Cane and abled: the power of labels in disability identity
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Cane and abled: the power of labels in disability identity
For about a year now, Iβve been walking with a cane again, and it has made my life so incredibly easier, and Iβm not talking about moving around on my own.
See, when I was walking with my wife one day, holding hands, she noticed that I walked better having the support of her on my right side, so she wondered, βHave you ever thought about a cane?β
βNo, I donβt want people to treat me differently.β
Back in 2008, I had used a cane, when I was in outpatient therapy, and that cane was a great improvement over the walker I had used before, which was miles ahead of the wheelchair I had been using since my accident.
I donβt possess the clearest memories of theΒ first year after my accident, but I can recall with a twinge of frustration the high-pitched, βHey buddyββs and the pasted-on smiles of kindness due to disability.
I never want to return to getting approached like a lost child just because of my disability.
Of course, people treated me this way when I was limping too. If I was walking on the sidewalk, people would pull over and roll down their windows with raised eyebrows, βAre you okay?β
Oh, how many of them I wanted to say, βNo, Iβm not. And to be perfectly honest, itβs because of you.β
Of course, no, I never did. I just smiled, βNo, car accident back in 2007. Iβm okay.β
And then, they would drive off, as if they were just fulfilling a job duty: check on anyone who walks different and report back.
The funny thing is the cane had the opposite effect.
People donβt talk to me with the upward lilt ofΒ polite but uncomfortableΒ anymore. Thereβs no smile with the mind behind wondering whatβs wrong with me. Strangers are not pulling over anymore to check on me.
Why?
So, this semester, I am utilizing Malcolm Gladwellβs Blink as a master-text and a jumping-off point for my English 1102 course, and one of the things Gladwell talks about is human expectation and interaction. Human beings are uncomfortable with people or things that our minds donβt know what category to put them in or when those people or things defy the category we want to put them in.
As a young man with a clear limp but no other discernable clue as to my ailment, I fell outside the box.
People were concerned and curious. I once had a woman ask me, just having met me and without any sort of segue, completely apropos of nothing, βIs it something degenerative?β
She was searching for the box. Now, I must say I was taken back, but in a way, I kind of appreciated the bluntness. Sure, it lacked conversational charm, but she was thinking it, and she said it, which is a lot better than a falsetto βHey buddy.β
The distance people create with disabilities like mine is because theyβre not sure how to interact. Does the physical ability match the mental ability?
Itβs safer to put me in one box than to risk making it awkward if they have to go down a peg.
The cane puts me in the right box.Β People know what a cane is. They know it helps people walk; sometimes, people have been in an accident; sometimes, they had an intense surgery, and sometimes, they were born with something. But, itβs physical. Canes help people get around, and most importantly, using one says nothing of oneβs mental ability.
And so, I have come to love my cane but hate it for all these reasons.
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Read more:Β The power of language and labels
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I didnβt want people to treat me differently because of my disability, but instead, theyβre treating me differently because they have simplified my disability.
I worried that using a cane would make me defined by my disability, and I am, but I am wrongly defined. People think they understand me now, so theyβre comfortable, but they donβt think of me any differently; they just feel more confident that my physical ability and mental ability are not connected. My cane does not help me escape others defining me by my disability. It just gives people the confidence to take a more active role in defining, βIs it degenerative?β
The problem with all of this is not others. Human beings love boxes. Heck, I love to define and delegate. Itβs part of who we are; it is part of being social creatures. Not that we accept it, but we must recognize it as part of us.
Other people arenβt the problem. The problem is me. The problem is that I let so much of my mental energy be devoted to how best to shape the image of myself in other peopleβs minds, as though I have any control over that.
The problem is I worry whether I will beΒ defined as disabled, meaning incapable, struggling, insufficient, without ever asking who isnβt? And furthermore, without ever stopping to ask why am I giving other people so much power over me?
Not to say that I can stop their boxes, because I donβt believe you can. Every new conversation someone is slapping you with a label and putting you in a drawer. And, you might claw and scream and bang the sides of their mental filing cabinet, punching dents in, until it falls over, but you might never get out of that drawer in their mind.
Though, why should it bother you?
To thine own self be true.
Seek first to judge not; seek first to be open to understanding someone without demanding the answers to. God has blessed me with an open response to, βWhat happened?β and, thank God, the ability to respond to, βIs it degenerative?β with a nod, a smile, and the rest of my story.
Wait, listen, know someone, and wait for the rest of the story.
Your brain will search for the labels to slap on someoneβs forehead, but it is your task to grab your mind by the wrists and hold it down until the opportunity comes for that person to make the label unnecessary.
Cane and abled: the power of labels in disability identityΒ was republished fromΒ The Sunday Morning StaircaseΒ with the permission of the author

Will Carter
Will Carter is a native of Roswell, Georgia. He suffered a traumatic brain injury in October of 2007, while he was a senior at Roswell High School.