I went to the Type-A–Parent conference at a hotel in Atlanta. I spoke about the art of writing, telling others I somehow knew more than them.
I didn’t. No. I’ve just been doing it a long damn time and I’m just willing to talk out loud about it.
On a personal note, I come with a certain amount of notoriety
NOT because I’m particularly special, but because I’m EASY to recognize.
I’m severely handicapped.
I’m in a wheelchair.
You can’t miss me.
People often want to stop and chat. I always try to.
Now here’s the thing. I’m generally in some pain from my eyes. Noise, light and people can give me a headache. Being in a wheelchair puts at an awkward hug-height, so my face has been crashed into tons of breasts and armpits. I can have to go to the bathroom or be ridiculously exhausted.
And I’m a complete asshole at times.
I’m a nice one. Quite honestly, I have a lot of reasons to be rude as hell, but that’s just messed up. I give tons of hugs, I’m ok with people taking pictures of my crooked face, I laugh at bad jokes and smile like we’re old friends even when I can’t remember their name.
I take time to talk everyone because they’re important. Not “make them feel important”, THEY ARE IMPORTANT. The people that are best friends to me are the ones that are warm and lovely in a genuine way.
Not that fake, brittle kindness.
Is it really that hard to shed whatever protective emotional barrier you’re carrying and just be kind to the people around you?
I heard about people being made to feel LESS for race, size, financial status, social worth, all that stupid bullshit.
It made me realize that I was the one in the wheelchair, but I wasn’t the one truly handicapped.