Do not feel sorry for me. Do not pat me on the head, in fact do not touch me at all unless you know me very well. What is it about being disabled that makes total strangers think they can come up and put their hands on my shoulder? No one has patted me on my head yet and they best not unless they want to pull back a bloody stump.
Good grief, I am not a ‘poor thing’ to be talked over as if I am not there. I have been talked over in jest, but really having people act as if I am not there is one of the most demeaning things ever. Don’t do it. If you have something to say, say it to me. I shall respond to you. My ears work fine. You don’t have to talk to your friend or worse yet, a stranger passing by about how brave I am to be outside by myself. I am 73 years old, old enough to be outside alone. And driving my car does not make me brave either. I’ve been doing that since I was 16 years old, back when the earth was misty.
And don’t pity me either. No reason to. Nothing is worse than being pitied for any reason. Rolling around to grocery shop certainly doesn’t call for pity.
“Being an inspiration for us all?” That gets old in a hurry, if it ever started to being with. I have never been inspiring. I have lived a regular normal life, working, paying taxes, conquering problems. Just like you.
I didn’t overcome anything to do what I want to do, go where I want to go. I did those things when I walked. What makes you think I can’t do them now?
