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Disabilities don't have to be a crutch
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Jayne Eiben
Special to The Cleveland Plain Dealer
"So, what's your disability?" asked Brian, my 9-year-old son's friend as we drove crosstown to a birthday party. Before I could politely change the topic of conversation, my son's other friend in the back seat said, "My
brother has ADD." My son responded, "Mine too."
"But what's your disability?" persisted Brian.
"I have trouble with my speech and have to go to a speech therapist every week," my son said.
"Yeah, you don't talk so good. But that's OK, I don't run so good," said Brian. It was true. He explained to his pals how he was born with one leg shorter than the other and that's why he limps. "But I'm lucky because if I
need crutches or braces again, I'll get to ride the new elevator at school."
Wow, that is lucky, the boys agreed.
"What's my disability?" asked the third boy.
"Well, what's really hard for you but sometimes feels a little bit lucky?" asked Brian.
"Sometimes I get hyper and can't calm down," he said excitedly. This was useful information considering I was taking him to a party where he'd be pumped with sugar and arcade tokens.
Though I was headed for a potentially headache-inducing birthday bash, this conversation surprisingly lifted my spirits. As the boys chatted about their "disabilities" with such sweet candor, my son's fluency issues suddenly
seemed less daunting.
"What's yours?" they asked me as I drove along the freeway.
"Mine? Well, for one, I have terrible sense of direction and often get lost driving across town." (I was genuinely worried at that moment that my eavesdropping had caused me to miss the exit.) "Cool," they all responded.
And just like that, we were four challenged humans wonderfully comfortable with our flaws. I hadn't felt that good in weeks.
The following weekend, my husband and I had dinner with friends, and we chatted about our kids and our summer vacations. It was a pleasant night but curiously unfulfilling. I kept wishing I could ask Brian's question, "So, what's your disability?" or better yet, "What currently challenges you more than you care to be challenged? What makes you vulnerable?"
Unlike those young boys in the back seat, most adults neither limp nor have trouble pronouncing words. Nor do we get hyper at inappropriate times. As a consequence, we deceive ourselves into believing that there's nothing wrong
(or special) about us. Ironically, when we fool ourselves in believing we're perfect (and have to be perfect), I think we're truly disabled.
We're disconnected from the human condition, universal suffering and even our children's inevitable challenges. When our shortcomings rematerialize (as they always do), they feel more like shameful secrets than manageable
issues that can be, as Brian observed, "a little bit lucky."
I suspect my son and his friends can talk openly about their "disabilities" because children are accustomed to their shortcomings. They're always falling down, missing the ball, giving the wrong answer, spilling their milk and generally making a mess of things. So they also need speech therapy or crutches -- what of it?
Wouldn't it be refreshing if we adults could share our own challenges with the same unabashed candor as children? Perhaps say . . . I'm flawed, I'm working on it, but my challenges somehow make me feel "a little bit lucky."
So, how about you? What's your disability?
Eiben is a free-lance writer from Shaker Heights.
To reach Jayne Eiben:
pdq@plaind.com
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