DEAR GRANDFATHER: PLEASE LET GIMPS IN THE DOOR

As a wheelchair-using gimp girl, I sometimes hear folks say the reason a place is not accessible is because it’s historic. Statements like “It’s one of those older buildings constructed under standards in force years ago.”

What they mean is it was built back when gimps were safely tucked away in institutions or kept hidden in the back bedrooms of family homes. You know, like the simpler, gentler era depicted in Norman Rockwell’s art: a time when families sat down together every night at the dinner table and the worst trouble little boys got into was dipping girls’ pigtails in inkwells. Page through Rockwell’s illustrations in a book or online and you’ll be hard-pressed to find gimps included in his rosy vision of an America that never was and never will be.

Perhaps you’ve heard someone say that a building doesn’t have to be accessible because it’s been “grandfathered.” When I hear that word, at first I picture a kind, gentle older man who loves to go fishing and hands out candy to his grandkids.

But then I remember it doesn’t mean that at all. It’s really an excuse to avoid letting gimps in the door. And a pitiful excuse, at that. The ADA is a civil rights law, not a building code. You can’t deny folks their civil rights simply because you’ve been denying their rights for so long, it’s magically okay to keep denying them. To follow that twisted logic would mean allowing racially segregated lunch counters to remain segregated because that’s how it’s always been.

Creating access in older buildings is often a matter of a couple factors. Are the decision makers in charge truly committed to creating an inclusive community and are the architects and engineers up to the task?

Take for example, the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy. It’s one of the most celebrated art collections in the world. It includes masterpieces by da Vinci, Michelangelo and Botticelli that will make you drunk with joy. And it’s really, really old. It was completed in 1581 for Cosimo I de' Medici, who was not exactly known for being a proponent of disability rights. And yet, the Uffizi is exquisitely accessible to wheelchair users, and proud of its touch tours for people with visual impairments. The elevators and ramps are not big, ugly and awkward. They fit seamlessly into the structure, never taking away from the beauty all around.

How can this be? Shouldn’t they have told gimps, “Sorry, you’ll never see Botticelli’s Primavera because, like, the Uffizi is just too old. And, oh yeah, it’s grandfathered.”

Am I ever glad they didn’t. I’ll take Botticelli over Normal Rockwell any day.

DEAR GRADUATING CLASS OF 2015: THE FUTURE IS UP TO YOU

Dear Graduates:

As you head out into the world, I’d like to offer a few thoughts and bits of advice:

·        Do not be fooled. It might be 2015, but there is still a lot of inequality out there. Just because a law gives everyone the same rights doesn’t magically make it so. Equality comes not from statute books but from the attitudes and everyday acts of human beings.

·        Donating money to a cause or clicking “like” on a Facebook page is nice, but won’t change things very much. If you want to change things for the better, speak up when you see unfairness. Tell a business owner that you will no longer patronize their store or restaurant because disabled people can’t get in the door or up to the counter. By the same token, praise those who make an effort to include everyone.

·        If your body, mind and sensory organs function within “normal” parameters, be grateful. But don’t assume that makes you superior to anyone else. Blindness, Down Syndrome or a nasty limp may present challenges but do not make someone a lesser being.

·        If you wouldn’t make a statement about someone of a different race or religion, then don’t make that same statement about someone with a disability. For example, telling someone that it’s a shame she’s in a wheelchair is the same as telling her it’s a shame that she’s African-American or Jewish. Get the picture?

·        People with disabilities do not exist for the purpose of inspiring you or making you feel better about your problems. Imagine if your every breath, thought and act took place not for you own self-actualization, but for the benefit of everyone around you. Scary, right?

·        Borrowing your grandmother’s handicapped parking permit or lying that your pet is really a service dog are not victimless crimes. They make the whole world that much more suspicious and distrustful of disabled people with legitimate permits and service dogs. Simply put: that crap makes my life that much harder, so please don’t be that type of douchebag.

·        As your careers take off, try to make your corner of the world a little better. How? If you own your own business, make it fully disability accessible. If you become an HR director, recruit employees with disabilities. If you design anything – houses, cars, appliances, tech devices – make them universally accessible to all. If someday you’re a high flyer – a company’s CEO or the governor of your state – create a corporate culture of inclusion, from the top down.

Now go forth and do great things.

LEG ENVY, ARM PREJUDICE

All body parts are not created equal. This is often the opinion of non-gimps, especially when they take a break from their normal lives to observe gimps. Like when they stand on fully functioning legs waiting for their macchiatos, then take a window seat at the ADA table to sip and watch gimps pass by outside.

Before you know, a gimp rolls by in a chair. That gimp might be a CEO dressed in a bespoke suit and handmade Italian leather shoes on his way to a meeting at his blue chip company. Or she might be wearing a vintage Comme des Garcons dress and carrying a Fendi baguette while headed to a show of her artworks at a gallery. Or perhaps it’s just a regular Joe or Jane gimp. Doesn’t really matter, because the non-gimp’s instant reaction is typically something like:

“That poor gimp, confined to a wheelchair because of his/her useless legs.”

Legs, legs, legs! Unless you’re a Rockette or an Olympic long-jumper, why is this pair of body parts so gosh darn important? Why do non-gimps insist that these below-the-waist appendages are the only credible, non-pitiable way to get around in the world?

I know what you’re thinking, dear reader. I’m overly sensitive because I use a wheelchair. I’m bitter because I’ll never get to stand three hours in line to ride 90 seconds on a rollercoaster. I’m angry because I’ll never get to feel the excruciating tearing away of my ACL while playing intramural basketball.

Okay, perhaps you’re a little bit right. But only a little bit, because my main point is this: what in the Sam Hill is wrong with arms? Why do non-gimps never see a gimp pass by and think:

“That poor gimp, can’t wash her hair because of useless arms.”

Yes, dear reader, some of us wheelchair-using gimps also have arms that don’t measure up to non-gimp standards. In my case, the juvenile rheumatoid arthritis that jolted my immune system into overdrive destroyed not only the joints in my legs, but also the joints in my arms. It’s been 40 years since I last touched the top of my own head.

I have to do a lot of things with aids for daily living, or ADLs for short. What’s an ADL, you ask? It’s a 50 cent piece of plastic that you order out of a catalog, pay $50 for and use to compensate for your gimped-up arms.

There are long-handled comb ADLs, long-handled toothbrush ADLs, long-handled shampoo applier ADLs, make-up brush ADLs, foot scrubber ADLs, dressing stick ADLs and of course, the ADL probably everyone has seen: reacher stick ADLs.

I have multiple cabinets, drawers and closets in my house filled with ADLs, because each is tailored to a specific task. I mean, forget about trying to use a spoon with an extended handle to put on your socks.

There are even some things that no ADL can compensate for. For instance, I could spend the gross national product of Guam on ADLs and still never be able to use a Q-tip for the task that the Q-tip company tells you – nudge, nudge; wink, wink – to never use it for.

So the next time you see me motoring by in my chair, don’t assume that non-functioning legs have put me in a wheeled, mechanical prison of despair.

Instead, assume that my closets are filled to bursting with 50 cent pieces of plastic.