The Stare Patrol

In this entry, the Stare Patrol photos are censored.

Our son usually walks with a walker when out in public. He is faster with it than with the forearm crutches, or as we call them, "ski poles." The walker is easier to get started with--to just grab and go. But over the weekend, we went to the mall to "beat the heat," and we had him use the ski poles. I saw the Stare Patrol out in full force, and I got my camera ready. But what I saw, I couldn't even force myself to take pictures of. People were not giving him the usual "Oh, he's so cute" befuddled looks. Instead of bafflement at the walker--which I guess people don't see every day being used by a child--what I saw was pity looks. To us, the ski poles are an improvement. To them, it seems that it stirs up the old pity, "look away!" feelings.

I saw in their faces the look one gets when looking at Tiny Tim or Jerry's Kids. These images of kids with disabilities are what we grow up with, are what are so ingrained in us, that we accept them as true. We truly believe that kids with crutches should be pitied. How can they have good lives? How can their parents BEAR IT? Picture Tiny Tim's little crutch sitting there by the fireplace, abandoned now that Tim has died of some unknown yet dreaded disease.

But this is not at all the way I think of my son, who is strong, powerful, and joyful. Unapologetic, he is not here FOR YOU. He is not here for your pity, your charity, your "What happened to him?"'s, your "Poor him"'s and your "Poor parents." He is here for himself, to live his own life, to make the most of whatever he has been given and whatever he wants to go out and take. You know, just like the rest of us.

Here is what I see when I look at him in an unbiased way, seeing him clearly. Take a look at my beautiful boy. Look at his eyes, his smile. His walking device is secondary.