For the last few days I have had my good friend Stephen Kuusisto staying at my home. If you have not read Kuusisto's memoir Planet of the Blind and his blog under the same name you are missing great writing on disability. Steve is more than just a great writer. He is one of the few academics I have met that is not only exceptionally smart but hysterically funny. He also has a penchant for dropping F bombs multiple times a day. Thanks to him I have had the opportunity to hang out at Guiding Eyes for the Blind in Yorktown, New York. While he does his research toward his next book I have been working on a review essay regarding the divide between bioethics and disability studies scholars and disability activists. Writing this essay has been a struggle.
The Guiding Eyes for the Blind facility and the property it is situated on is spectacular. It is without question the most beautiful disability related institution I have ever been to. I have found being around Kuusisto and the staff I have met at the Guiding Eyes for the Blind energizing--far different from my usual solitary existence. It makes me yearn for a collegial academic environment. It has also boosted my ego, a dangerous thing for any male academic. Thankfully being disabled is the perfect cure for a big ego. Yesterday Kuusisto and I went out to a local deli to pick up lunch. Let me tell you a paralyzed guy using a wheelchair and a blind man with a seeing eye dog attracts attention. And yes this sounds like the start of a bad joke. At the deli I parked and Kuusisto got out first and we were chatting as I put my wheelchair back together. Kuusisto was leaning against a car when the owner showed up. The first words out of the female car owner was "I have a disability too. You are inspiring". I looked at Kuusisto and we instantly knew we were about to be verbally assaulted. This was a woman that was not aging well. She was on the north side of 40, had a severe blonde hair job designed to make her and others think she was still 20 something. The look was not working and there had been some hard miles put on her body and face. I suspect in her life time she had consumed too much alcohol and drugs. We obviously were public property and like many people far too willing to share her views despite the fact they were unwanted. We did not ask to be abused. We did not have a sign on our shirts stating abuse me. In the estimation of this woman, we were inspiring because we were out there in the world. We overcame our disability and the pain and misery we experienced. She of course knew what a mighty struggle this was. She told us she overcame her disability, bitterness and abject misery. She was not bitter. No sir. She conquered her disability.
I instantly knew her type. Any sort of engagement would be futile. I became mute. Kuusisto stated a few benign words to appease her. This was not a teaching moment. In her mind we were the archetype of disability, a belief etched in stone. It is experiences such as these that provide fodder for much laughter. This woman had no clue. We have joked a lot about this woman. She created a good story. But today I am not laughing. Today I am wondering when exactly will such ignorance disappear. When will people such as myself and Kuusisto, each of us highly educated authors, be treated with respect people without a disability enjoy. When will I cease to become public property. When will my life be ordinary. When can I be an anonymous middle aged white male. When will I not be subjected to baseless ignorance the woman in question was all too eager to share.