My aunt and uncle visited from Wyoming today and I showed them the drawings and pictures their daughter’s third-grade students sent me last Spring. There are two series of letters since I replied once and then they all wrote back, practicing their cursive and sharing weird stories, silly jokes, and curiosity about my life. Most of the letters begin “Dear Cousin Kay,” which is sweet and cracks me up.<\/p>\n
To their first set of questions, I explained how I get help with dressing and using the toilet. I answered questions about my favorite sport, team, color, children’s book and all that. Also, that’s what my self-portrait<\/a> was all about. My favorite poem of the many the kids sent was this one by Gunnar:<\/p>\n Roses are red, Scary, yet sweet, right?<\/p>\n I replied to every disability-related question they posed and their second set of letters showed more curiosity.<\/p>\n “How do you get the tube down your throat?”<\/p>\n “How do you get into your scooter?”<\/p>\n “Did you know some electric chairs are run by movements of eyeballs?”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n And this one: <\/p>\n “Is your life hard or super-hard?”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n For some reason, that last always makes me think of this lovely little encounter I had in a grocery store in Tempe, Arizona, years ago. I was just a couple blocks from my apartment, shopping early so the short ride home in the heat wouldn’t spoil anything, when a woman stepped toward me.<\/p>\n She had a little girl with her, about three, and the mother said, “Excuse me, do you mind if I take a moment with you to explain to my daughter about your scooter? She’s curious about it.”<\/p>\n The girl stood shyly nearby, trading wide-eyed looks with me.<\/p>\n “Um, okay.”<\/p>\n The woman squatted so we were all about the same height, tapped a finger very gently on the top edge of the metal basket that hangs at the front of my scooter, and told her daughter how some people don’t use their legs or need to sit when they’re tired but still have things to do. She noted that the scooter was a very good thing because it helped me get around.<\/p>\n It was a very brief encounter. The mother didn’t intrude further by asking me to answer questions or explain about myself. She let her daughter look for a heartbeat or two, we traded smiles all around, then she thanked me and we all moved on. The little girl looked back at me a few times, then they were gone.<\/p>\n This one encounter stands opposed to the dozens and dozens where I’ve heard a parent shush a child’s question or cover their pointing finger as they want to know what the deal is with me. Those parents ducked their heads in embarrassment, or a few gave me a “sorry about that” smile. All left the impression that I should not be talked about or approached.<\/p>\n “Is your life hard or super-hard?”<\/p>\n I have no idea how to answer that simply. I’d never say “super-hard,” though to be fair, I know at least one family member who would say “super-hard” because of their relationship to me. But somehow I love the question. Maybe because by itself it says so much.<\/p>\n Crossposted at The Gimp Parade<\/a><\/span> My aunt and uncle visited from Wyoming today and I showed them the drawings and pictures their daughter’s third-grade students sent me last Spring. There are two series of letters since I replied once and then they all wrote back, … Continue reading
\nviolets are blue,
\nI bet anyone would take a bullet for you.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nCheck for more comments there<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"