“Why do they have to pity him when he’s happy?”
A friend of mine asked me this the other day. We were watching his son making his way along the hospital corridor, trying out his new walking frame, wearing the biggest grin I have ever seen on his face. His left leg was doing most of the work and his little arms were shaking with the effort but he was so proud of himself.
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| It's harder than this dolly makes it look. (Spider walker by Timo) |
We were proud of him too because, in the two years he had been in the world, this was the furthest he had ever walked. And yet, there was sadness in that moment.
As nurses, doctors, physios, patients and visitors passed him in the hall, there was smiles and adoring looks from some, but there were
looks of pity from many others. Looks that said, “that poor child, he can barely walk.”
But my friend didn’t want pity for his son.
“Why do they have look at him like that?” he asked. “Why can’t they look at him and say, ‘Wow! He’s actually walking!’?”
So, here’s my question for the week?
Why can’t you?
Because when you see a child with a limp, with a walking aid, with splints or AFOs, with a wheelchair, with a prosthetic, with a deformity or other obvious disability, what you’re probably feeling is pity. And what you’re thinking is, “poor thing.”
But you don’t need to.
Because, when my daughter manages to shift her weight while sitting without falling, I’m proud of her, I’m excited. It’s a tiny thing, yeah, I know, but to me it’s wonderful and I think we should throw a party to celebrate how much we love her and how well she’s doing.
When my son manages to control his fear or anxiety or frustration and actually calms himself down, I want to ring every member of my family to brag about how clever he is.
When my friend’s son manages to lift his right leg, we cheer!
You don’t need to pity us.
You don’t need to pity our children.
What you can do is try to understand.
You can look up some blogs about what it’s like for parents and their children living with conditions like Muscular Distrophy, Cerebral Palsy, Spina Bifida, Down Syndrome, Autism, Sensory Processing Disorder and Spinal Muscular Atrophy just to name some obvious ones.
It’s not morbid to read about what our lives are like, it’s an eye opener.
You’ll learn more about the community you live in, even if it is a part of your community you don’t see every much.
And (and this is a big, important and) you will grow in your compassion, respect for others and empathy. And that is what we are trying to teach our kids is it not? What better way to teach them those things than to be ever striving to learn thetm better ourselves?
Here’s another thing you can do too.
I’ve mentioned before on this blog that you don’t need to be afraid to ask about my kids if there is something you would like to learn more about and I’ll say it again: Don’t wonder, don’t stare, don’t point: just ask.
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| The much loved Bunny Boots. |
My daughter wears AFOs (that stands for Ankle Foot Orthotics) to help her lower legs keep their shape and stop her ankle joints from contracting too much. Theoretically they help with standing and walking too but in her case that just isn’t on the cards. I know that a lot of people have seen them on her and silently wondered about them but so few people have actually asked why she wears them.
About two weeks ago I overheard a bit of a conversation that made me really sad and more than a little bit angry.
I was talking to my daughter about her AFOs, which we call her Bunny Boots because they have pictures of bunny rabbits on them. I was asking her if one was a bit too tight because she seemed uncomfortable.
She said yes, I adjusted it.
It was a simple thing, but at the next table, three women were watching us.
A few minutes later my son came running up, asking me to chase him and my daughter squealed: “Run! Run!”
So, I picked her up and ran with her, holding her under her arms and letting her feet bounce on the ground a little. It’s a bit awkward but she loves to believe that she’s running and I will happily do anything for her when she giggles so adorably and we had a lovely run until I ran right out of energy.
As we were getting ready to go and I overheard the following snippets of conversation:
“...poor thing...”
“....leg splints...”
“...disabled...”
“...handicapped...”
“...Forest Gump...”
“...Isn’t it sad...”
It seems that for some people the only experience they have of splints is the film Forest Gump, but let me just say, the medical profession has moved on since then.
Oh, and if you really feel the need to whisper about my daughter, could you at least wait until we’ve gone?
Because that sort of thing really puts a downer on my day and, trust me, I don’t need any additional downers.
So there you go. Please don’t feel you have to look on us with pity. Understanding is always welcome, sensitivity is a must (I don’t hold with comedians who make fun of people with different abilities. Bullying behind a microphone is still bullying.) but pity isn’t needed.
You don’t need to pity us.
You don’t need to pity our children.
Especially when we’re happy.
