The Lens of Possibility

Until a couple years ago, our little guy substituted the word possibility for disability. “Mommy? Does that person have a possibility?” And the heart of the special ed teacher that I had studied to be would swell and I would reply, “Yes, baby. She does have a possibility.” Every. Single. Time.

And here we are now, with possibilities of our own. Who knows where they will take Pat? Or the little boy who changed the wording to “disability” when he turned 6? Or any of us? One thing I do know: things are different. Different for us, certainly, and also to others. People view us through a different lens now.

I realized it recently when we were at the Italian Market in Philly, where two men (students? professionals?) were armed with video equipment, shooting everyone who walked down their side of street. They leaned against a storefront until people came their way, then grabbed their equipment and shot a few seconds of footage. I watched from Anthony’s as we sipped our coffee. Now they’re resting, now they’re up. Now they’re resting, now they’re up.  After our coffee, we eventually ended up heading their way. Now they're resting…and they’re resting…and they’re resting. No cameras. We were not what they were looking for. And yet—everyone else had been. Young, old, posh, shabby. For us they continued resting.

I have noticed that we have are now invisible to many. I have lived 47 years, almost 30 of them with my husband. I never realized that we had a rhythm of communication with strangers until it changed. People don’t look in our eyes these days. They watch us pass. Maybe they feel awkward. I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t care. It doesn’t hurt my feelings. But I’ll admit that it does fascinate me. I am fascinated by being ignored.

I am equally fascinated by the people who NEED to talk to us. Because it seems that wearing a leg brace and having an obvious physical challenge is for some people an invitation to chat. “What’s wrong with you?” (or worse yet, what’s wrong with him?). Bad ankle? Keep on going! Do you need surgery?…and I am transported to my own experiences of standing out and looking different—my pregnancies. It is surprisingly similar. Apparently, having some kind of obvious difference can be an invitation to comment in ways not typically experienced in polite society. When do people walk around commenting on strangers’ bodies? When they’re pregnant, in my experience. And now, also in my experience, when they stand out as different.

I am finding Pat’s brace, his gait, our pace, to be a lens of sorts. The reactions of the people around us tell me so much about them. Their questions for him—or about him, even when he’s right there-- are to me statements about themselves. Through our pace and gait, I have gained a secret portal. People reveal themselves through their actions and reactions. It may not be typical (or sane), but I have developed a new hobby. I people watch, through the lens of our new lives. Of Pat’s disability. Our possibility.