I’m no superhero

Nearly every day, when we leave the safety and comfort of our personal sanctuary, we face the possibility of a potentially upsetting interaction with someone we may encounter. If we spent any time at all pondering this, none of us would ever leave our homes. However, our natural optimism, along with the demands of an impatient world, can make venturing out feel like an act of daring. When I go out, I never know what sort of interpersonal pratfalls await me. In a world best suited for the sighted, my goal is to arrive home unscathed, both physically and emotionally. This is achieved more easily some days than others.

 

Of the things most sought-after in  life, monetary and material, I believe that what most of us really want is to be acknowledged and valued. Choose any pursuit that comes to mind, and it boils down to “look at me, listen to me, value me”. We want for our achievement to be recognized as a reflection of who we are: Committed, motivated, creative, and compassionate. Who we are, not just what we do.

 

People who have disabilities are no different. We are, after all, people first. With all the same foibles, frailties and failings as any other. Yet that fortress of falseness often isolates us, where it is possible to be well meaning, yet demeaning.

Many people regard those with disabilities as the less fortunate, and there but for the grace of God go they. Others regard people with disabilities as a false idol. They use words like “amazing” or “inspiring” to describe me. They shake their heads in bewilderment as they wonder what divine attribute I must possess in order to live with this particular set of circumstances. I am placed on a pedestal so high as to be out of reach, and therefore isolated.

 

Despite all this admiration, if one were being honest, no one would want to be me. They would never say, “I wish I could be like that. I wish I could be blind. Then I’d be special, too”. The truth is, no one would want to trade places with me, right?

 

Well, certainly no one would aspire to be blind, but there is nothing wrong with being me. Whether one perceives people with disabilities as pathetic or divine, neither view represents reality.

Yet, I am often bestowed superhero status as if solely by virtue of being blind, I am somehow more worthy of admiration than I otherwise would be, if I were sighted. I’m no superhero. Calling me “amazing” only puts me up on a pedestal, and drives a wedge between us. It singles me out. Using words such as “brave” or courageous” are inappropriate. I did not choose to go blind. I am not an inspiration because I am blind. I’m not amazing because I am blind; I am amazing because I am accomplished, resourceful, and skilled. Perhaps I’m amazingly resilient, amazingly articulate, and amazingly strong. Not because of my disability, but in spite of it.

 

As American citizens with disabilities celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act, it is important to realize that the underlying purpose of the landmark legislation is to enable equal access to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Put another way, it has only been twenty years since I have had the legal right to have a job. My own ADA mantra is to remind our non-disabled society that accommodating the needs of people with disabilities is as much about attitude as it is about architecture. Long ago, I stumbled upon a quote that moved me so much; I wrote to the source and asked permission to reprint his words. Neil Marcus, a poet and playwright said, in part: “Disability is not a brave struggle or ‘courage in the face of adversity’. Disability is an art…it’s an ingenious way to live.” I loved the quote so much that I asked Mr. Marcus for permission to use it in my speaker bio. To me, the quote expresses what is most important to all of us: Look at me, listen to me, value me. I’m no superhero.

 

LL