Connecting through disability

Today is Blogging Against Disablism Day, where nearly 200 bloggers are posting their thoughts on everything from disability culture to inclusion to needing better access when in a wheelchair. For the full collection of posts, be sure to click on this link or the button in the sidebar.

For those who are visiting, welcome. My name is Cale. I have Asperger’s and Tourette’s Syndrome.

I knew of Kristen by reputation before I had met her in person. I was helping to move freshmen into their dorms, when I heard mention of the “handicapped kid” living in our dorm. One Reident Advisor mentioned to the other that we were going to have a handicapped kid living in Room X, so make sure there were tons of kids to help her move her stuff, and make sure to warn everyone so no one would say anything awkward.

Because most of the girls were sick of parents telling them to let the guys carry the TV’s, and then having to get I and the only other guy helping with move-in to take their place, I was one of the first people to show up to Kristen’s car. I saw Kristen pulling out a microwave, and rushed to grab it from her. She gave me one of those, “You’re kidding me, right?” looks, and kept going. I imagine she would have flipped me the bird if both of her hands weren’t filled with the microwave. Kristen isn’t one to be pushed around, and definitely isn’t one to think that there is anything she can’t do simply because she is missing her ulnas (or radiuses. One of the two lower bones in the arm).

Over the next few weeks, we ran into more awkward situations. I didn’t know whether I should carry her tray at lunch or offer to grab one of her books when she was carrying around several. I wasn’t sure if I should wave to her (could she wave back?) if I saw her across campus or if I could interact with her phycially (in a rough-housing sort of manner), the same way I did with my able-bodied friends.

The fact was, I had no idea what I was doing. I’d never had a friend with a physical disability before, and I didn’t know where the lines were drawn.

Now, nine months later, there are still battles, and I still make a ton of mistakes by assuming there are certain things she cannot do on her own and needs my assistance with. But rather then let it create awkward space between us, we’ve allowed it to become an amusing form of bonding.

We argue over who should carry the trays at lunch. She can’t balance them, and I could tic and drop them. I mock her gestures because they curve in such an odd way, and she mocks mine because once they start, they often can’t end without severe conscious effort (especially nodding). This sort of give-and-take has allowed us to open further the lines of communication. It took me the entire school year to ask what exactly it was that made her arms different, and it took her just as long for her to feel comfortable telling me to take a hike when my tics were driving her to distraction.

Our disabilities have brought us closer in other ways too. She was the only other person I spoke to who had also noticed the Handicapped Parking sign was backwards. She and I have spent ours googling disability-related stories. Who else could find connection in their mututal subscription to disaboom?

We go to a small school. Our disability services are rather poor, and few of our buildings are handicapped accessible. But bit by bit, we’re starting a disability community, even if currently it only has two members.