It was certainly different growing up in Detroit during the
1950s, long before the Disabilities Act of the early 70s created
a
”
politically correct
”
way of relating to people with physical and mental
handicaps.
But how many of us without disabilities have taken this liberal
guilt too far?
It was certainly different growing up in Detroit during the 1950s, long before the Disabilities Act of the early 70s created a “politically correct” way of relating to people with physical and mental handicaps.
But how many of us without disabilities have taken this liberal guilt too far?
Before anyone gets the idea that I’m attacking people with disabilities, I must say I never park in handicap spaces and I overcompensate my guilt by going out of my way to be helpful to those with disabilities.
What I knew about people with disabilities was my father’s cousin, Lyle. Everyone called him retarded. As a child, I knew Lyle was different from us. If I was ever caught staring at someone in a wheelchair or carrying a cane, my mom would correct me for it.
“It’s not nice to stare,” she would say.
She ominously warned me to be careful that I do not make fun of anyone less fortunate.
“You could end up the same way.”
Back then, we didn’t have any curbs or bathroom access facilities and, yes, no manners when it came to the handicap. Often people with handicaps were subjected to chuckles, stares and pointing fingers. Those with mental handicaps were called “retards” or “imbeciles.”
Today, things are a lot better for the handicapped because they are no longer treated as second-class citizens because of their disabilities, as it should be. However, equal rights and equal access for the handicapped has never been a license for dirty old men!
While jotting down some notes from a plaque in the Aromas Town Square Park last Sunday, I noticed in my peripheral vision a man in a wheelchair on the opposite side of the street crossing Carpentaria Avenue. As I walked over to a utility pole to read a letter that was attached to it, the man then crossed Blohm Avenue and was heading my way.
Not to be rude, I acknowledged his presence and greeted him with a genuine hello. It was clear he did not speak English. Still trying to be polite, I smiled and said, “Adios.”
As I tried to leave, the man took my pad and pen out of my hand and wrote down his age. As I went to take my notepad away, the man grabbed my arm, pulled me toward him and tried to kiss me.
I turned my face away, in time for him to kiss my cheek and not my lips!
I was astounded, flabbergasted – I was accosted by a 73-year-old man in a wheelchair!
Not once, but twice in 15 seconds. When I pulled my left arm out of his grasp, he grabbed my right arm with his left hand and pulled my face toward him with his right hand. I struggled to turn my face away and again he kissed my cheek.
Make no mistake: In any language, a man knows what the limits are. I was visibly upset as I pushed him off while telling him no, which I knew he understood, and while trying to be careful. Careful that I didn’t knock the bastard out of his wheelchair onto the ground where he belonged. For those who have no experience in these matters, the first reaction is to protect yourself. It was unnerving. I had to resist the impulse to beat the crap out of him.
I was unnerved at how careful I was because of how would it look on the outside. An old man in his wheelchair gets beaten with a camera in the park.
I was at a disadvantage because anyone who wheels around in a wheelchair will have arms like legs. This man had a grip that shocked me. His upper body strength was a physical advantage over me.
I try like hell to treat people equally and I hope my children have learned the same.
I guess this is my problem. Because I’ve overcompensated, over-learned the message of the Disabilities Act, I treat handicapped people as more than equal. Instead of all handicapped people being invisible as in the 1950s, my mind sees them as all above reproach.
So I’m guilty of treating that old man in the wheelchair differently. Had he not been handicapped, I would have slugged the pervert. But I didn’t.
Instead, I made allowances because he was in a wheelchair, putting myself in danger. I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’ll treat him exactly as I would any other dirty old man. Next time, I’m going to give him hell!
