Okay, I'm always late - unless I'm unfashionably early. This blog should have been published in March, but I had a few other things on my plate at that time.
March of every year is designated Disabilities Awareness Month. When I worked with disabled children, we made a big deal of ordering outdoor banners for the building and giving out literature to not parents, but citizens on the street. Public cognizance of special needs people has changed to an extent, but I've been campaigning at this for almost 30 years and don't see what I'd like to see. In fact, there's a backslide.
I would hope that those reading this would know the cruelty and repugnance of the word "retarded" when used to describe an individual. I was blown away just now when I looked up the word in Merriam-Webster and it defined it as "slow or limited in intellectual or emotional development or in academic progress." Dictionary.com's primary definition is all too chillingly similar: "characterized by a slowness or limitation in intellectual understanding and awareness, emotional development, academic progress, etc." Cambridge Dictionaries Online defines the word as, "having a slower mental development than other people of the same age," but then, to their extreme credit, they add a footnote stating that because the word has sometimes been used as an insult, the term is now less often used to describe people with slow mental development. It ain't headline news retraction, but it's a start.
Then there are the other forms of disabilities: physical, for one. Physical disabilities can take as many shapes and sizes as there are individuals on this earth. I myself am physically disabled; I have severe narrowing of my lower spinal column, osteoarthritis in one knee (the other has been replaced), a lymphatic chronic illness, asthma, and my vision has been compromised in ways that defy most ophthalmologists for as long as I can recall. But if you see me walking along the street on most days (when I don't have my cane), I look fine. I'm the one who gets the sideways stares at the store because I use an electronic cart they provide for people like me. I know folks are thinking that I need to get my fat butt off of there and leave it for someone in need, but damn it, who is anyone to judge what the needs of another person are?
I have learned over the years to hate the words crippled, handicapped, gimp, mongoloid and spastic (among others) as much as I do the word retarded. I'm not talking political correctness here; I'm speaking of human dignity. How many of you know that the word "handicapped" came from those with disabilities holding their hats out asking for money in the streets? Tell me that someone is mongoloid and I will eat you for lunch. They have a chromosomal difference that makes them unique in their way. Spastic isn't even used professionally any more to my knowledge; one refers to increased muscle tone.
Recently, I was using government transportation (Amtrak) on a trip. There's a lot to be said, but let's cut to the best part: we were very early for our departure and had to wait in the lobby of the massive station. I finally noticed a tiny banner stretched against the wall behind seats near the door that stated something to the effect that those requiring special assistance should sit here. Seriously? This is the 21st century, and there is universal signage for just about everything, including what would have covered the designation of this seating area. I joked with my husband that it was time for the animals to go to the cage, and we took our seats.
As we waited, I caught sight of a young man in a power wheelchair who appeared to be a quadriplegic. I found his shirt amusing, so I waved at him and called him over and we got to chatting. We were eventually joined by his lovely young lady friend who just happens to be severely hearing impaired. Turns out that she and I, on opposite sides of the nation, are both advocates for individuals with disabilities. We chatted like old friends, and as the station filled up, were joined by other folks with varying special needs. We all commented on the demeaning signage used in the station, and the time of our wait flew by as we shared stories and experiences. Some other waiting passengers stole looks at us or even stared, but who cares? We're God's creatures just as they are, and if we got a tad noisy, nobody from the staff said a word.
The lovely Irish lass and I are still in communication, and I treasure my new friendship. As we chatted that day in the station, I made allowances for her need to lip-read as I spoke, and she tolerated my somewhat bombastic personality and frequent coughing spells from the asthma. I have found over the last 30 years or so that sometimes it is the persons seen as imperfect by the world who make the best friends and companions.
The point of this whole harangue is an encouragement to not just be politically correct, but kind. What's the old hymn: "Open my eyes that I may see, glimpses of truth you have for me, open my eyes illumine me, Spirit divine"? We are each fearfully and wonderfully made in His own design and all He asks of us is to love one another as we love ourselves.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, goes the old adage. What better gift could we ask for than our Heavenly Father to grant us loving eyes without any prejudice. Disabilities awareness doesn't get the media play that racial, sexual, and other forms of discrimination do, but it should. It's just easier to overlook because sometimes it's not pretty. Pray to see as our Creator sees us; brothers and sisters in His image, each made special to His order, defined before the beginning of time.
I wish you peace, I wish you love, and I wish you open eyes and an accepting heart.
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