Don't Say A Prayer For Me Now

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“Boundaries are, in simple terms, the recognition of personal space.”
Asa Don Brown

Hello Dear Readers!

Well the preceding week has been a positive, productive, and all round pretty darn good week, all said.

It was marred only by my leaving my cash card at home and thus being unable to pay for my parking on Thursday. This of course was hugely embarrassing, but even that could not take the shine off a really good seven days. The only thing is, is that it has left me just a little bereft of subject matter to enthrall and confuse you, my dear readers, with.

So it is that for this week’s post I’m going to be reaching back into the mists of time. Back to the days of my callow, feckless youth, and in particular, to an encounter that left your friendly neighbourhood seated person… well, you be the judge.

(Please feel free to insert your own wibbly-wobbly flashback effects at this point if you wish. Unfortunately my budget doesn’t run to such things.)

Beware of strangers eating carrots

Imagine, if you will, yours truly on a solo mooch around town some, oh I don’t know, ten years or so ago. It’s a pleasant summer’s day which is wearing on into the mid-afternoon, and I’ve managed to save myself some money with some spectacularly ineffectual shopping. It was getting a touch late and I'd decided to head off home when, looking around I saw that I’d managed to wander in to one of the less frequented streets of my native Leeds. It was here that I first clapped eyes on a happy go lucky sort of chap.

He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, humming a little tune to himself and nibbling on a carrot he had presumably got from the plastic bag of said vegetables that he was carrying. I think, that as he approached, I may have nodded to him in that vaguely friendly way one does (well, in this part of the world at least.) and that may have been my first mistake.

 To Squat Or Not
Our friend, you see, took this as an invitation. He stopped as he passed me, put his bag of carrots on the ground and squatted so that he was on the same level as me. Now, a lot of people think of this as a good tactic when taking to a wheelchair user but to be honest I tend to think of it as just a touch creepy and condescending. Grab a chair by all means, but going to your haunches… meh. Anyway, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself. The gentleman in question , having crouched by my side then engaged me in light conversation, enquiring about my day etc., and then went on to ask about my disability. For my somewhat ranty thoughts on this line of questioning please see  It's Not Just A Poorly Leg . Needless to say I was becoming a touch uneasy. It was what came next that made me feel really uncomfortable though.

Yes, dear readers, you guessed it, he asked me if he could pray for me. 

Now I’m not a religious man as those of you that follow me may have gathered. I tend to leave that kind of thing to Tina, my better half. However this particular fine fellow seemed quite sincere in his request and although I don’t believe in the power of prayer I couldn‘t see how it could hurt. So, I said “sure, why not”. Of course I didn’t expect him to break into an exhortation to the almighty right there and then!

via GIPHY

Te Squirm Turns

Now some of you gentle readers may not see an issue with this. Some of you may possibly think I should get over myself. Some may be squirming just a little at the embarrassment and awkwardness of the situation. I think it probably goes without saying that at that very moment I was in the latter camp. I was just thankful that no-one else was around and that our carrot munching chum left it at the one reasonably short prayer before sauntering off on his merry way.

All of this goes back to the question of personal boundaries and how, in my experience, being a wheelchair user seems to lower those boundaries. I’m fairly sure that as our friend continued his progress he wouldn’t have accosted too many other people in that particular way. As always, I could be wrong, but for some reason I just don’t see it.

I can’t even say that it was just this gentleman’s personal peccadillo either, as I have had this happen to me on another occasion. This time it was a slightly hippy-ish looking woman on a crowded street whilst on holiday in Torquay. Of course as this was the second occasion I was suitably forewarned and politely declined the offer before beating a hasty retreat, much to her slightly offended bewilderment.

And so dear readers, that brings us back to the future once again. Funnily enough I now find myself in the midst of a hugely religious community, thanks to Tina’s membership of the Salvation Army. To their credit the above kind of situation hasn’t ever really come up, although of course there is the odd  gentle(ish) poke towards getting me to believe (They do say god loves a trier.) 

Myself, I think Duran Duran said it best

Until next time…