My sons were 5 and 6 at the time of my injury and grew up in the disability-rights movement (EH lost his bid for sole custody). Children are treasured in the disability community largely because there are so few of them. My sons were no exception, riding on someone's lap in an electric wheelchair when they were young, striding alongside us when they were older. They loved demonstrations, the chanting, what they perceived as sanctioned rowdiness. But they helped in other ways as well, tenderly feeding those who couldn't feed themselves, helping make our pasteboard signs. Before they were out of elementary school, they developed a keen sense of injustice and a close identification with the underdog. Even at that age they sometimes surprised me with their insights.
Their boogeyman wasn't some imagined monster from movies or TV but Social Services, which all too often removed the children of the disabled from their parents based on inaccurate assumptions.
The misconceptions about the children of the disabled are sometimes humorous. People on our travels, whether on local buses or our cross-country road trips, used to exclaim, "Oh they must be so much help to you!" as if they were miniature saints, while in truth getting them to clean their room or take out the trash was just as difficult as it was with any kid.:rolli:
The older one began drifting away from the community in high school and is a helicopter pilot in the Golf of Mexico oil fields. The younger one has made the community his home, volunteering three days a week in a less radical but highly effective disability-rights organization. I'm not only proud of him, but relieved. He's only 22 and I'm 60; I won't always be around to make sure the incredible amount of red tape he has to deal with to keep body and soul together on Social Security benefits gets dealt with, but I know someone will. The community takes care of its own.
Both boys developed strong moral values as a result of their upbringing. They are both unusually compassionate and tend to take on the cause of the underdog wherever they find it.
Both--but especially the younger--have a strong drive to make the world a better place.
Their boogeyman wasn't some imagined monster from movies or TV but Social Services, which all too often removed the children of the disabled from their parents based on inaccurate assumptions.
The misconceptions about the children of the disabled are sometimes humorous. People on our travels, whether on local buses or our cross-country road trips, used to exclaim, "Oh they must be so much help to you!" as if they were miniature saints, while in truth getting them to clean their room or take out the trash was just as difficult as it was with any kid.:rolli:The older one began drifting away from the community in high school and is a helicopter pilot in the Golf of Mexico oil fields. The younger one has made the community his home, volunteering three days a week in a less radical but highly effective disability-rights organization. I'm not only proud of him, but relieved. He's only 22 and I'm 60; I won't always be around to make sure the incredible amount of red tape he has to deal with to keep body and soul together on Social Security benefits gets dealt with, but I know someone will. The community takes care of its own.
Both boys developed strong moral values as a result of their upbringing. They are both unusually compassionate and tend to take on the cause of the underdog wherever they find it.
Both--but especially the younger--have a strong drive to make the world a better place.
