My grandpa is obviously lying about his disability, since his shoes are plenty scuffed up. He is a chef at ninety who works twice a week at a Meals on Wheels program because he truly loves helping people. He is the gabbai (deacon) of my synagogue. He leads an active social life, driving to visit friends. He enjoys life.
He's also disabled due to a leg injury. He uses a cane in the house on bad days. On short walks for his health, he uses a walker, which he lovingly refers as his Sports Car. On longer trips to synagogue (he's Orthodox so no driving), he needs me to push him in his wheelchair. So obviously, he isn't disabled since he can walk a few blocks.
And despite the scene value, pushing my grandfather in the pool would kill him, even if he is able to walk. Because of his lack of lower leg strength, he'd be unable to tread water and if he had exerted his spoons away earlier, he'd drown because he'd be too tired to move.
But yes, he can walk. Totally faking it.
And just because I can handle something, doesn't mean I should have to handle it. We're not in line to be martyrs, there's no prize for enduring unneeded pain. The "just try harder" trope hurts people. Yes, I can try harder, but at what cost?
So I can endure far too much noise, spend all my spoons and be unable to hang out with my friends, because I'm too exhausted. Or I can ask for a quiet room as is my ADA accommodation and be fresh as a daisy to sit on the beautiful esplanade with my pals and enjoy the evening.
The Secret Garden always annoyed me, because Colin just had to want to get better. Well, I prayed to God every night, crying, pleading, begging to make me better. I wanted it like I wanted air. Nothing changed.
We also talked before about "curing" disability being a bit simplistic to the narrative. Curing someone of a malformed jaw isn't curing them of Autism.
I can write about myself before and after my jaw surgery. I cannot write myself without Autism because...that's a fictional character who is a complete stranger.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-05 04:05 pm (UTC)He's also disabled due to a leg injury. He uses a cane in the house on bad days. On short walks for his health, he uses a walker, which he lovingly refers as his Sports Car. On longer trips to synagogue (he's Orthodox so no driving), he needs me to push him in his wheelchair. So obviously, he isn't disabled since he can walk a few blocks.
And despite the scene value, pushing my grandfather in the pool would kill him, even if he is able to walk. Because of his lack of lower leg strength, he'd be unable to tread water and if he had exerted his spoons away earlier, he'd drown because he'd be too tired to move.
But yes, he can walk. Totally faking it.
And just because I can handle something, doesn't mean I should have to handle it. We're not in line to be martyrs, there's no prize for enduring unneeded pain. The "just try harder" trope hurts people. Yes, I can try harder, but at what cost?
So I can endure far too much noise, spend all my spoons and be unable to hang out with my friends, because I'm too exhausted. Or I can ask for a quiet room as is my ADA accommodation and be fresh as a daisy to sit on the beautiful esplanade with my pals and enjoy the evening.
The Secret Garden always annoyed me, because Colin just had to want to get better. Well, I prayed to God every night, crying, pleading, begging to make me better. I wanted it like I wanted air.
Nothing changed.
We also talked before about "curing" disability being a bit simplistic to the narrative.
Curing someone of a malformed jaw isn't curing them of Autism.
I can write about myself before and after my jaw surgery. I cannot write myself without Autism because...that's a fictional character who is a complete stranger.
Sorry for rambling on, but kudos.