Disability Rant #1

I always find myself wanting to write in this blog, but my life isn't really as interesting as people want to believe it is. Disabled doesn't always equal interesting. The interesting things that have happened in my life have actually not been centered around my disability. I know this may blow some people's minds, but I would actually consider my life to be typical and borderline boring. Sure, I enjoy my life and I'm grateful for the people I know and experiences I've had. But the notion that I could fill a 200-something page book with my thoughts on disability is just plain...ridiculous. Than again, I do publish a zine, and if I make enough issues...that may equal 200 pages. Whatever, the point is, I can't just sit in front of a computer screen and write a book about it. It annoys me to no end when certain people, who shall remain nameless, say "Erin, just write a book." Like it's something so simple. Why don't I also rebuild the Colosseum in my spare time?

I'm going to be a hypocrite now and write about some interesting experiences I've had that directly relate to my disability. Why am I bothering to do this? Because they are funny as hell. These stories will make you groan, shake your head, and wish for a meteorite to fall on the earth to end the existance of all life forms, but they will also make you laugh. At least, they crack me up.

All these episodes occured when my dearest friend Marjo was visiting from Finland this past summer.

On the second or third day she was here, we decided to go walk downtown. There's this cute store on the corner called The Front Porch. We go inside and proceed to look at all of the tchotchkes. I could see the store manager woman following me with her eyes, with that "so sweet" smile on her face. My fellow crips know exactly what I'm talking about. It's a pathetic look, but it occurs so often that, to preserve your own sanity, it must be ignored. So we're about to leave and go to the next store when the woman stops us and starts asking questions like how we were related, how is Finland's weather (which I'm sure Marjo was so sick of answering), where do I go to school, blah blah. I was just WAITING for the disability questions/comments to pop up as they usually do, and without fail, they surfaced. "Have you been disabled your entire life?" Yes. "How do you go to school?" Like everyone else. "Is it a special school?" No. "I know someone who is disabled. My nephew/cousin/son/husband/some random person has [insert disability that I can not hardly relate to]." My response is something like "Okay." Why the fuck do I care? But then she goes on to tell me this person is depressed and never leaves the house and I should really talk to him because I could inspire him with my fantastic outlook of life. At this point, I could tell Marjo was kind of getting annoyed. More annoyed than me, I'm sure, because I am so used to this and she is not. All this disability stuff is new to her. She knows it happens to me, but never experienced it first-hand. After basically brushing this woman off, we leave the shop. Marjo then proceeds to complain about how annoying that was. I agree.

The whole "I know someone who is disabled" is a common occurance for disabled people and their parents, friends, and carers. I can't tell you how many times someone has come up to me or whoever I'm with, and went into an entire speech about the disabled people in their life. Do they really think I care to hear about it? Why do they feel the need to tell me? What are they expecting me to do or say? My usual response is a craft I have perfected over the years; make sure the person understands you don't give two shits, but leave out the rudeness. Because if you're rude and say "I don't care", the person you are conversing with will think you are angry at the world. And then they will feel bad for you. And pity is the most awful thing.

Okay, so I guess that wasn't funny at all - perhaps you had to be there. But this next one is funny. It is, really.

There was a town-wide yard sale on one sunny afternoon. Marjo, my nurse Carol, and I went around town, buying things we will never use and don't really need. We get to this one house which is around the block from my own house. These women see us and, one again, I get the LOOK. They are not elderly, I guess in their mid to late 50s. I love how people don't realize that I'm Cuban, so those who speak Spanish talk about me and think I don't understand. Like the women at this house. "Ay, que linda!" "Pobrecita!" etc. etc. Basically, how cute, poor little thing, all those phrases I hate. You can only call me cute if you're my mother or some really hot guy. So, one woman gives me a bunch of stuff for free (being disabled and going to yardsales = SCORE!) and then says "I'm going to give these to your mother to carry." Who does she give the stuff to? MARJO. That's right, she thought my friend, who is the same age as me, was my mother. Now, I do look younger than I really am. But let's be drastic and say she thought I was 10. Marjo would have had me when she was 13. Marjo pretty much looks her age. I definitely do NOT look 10. I've been told 16. But....c'mon, people. We still joke about it. I called her MOM for a while.

I have other stories to share, but I think I'll save them for another time.