
Livin' A Ragtime Life,
Rachel
Rule Three applies
When people do things like that, it's not about you. It's about them. For some reason, in order to feel good about themselves, they need to do this thing. They are self-absorbed and don't know how irritating this can be. They see something that opens them up a bit and they react, wrongly but usually genuinely.
The thing like this that gets me is when I am out with a blind or wheelchaired friend and the serving staff in a restaurant only talks to me, the sighted, able-bodied one. It's baffling but it truly is about the person committing the mistake. In those cases it isn't pity or awe that makes them stupid; you can see what it really is: fear. I have some outspoken blind friends who can gently remove a chunk of hide from such people, to let a little light and air into their minds. :)
Hugs,
Erin
= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.
I remember being newly qualified
and a woman brought her husband into see me and being green, I spoke to her about him. He fixed me with a stare and said, "It's only my legs that don't work." I felt about two inches tall but he did me a great favour and I learned lots from that lesson and actually later received compliments from disabled people about making them feel comfortable. Forty years later and now in the twilight of my career, I hope I can cope with most things without making my patients or myself uncomfortable.
I know from experience that disabled persons want to be treated as normally as is possible, in the same way, we want to be treated as the gender we believe ourselves to be. At the end of the day I try to say to myself, treat everyone as you'd like to be treated or how you'd like your gran or your children to be treated and you won't go far wrong.
Angharad
"Inspiration Porn"
I knew exactly what you meant, it's a great expression but the term still conjured up some alarming images. It might take me a while to get those pictures of naked televangelists out of my head...
And remember...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifLqzLEB3E0
Daily courage
tends to amaze people who themselves do not need to exercise it just to live.