Do Not Pet the Crip, Unless Asked To

Although at this point in my life, I’d kill for a corporate job, my true passion is teaching disability etiquette mixed with motivational speaking. For a while my husband and I had a steady gig at a police academy. I was always amused by the shift in attitude from the beginning to the end of class. When the students enter the classroom, most of them introduce themselves to Bobby, assuming he was the teacher. You can almost hear the gasps as Bobby announces he will be the interpreter for the next two hours and I was the instructor. I’d say, usually by the end of class, maybe 75% of our students felt comfortable enough to talk directly to me, even offering to shake my hand.

As a communications major, I really was intrigued learning about personal space and body language. It seems like as a person with CP, the polite etiquette for personal space goes out the window. Or as my son constantly reminds me, I’m a mom, I lost the right to my personal space, as he climbs all over my wheelchair for no particular reason. As a toddler this was so gosh darn cute. I worried one day he’d stop. I’m still waiting. He’s a wonderful pre-teen but frankly, not so cute as his dead weight now drapes my wheelchair. But if this is the worse thing he does, I’ll take my very loved however smashed bones to my grave.

Aside from my son’s inability to respect my personal space, which I secretly love, occasionally well meaning strangers push the limits of my polite understanding. It ranges from tiny things that make me pause, to the sometimes annoying and downright strange.

We were at Sea World one Saturday. And as I exited the crowded restroom, a lady leaned over and patted my head. Then she just walked away. I don’t know why. It happened so fast that my friends said I still looked stunned when I found them. I actually do not have any clever conclusions about this, it’s just one of those things that falls into Arsenio Hall’s things that make ya say hmm…

Many years ago I ran into the grocery store while Bobby stayed in the car. I kid you not, from the moment I walked in, I felt eyes upon me. Some people attract stray dogs, it seems that I attract stray grocery boys. He followed me up and down each isle. I tried to smile and wave him away, which only made him come closer. I tried to avoid eye contact at all cost because every time my eyes met his, he assumed I was silently asking for help.

By the time we reached the check-out, I felt like maybe we were soul mates, although I did look for the nearest exit, not so sad that our time had come to an end. As Bobby was loading up the groceries, the young man came to him, retrieved the grocery cart, and said to Bobby “She did very well. You ought to be proud.” Kinda patted my arm, and skipped off, finishing his good deed for the day, leaving Bobby and I amusingly speechless.

I have these small things happen constantly and most of the time I can shake it off, but there have been a few times where I’ve been really upset. My husband and I were wondering through a flea market. This elderly lady approached me and tried to put a crossed on my head. Keep in mind, I’m catholic with a Buddhist mom, married a Baptist, have two close friends who are atheistic, a few Wicken friends, and everything in between. And they all believe in me, therefore I celebrate and respect their love and religious views. but it’s really creepy when a stranger comes at you with a cross. I truly believe she had a wonderful soul, just a poor understanding of personal space. And I bet she just looked at me and assumed I wouldn’t know or care.

For some reason, as we become adults, for most of us, our personal space becomes better defined and respected. But sometimes I think because I’m disabled, people are less respectful of my space. I have a friend in a wheelchair. I tease him because he’s gorgeous and I say that his hotness hides his chair. And even though he looks “normal” (as oppose to my spastic face.) people feel the need to push him in his wheelchair, without asking.

I’m a hugger by nature, I’m a big goofy flirt. I always hug my best friend who lives five houses down, even if I see her four times in a weekend. Most of my guy friends kiss me on the cheek. On rare occasions I let my hubby hold my hand. So overall I think I’m quite lovable and affectionate, but before entering the crip realm, at least introduce yourself, buy me a drink. I got standards too. Until then, strangers, please don’t pat, pet, or touch me. Unless you’re Bradley Cooper then feel free to.

 

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