Dear Me!

By Linda Ironside

"Are you’re sure you’re in the right bank?" was the first thing the teller said to me. It was the first question she asked, before my name or account number.

I was neatly, though casually, dressed. My hair was combed, my face washed. I had made no untoward sounds, nor any menacing glances. Why would she think perhaps I had wandered, mentally and physically, and ended up in a bank I had no business in?

The only obvious difference between me and the other clients in the bank was that I was using a scooter to get from place to place, while they were using legs.

I was once in a shoe store with a friend. Although I was the one who asked to see a certain shoe in a certain size, the clerk addressed all her questions to my friend, without so much as a glance in my direction -- as in, "Would she like to try this on in a black?" I was sitting on my scooter; my friend was standing. Our ability to communicate was the same -- I can buy shoes with the best of them!

I have just started using a scooter in public, and was not prepared for the consequences -- that suddenly strangers would assume I am less than competent. I don’t know how to demonstrate quickly my normal intelligence. How do I convince a stranger I’m mentally alert (even though my legs are weak)?

The more I want to show people I’m an intelligent adult, the more idiotic I sound, even to myself. On my feet I’m treated like anyone else, with no assumptions made about my IQ that I notice. But sitting on my scooter, I am suddenly treated like a child -- innocent, naïve and unable to cope without the assistance of strangers. Suddenly I’m "dear" to just about everyone, and suspected of being hard of hearing and/or mentally slow. Why, I wonder? Neither my brains nor my ears are in my legs. I use a scooter because walking is difficult.

Who is the person I am mistaken for? People of lower intelligence don’t necessarily use wheelchairs. Neither do many people who are deaf, as far as I know. Where did people get the idea that those in wheelchairs and scooters are aurally and/or intellectually "challenged"? When was it ever like this?

And what do they say to Stephen Hawking, the world-renowned physicist and author of bestseller "A Brief History of Time," who has Lou Gehrig’s disease? He can’t walk or speak, but he can communicate and think better than most, if not all, of us? ...Do they call him "dear"?

It seems I’m constantly either being underrated, or far exceeding people’s expectations. Everyone likes to be praised -- I’m no exception. But it’s annoying when people’s praise has no basis, like when my Auntie Margaret made such a big fuss out of everything I did: "You drew that all by yourself? Oh, my, that’s wonderful! Can I keep it?" Unwarranted praise doesn’t feel like praise at all. It feels like patronizing crap, even to a seven-year-old.

Recently I have been praised for doing my own shopping, acclaimed for driving my own car, positively lauded for having a profession. People are honestly surprised that the person in the scooter is independent, educated and quite competent (at least they are no longer surprised to find such characteristics in a woman!).

A friend who’s paraplegic is mystified as to why people assume her arms are useless, that she cannot get things within her reach. The sensitive, sensible ones will ask if they can help; the well-meaning, misguided souls just grab things for her. This misplaced helpfulness is not uncommon.

Whenever we make assumptions about someone’s ability or lack thereof, without knowing or checking, we are demeaning the person. Children are quick to let us know when they’re offended by complaining, "Mommmm, I can do it!" No one likes people to assume they don’t know, can’t do or wouldn’t understand something.

At the same time, most will appreciate assistance if given the chance to indicate whether or not it’s needed or desired. My accountant often has to explain tax law to me, but I like when he asks first if I already understand it.

Attitudes are catching up with the reality of people with disabilities. I cheered when I first saw an actor who was paraplegic on a TV drama being portrayed as a reel heel. A wheelchair does not lower your IQ. Neither does it turn you into a saint. We know it really doesn’t change who you are, at least no more than any of life’s challenges. Many people without disabilities still have that little discovery ahead of them.

It’s not that long ago that people with disabilities stayed indoors and were not allowed to develop to their full potential or to integrate with the able-bodied society. But that’s all changed now. We demand to be treated equally, to have our disability ignored when it is not relevent, and to be the only one to determine our need for a stranger’s assistance, just like anyone else. People with disabilities are no more homogeneous than any other group, so there’s no universal response that will please us all. The best approach with the least likelihood of offense seems to be the simple question, "Would you like a hand?"

Even when people without disabilities know they could do it so much easier and faster, it’s best for them to remember that self-respect is more important than speed. (In a burning building, however, I won’t mind if no one takes the time to ask permission -- I hope they just pick me up and run.)

For now, I’m fairly new at this, so when someone says something offensive, I am still too shocked to respond in any helpful way. I’m just as likely to stare dumbfounded at the speaker and confirm their worst suspicions ("Poor dear!").

But I have planned a strategy. First, I have the ability to stand up, and thus regain my full intelligence. Having done that, I can ask any number of questions: "Have you heard of the latest legislation on...?" "What do you think of the recent brouhaha over repressed memory syndrome?" "Have you accessed anything interesting lately on the Internet?"

Maybe I’ll find a way to attach a copy of my M.A. diploma to the back of the scooter. Or a picture of me in cap and gown with the caption, "Have you seen this woman?"

(Linda Ironside is a freelance writer living in Vancouver, British Columbia.)