The Philosophy of "Disability"

Simply because one belongs to a particular culture does not mean they ascribe to its values in totality. I myself have cerebral palsy and personal detest the word “disabled” (do not even get me started on the “R” word). Essentially, I can do anything you can do; it may take me longer, I might have to make adjustment or need supports but I have the ability, albeit in a different form.  As such, I much prefer being referred to as “differently-abled”. Of course, that is my preference. However, to most individuals with disabilities this verbiage is not a concern. By the way, I also do not approach people at work and say, “Would you mind not saying ‘disability’ in front of me?”

            I met with client of mine who is deaf a couple of weeks ago. Through an ASL interpreter, I kept using the phrase “hearing-impaired” because I thought that was the preferred term. The interpreter gently told me that the majority of the deaf community prefers to be called just that, deaf. The interpreter further informed me, when you attach the word “impairment” to anything it is seen as a negative and by and large creates a hurtful stigma. I asked the client, “Which do you prefer?” To which he replied, “Don’t care. How about cool guy that can’t hear?”

            Funny, but also telling that no one wants to be saddled by any label, particularly if they do not feel it defines them.  People are far more than one thing. 

Not all disabilities look like this

           

White Guy's Rant on Racism and Discrimination

Hi, I'm white and daring to talk to you about discrimination. But wait, don't click off the article yet! I think my opinion is fair and balanced- but not in a Fox News kinda way!

            At any rate, as far as racial discrimination I personally have not experienced it, but definitely have witnessed it in a general sense. As a white male it does pain me to admit that I have been in the company of other white men who have felt it appropriate to trade racial slurs about certain collective groups, or even specific people. Of course, this was done in the absence of anyone of color. Sadly, at a few jobs that I had when younger, these were often members of management who thought this way and expressed these thoughts with who was promoted into supervisory positions. I might add, it takes wisdom and tact (that I surely did not posses when younger) to be able to discuss the inherent wrong with racial preferences and stereotypes with co-workers. For instance at that time, I would not have been capable of properly articulating the fact that most views held regarding race are fabricated and that race itself is a social construct (Vietze, Jones, Dovidio, Sommers-Flanagan, & Sommers-Flanagan, 2017).

            Finally, on a personal level, growing up with cerebral palsy I have had a few incidents where I have been on the receiving end of discriminatory practices. For instance, during a job interview that required a physical, after disclosing I had cerebral palsy, I was made to go back and retake the physical, despite having passed the first attempt. This led me to cease disclosing my disability for many years thereafter. It was awkward and too difficult to explain easily. Moreover, even if was not treated differently in a negative way, I was overly helped along due to a perception of inability, which I’d argue, is almost as bad. Due to these experiences I can at least begin to see the reason why those that have the ability to not disclose something that might be...umm shall we say 'unaccepted' by the masses (such as sexual preference), choose not to do so. Naturally, this does little for those who cannot hide who they are, such as with race. However, in either case no one should be forced to deny their true selves but for the ignorance of another.   

References

Falender, C. A., Shafranske, E. P., & Falicov, C. J. (2014). Reflective practice: Culture in self and other. In C. A. Falender, E. P. Shafranske, & C. J. Falicov (Eds.), Multiculturalism and diversity in clinical supervision: A competency-based approach. (pp. 273–281). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. 

Vietze, D. L., Jones, J. M., Dovidio, J. F., Sommers-Flanagan, J., & Sommers-Flanagan, R. (2017). Ethics and Cultural Diversity in Mental Health & Wellness. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Upgrade: Part I of II

When Kenny was 6 years old his parents used to make him walk to and from school. They said it was to help him establish trust in their eyes. Kenny knew it was because he was fat and they thought it would help him lose weight.

            A one way trip was about a mile long. Overall, it was fine and Kenny didn’t mind it, even if he did mind his parent’s hidden agenda. At the close of the journey to school, every morning Kenny would traverse the baseball diamond and surrounding field. And every morning the dew from the grass would coat his discount store sneakers in a thick layer of moisture. Because the baseball field was on school property, naturally as Kenny neared this space many school age children could be seen on foot converging towards the building.

            One day in particular had stood out in Kenny’s mind for years. A friend, Adrian hustled up to Kenny’s side as he strolled through the dewy grass. “Kenny, we need another kid for baseball today after school you in?”

            Kenny’s delight at the thought of taking in an activity with friends overruled his critical thinking skills for a moment. “Oh heck ya man!”

            “Great, we need a pitcher. You can use my glove.” Adrian smiled and trotted off ahead, Kenny could hear him telling some of the other kids heading towards the school, “Kenny’s gonna pitch for us today…”

* * *

            “I never went to the game,” Kenny shook his head. The memory was there with him, as though it were still happening. A few key moments, on repeat in his brain for 30 some years of his life.

            “So what happened at the game?” the man on the other side of Kenny’s story was a stern, but wise looking chap dressed in a white lab coat. He had circular glasses and distinguished grey hair combed over to one side.

            “That’s just it Doctor Blevins, I never went.”

            “Why not?”

            “I couldn’t just come out and tell those kids I had a disability, they would’ve roasted me.”

            Blevins removed a stethoscope from Kenny’s bare chest. “So what did you do?”

            “I lied”, Kenny admitted, “I told them I forgot. They never invited me to another game again. And I went on never telling anyone about my disability. Doc, I hope you understand what this prosthetic means to me. This is not just a chance to at increased efficacy. This is a chance to become whole, to become normal.”

            “Alright Kenny, first things first, you’re physically in great condition. Despite the story you just told me, that childhood weight obviously dropped off at some point. Regarding the surgery you are cleared. But I want you to understand something…”

            Kenny was putting his shirt back on but paused to hear Dr. Blevins.

            “…Getting this surgery, receiving this prosthetic isn’t going to make you normal.”

            Shirt now on, confusion flashed in Kenny’s eyes, even as the doctor began to elaborate.  

            “This prosthetic is a trade off. You will gain functionality in your hand. So much so it will be above and beyond that of an average person. However, you will also gain the unwanted attention of many who cannot afford the investment of an Astir Industries product.”

            “C’mon doc, it’s like driving a Mercedes. It’s a status symbol.”

            “Perhaps, but unlike your current physical condition, you cannot hide this product in a garage, or lie to those around you about its existence. It will be in plain sight, 24 hours a day, yada yada yada.”

            “Lie about it?” Kenny laughed loudly as he hopped from the examination table. “Dr. Blevins I’m going to proudly show it to the world.”

            Dr. Blevins nodded. “Please see Marjorie on your way out about scheduling a surgery date.”

* * *

            On the way home Kenny rode the subway alone, smiling stupidly at the appointment reminder he had received from the Blevin’s assistant. Two weeks.

            In two weeks he would be happy. In 14 days he would be a man. In 336 hours he would be strong. In 20,160 minutes he would be independent.

            When Kenny wasn’t staring at the appointment card he was fumbling through the pamphlets he was given. One of which was beige and green tri-fold that was titled ‘Astir Industries: Life perfected’ and a second black and white booklet had a cover that read ‘Upgrade: Dealing with the Physical and Psychological Changes that perfection brings’.

            Those sharing the car with Kenny all eyeballed the literature. With silent judgment, they scanned Kenny. They saw him in his drab jeans, and well worn t-shirt. To them, he cast a distinctly sub-average visage. Collectively, their eyes seemed to say; what’s so special about him.

            One woman, a white-haired beast in a wheelchair, whispered at Kenny, “Fuckin’ elitist.” Kenny was so caught up in himself he didn’t notice. He just continued to smile that stupid smile.

* * *

            Kenny arrived home, his wife of 12 years greeted him. He was ecstatic when he told her the news. She, less so.

            “You were approved? I didn’t think they’d clear you.”

            “What is that supposed to mean Claire?”

            “I just thought the evaluation…so few actually make it.”

            “Nah, Dr. Blevins said that’s a thing of the past now Astir wants to be freer to open up upgrades to the general populace.”

            “Provided they can pay for it?” Claire responded.

            “Are you mad?” Before Claire could answer, Kenny blurted an accusation, “No you’re jealous! Oh my God!” Kenny wanted to laugh, but he suddenly felt so sad. He had come home to share his great news, and had been met with defiance.

            “Jealous! No, my no. I am happy for you but…”

            “But what?” Kenny heard his voice rising, but didn’t fight it. He was hurt and wanted to be heard, and also he wanted to hear what was on Claire’s mind. What she really thought.

            “It’s so much money.”

            “You’re kidding me? That’s what you are worried about? Baby, I have scrimped and saved--”

            “We have saved.” Claire tried to interject, but her protest was overtaken by Kenny’s sheer volume.

            Kenny continued to yell, “--and gone without for years in the hopes that I would be able to do this one day.”

            “What if we have an emergency? What if we need our nest egg?”

            Kenny sighed, but continued his tirade, this time adopting a different approach, “You don’t understand what it’s like to live like this.”

            “What if I want more than this? Look around you! Do you think this rinky-dink apartment and off the rack clothes are what I’ve dreamt about all these years? Why do you get what I want and I get nothing?”

            Kenny paused as tears welled in Claire’s eyes, but only for a moment. “Because what you want is material, and what I want is so much more than that.”

            Claire stormed off, taking refuge in their tiny bathroom.

            The couple didn’t speak until late that night. They angled themselves around the small apartment, for fear they’d both turn its coziness into a setting for close quarters combat.

            At bedtime they both blurted out the same thing, just a beat or two from being completely in unison: “I’m sorry.”

            “Go ahead,” Kenny offered, “I was so rough on you today. You go first.”

            “OK I have to admit, I never thought they’d approve you. That’s why I agreed to you having the surgery.”

            Kenny nodded; he knew it deep down but hated to hear her say it, at the same time he needed to hear her say it aloud. “And I am being selfish with our money.”

            Kenny tried to continue but was cut off when Claire pressed a finger over his lips. “But I know how much this means to you, even if I don’t understand all of what it means to you. Just promise me you won’t freak out. Ya know, afterwards.”

            “I promise.” Kenny looked at Claire, her warm face, gentle eyes and inviting lips. He could tell she’d been crying for the better part of the afternoon. “I’m so sorry I yelled at you. I love you. ” He kissed her more times than they could count.   

CHECK BACK NEXT WEEK FOR PART II - THE EXCITING CONCLUSION!