I
truly cannot make up some of the things that happen to me when I am just trying
to go to school. This past week, as I was on my way back from class, a young
man about my age stopped me, saying, “Can I ask you a question?”
Hoping
it would be about the location of the vending machine, the time, or the date, I
said yes. The young man proceeded to ask, “Why are you in a wheelchair?” Let me
be clear, people with disabilities have no obligation to discuss how or why
they came to be in a wheelchair in a random public place. It's actually pretty
bizarre that most of the general population still thinks it's a fair question
to ask a stranger. In fact, it was very tempting to tell him that I was in a
wheelchair because my aide put me there this morning. But hoping I could give
him a little educational moment for Valentine's Day, I proceeded to explain
that I was in a wheelchair because cerebral palsy had damaged the portions of
my brain responsible for voluntary movement among other things. Thinking that
this was a far better Valentine's Day gift then a heart-shaped pizza or a box
of assorted chocolates, I began to roll away.
But
there was more. The young man replied that he believed one of the things God
did for people like me was heal them. The continued prevalence of this line of
thought is one of the things related to my disability that I struggle with the
most. It remains so acceptable to challenge the wholeness of others based on
the concept that my life must have less value because I can't walk. I do not
think the young man's intentions were bad; in fact, they were very good. What
disturbs me so is how readily a complete stranger summarized the quality of my
life based on the ableist assumption that I need to be fixed. What disturbs me
is how many people would see no problem with his quick assessment of what it
must be like to be me. I believe in God, and further, I believe that a disabled
person is not an accident or an error of judgment, but just another
interpretation of God’s image. But this story is not about God, to tell you how
to think about God, or even to challenge you if you don't believe in any God at
all.
This
story is to warn other people not to see me or anyone like me as a broken
thing. This story is to show you that pity, stereotypes, and assumptions are
not harmless things that inconvenience one person. Pity, stereotypes, and
assumptions, repeated and spread billions of times over build up, and slowly,
insidiously, create a whole society that does not see worth of anyone with a
disability. The belief that I must lead a sad, tragic life builds systems that
keep some and not others in a place of power. It keeps characters that look
like me off the TV and out of the movie theater. It makes little girls and
little boys seeking just one doll that resembles them come back with nothing.
And when little girls and little boys with disabilities become the adults they
ought to, it makes them wonder why the world just can't fathom that they could
be happy.
They
could be happy, with or without the ability to walk, or put on their own shirt,
or jump up in the air. Those things say very little about the meaning of the
life. Few people reflect on their lives and remember all the times they could
tie their own shoes or go to the bathroom on their own. But they will remember
their family and friends, they will remember the laughs they had, and perhaps
most of all how others made them feel. All people deserve to feel like they
were made with purpose, love, and dignity… “fearfully, wonderfully” made.
Whether or not a person believes that he or she was created by God, I refuse to
believe that anyone is made by mistake. Regardless of one's willingness or not
to be seen as “created in the image of God”, we were all created in the image
of something beautiful.
“All”
does not exclude people with disabilities. With that thought in mind, I told
the person matter-of-factly that I did not need to be healed. If he was created
in the image of God, then why wasn't I? He looked a little stunned, and asked
to pray for me anyway, this time not for healing, but to help me show other
people that they too are created in the image of God. I may not have changed
how he perceives me or anyone else who looks like me, but in the very least I
changed the contents of his prayer to one based on the understanding that I am
“OK” the way I was made.
To
that young man, wherever you are, remember me when you consider what it means
to live a good life. Remember that I feel lucky to be here, and I spend very
little time imagining a life in which I can walk. Go heal broken things, broken
things like attitudes, and misconceptions, and prejudice. Go heal a society
that has starved some of acceptance, and don't waste time trying to fix things
that are not in need of repairs.
