Knowing Me, Knowing You.

Hello dear readers!

You know inspiration is a funny old thing.

I’ve been writing this blog now for about 20 months and, after a somewhat stuttering start, have missed only a small handful of weekly offerings.

It can be difficult, coming up with something for you, my gentle readers, to endure come Sunday evening. It’s especially tricky in the weeks that are very much like the preceding week. The weeks when it’s all quiet on the western front and not exactly a hive of activity on the eastern, northern or southern fronts either.

Luckily, a single incident was just about enough to get the attention of my errant muse.

A Muse Bouche

I say muse. I think my particular embodiment of inspiration (let's call her Edna.) might be new to the job. Maybe a trainee. It’s possible she’s part time, doing the musing in between shifts at the local chip shop or going door to door selling make-up. Whatever her working situation however,  I think it’s fair to say that, this week she’s just about come through. I had no idea of even the general shape of this week's post, not even a sliver of a shade of an idea... Up until Friday afternnoon that is.

It was at this point that, during my normal drive home from work, my mind started wandering.

To allay any fears you may have I was stuck in traffic at the time so no lives were put at risk by my daydreaming. I did get a blast from the horn of the driver behind me for failing to close the three foot gap between myself and the car in front. A most heinous crime I’m sure you’ll agree. I, of course, indicated my gratitude for pointing out my transgression in the, um, usual way. That was about as eventful as things got though..
 

It was, however, in this state of wandering wonderment that I happened to catch sight of a fellow wheelchair user, battling against the elements and a not too steep but extremely long hill. This random sighting was the inciting incident that got the old and slightly seized up cogs ever so slowly turning.

The Questionable Question In Question

The sight of the gentleman in question stirred up an association, you see, with some long forgotten memory rattling around in the depths of my subconcious. It brought to my mind a similar sight, on perhaps a slightly nicer day, in fact I want to say on some kind of holiday or day trip. Definitely not in my native Leeds or anywhere too familiar.

Wherever it was and whoever I was with I have distinct memory of being pushed up a similar hill and seeing a fellow wheelchair user on the other side of the road, making the slightly easier trip downhill. I remember catching the gentleman’s eye and sharing that slightly embarrassed look of two people with something rather obvious in common.

The reason this sticks in my mind, is that whoever was providing me with locomotive assistance on this particular day asked me a question. One I’ve been asked before and many times since.

“Do you know him?”

Nowt As Queer

It might be that look we shared (there might even have been a slight nod) but that would have been the only indication of anything resembling recognition and, as a Yorkshireman, nods and smiles are pretty much par for the course. Dog walkers and random perambulators will nod and smile attheir pposite numbers in these parts as a matter of course. They’ll even share a hearty ‘good morning’ on a reasonably frequent basis. It might sound like we’re a bunch of over familiar weirdos to those from parts elsewhere but it’s just what folk tend to do around here.

I digress.

Nah then!

The point is, that this was a chance encounter with a random stranger, far away from my normal stomping ground. There really wasn’t any reason to believe I might know the chap in question… apart from one.

Find X

This is not an isolated incident. I’ve been asked on other occasions whether I know someone based purely on the fact that we’re both disabled. Sometimes it’s been whilst the person was present, sometimes it’s been people just asking if I know someone named x. (where x is a stand in for a name you understand. I don’t think anyone actually knows anyone called x. I certainly don't.) Whatever the case, it seems like there are some people who hold a tacit understanding that all wheelchair users, if not all disabled people, (these not being the same thing), somehow know each other.

Strange isn’t it? I can’t think of many other sub-sets of society where the same assumption would be made. It certainly wouldn’t hold for people of colour or people of any certain sexual persuasion but, in my own experience anyway, it does seem to hold for people like me. It’s like some people think there’s a club or some kind of secret society that holds regular meetings. Perhaps there is. Perhaps I’ve just not been invited. I have to admit that I’d be just a bit put out if that was the case. I mean who doesn't love a good secret handshake?

In The Club
The truth, I fear, is far more mundane. Some disabled people will know other disabled people. Various conditions have support groups where people can share experiences and trials. There’s also those that take part in disabled-centric sports or activities of one stripe or another, from Murderball (see here) to archery and just about everything in between... Then you have people like me.

I can count the amount of disabled people I spend any amount of time with on the finger of one finger. This is my erstwhile best man, Cookie, a gentleman(?) I’ve known since I was four. Outside of this, well I tend to shy away from any kind of organisation or activity specifically for the disabled. Possibly this is some kind of perverted desire not to get pigeon holed, possibly it’s my introversion flaring up, possibly it's an extreme aversion to physical effort. More likely it’s a combination of the three. What I do know is I’m not alone in this particular mindset.

Having a rather obvious difference from most people I think there are one of two ways one can go. The individual can band together with those like himself/herself,  throw themselves into activities and events and fully immerse themselves in the disabled identity. Owning it you might say.

Alternatively, one can go the other way, and actively refuse to be anything other than a ‘normal’ member of society, to actively shun the things that mark the individual as different and seek as independent and ‘normal’ life as is possible.

The Seated Identity

I don’t for one moment think it’s quite that binary. I think most disabled people exist on a spectrum somewhere between the two examples above. I know I fit more towards the second case for instance. I strive to be as ‘normal’ as possible. I don’t seek out other disabled people to socialise with. I don’t go on trips. I don’t belong to any clubs or associations. Really the only thing I do which could be said to embrace my identity as a disabled man is this blog. Maybe that’s something that's shifted me along the spectrum somewhat.

It's certainly something to think about.

Until next time...

Thoughts? Ideas? I would welcome any input in the comment section below. Thanks for reading!