December 10, 2011
Well, he did ask...
Last night, Schuyler and I were at a favorite semi-fancy grocery store in our neighborhood, looking for a birthday cake for Julie. (I know, a day late. Don't judge.) We don't go there all the time, on account of that whole "not made of money" thing, but it's a nice place with an interesting clientele. A few weeks ago, I found myself standing next to one of my favorite actors from one of my favorite tv shows, for example. (Idea for a new show: Looking at Beans with Buddy!)
There's a slight snoot factor with some of the shoppers, but the people who work there are super nice, and the store hires a lot of persons with disabilities and doesn't hesitate to present them up front as the face of the store. That matters to me, a lot.
When Schuyler and I shop, we have fun. She's still young enough and... odd enough to find adventure at the grocery store, and really, so am I. (Well, not so much with the young, but certainly the odd.) On yesterday's trip, we stumbled across a display of very cool holiday hats, and we were trying them on and being goofy when a gentleman stopped and watched us for a moment. I was posing for Schuyler and she was laughing and jabbering happily. As she does.
The man waited until he caught my eye. "Is there something wrong with her?" he asked.
He didn't say it rudely, and I suppose he might have even thought he was simply being curious. But he said it, and he said it right in front of her, as if she wasn't there, or more to the point, as if she wasn't capable of understanding what he said. An assumption, far too common, made based on the fact that she didn't communicate in a way that he understood.
I would like to be able to say that I responded with patience and took advantage of this teachable moment to educate him on Schuyler's disability and his own need for empathy. And really, I wouldn't mind reporting that I instead came back with some clever zinger that put him in his place, either.
But honestly? I did neither. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. I dropped the ball.
The ball did not stay dropped for long, though. Schuyler scrunched up her face, pointed to the man and gave him a thumbs down.
The end of the story is a little anti-climactic. When I saw Schuyler, I broke up laughing, and due to my persistent holiday cold, that laughter led to a coughing fit. I couldn't stop, and that cracked up Schuyler, who then started laughing her goony little laugh. So basically, we answered him with laughter and coughing. The man just sort of walked away while I bent over coughing and Schuyler pounded on my back, still laughing.
I guess we answered his question. "Yes, she speaks Martian and I have tuberculosis. Happy holidays."
So there you go. Self-advocacy at its most concise. I like to think we're raising her right.