People don’t generally ask a whole lot of questions. Many folks with disabled kids told us that when Errol turned two the questions would fly. In March, Errol turned two, and most people remained pretty quiet (at least to us.) A couple of weeks ago, that all changed.
Because of some glitch in the enigma wrapped inside a riddle that is the American health care system, the wheelchair Errol was supposed to get in September has still not arrived. !#@$!%*@!%@&!! Over spring break, Errol’s school lent us his school wheelchair for a week, and Errol immediately went from being a big kid in a stroller to being disabled. The questions (verbalized and not) started immediately. “What’s that chair he’s in?” “Can he not walk?” The ubiquitous, “How old is he?” And, of course, “why are you wearing lederhosen in the dance club, Mr. Milner?” Errol is nonplused about all the fanfare, and just smiles back at his admirers. He is, of course, exactly the same boy he was pre-wheelchair, but people’s responses are very different (you’d think they’d never seen a naked kid with a beer in his hand before!!) And, despite my son’s equanimity, all the attention makes me a bit defensive. But new things always attract people’s attention, and if the questions lead to a widening of understanding and to a few folks knowing Errol, the universe will be all the better for it.
1 comment:
hey jonathan. your blog makes me think about one of my close colleagues from unc who has lived her life with a significantly different body. She now works in disability culture studies, and in a recent (unpublished, I think) paper (on joel peter witkin) she wrote that disabled bodies 'defy disinterest.' The phrase helps me because it generously explains my own interest in difference and at the same time marks out the objectifying gaze and its implications re: power. I can't help my optimism: I assume the chair will also give errol an explanation, a dose of freedom, and another view of the world.
look forward to seeing more of him and his family
betsy
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