I started this as a comment to an article by Cripple Gal. (Please read that first!) I realized that there was way too much here for a comment. I apologize for the way I expressed this. It was written to a specific person. I don’t have any idea whether anyone else (or even the original author) might find anything interesting here. And, yes, this is my first diary. So please give me a little grace.
My mom was the most athletic of 5 children. She had polio when she was really young (I think she was around 5). It killed the nerves at the top of one leg, and she’s never walked properly since.
She grew up during the good ol’ days with family warning her she better grab the first man who showed any interest, since she definitely wasn’t going to get a second shot at love. And she looks back on the 50’s with nostalgia!
I grew up interlacing pinkies with her rather than holding her hand, because the rest of her hand was busy supporting herself on a crutch. And the other was carrying something like groceries.
When I was 10 or 11, she had this experimental new surgery where the doctors replaced her hip with some metal thing. It was pretty scary at the time, but it helped her stay mobile for many years.
(to be clear: My dad left her and, amazingly enough, she found someone else who loves her deeply and takes really good care of her. And vice versa).
I don’t remember ever hearing the C-word used to describe my mom. I probably did, and it didn’t register. When I first heard the term “political correctness,” I thought it was one of the dumbest things ever. I’m sure she heard it all the time when she was growing up. She never used it, but she is bound and determined to never let her challenges define her. She is a person of rare courage and strength. Everyone who knows her admires her immensely. They are amazed at the faith she has in the Christian God that lets her cope. I hate that she doesn’t really have much choice in that (well, the faith part is a choice, but she was brainwashed into that when she was an infant. And her family means well).
Now she’s old and fragile. The bone around that false hip is mostly gone. She’s fallen and broken it again. She really should spend most of her time in a scooter, but can’t afford to live where one’s practical. For that matter, I’m not a spring chicken any longer.
I’ve had issues that have forced me to use crutches or a cane a few times. One of those times, I worked at a company where the doors were absolutely not ADA-compliant, and it was miserable. The one time someone tried to open one of those doors from the other side to let me in, I’d just bent over to set down my backpack. The heavy metal door corner creamed me right on the crown of my head and knocked me over. It was painful, and there was a lot of blood.
Yes, she could have identified herself with the “C-word” many decades ago before I was born. But then that would have been her identity. And there’s so much more to her as a person (good and bad, like all of us). So she learned to never use it.
That doesn’t mean you never should. This is a different world. Most people understand now that words can hurt. Those words don’t have to, but other people better be sure they know you really well before they risk using them on you.
Based on the very little I know about you from the diaries/comments I’ve read and your login ID, I’m pretty sure you know about the power of words and ideas.
This reminds me of a couple of people of color who had an interaction while we were in boot camp. Many/most of us had grown up in almost completely white communities (I’m skeptical that the military has changed much since then). They spent some time engaging in racial slurs. Someone reported it to our drill instructors.
We spent the next few hours learning an important lesson: If you’re part of a protected minority, you’re allowed to use whatever slur you want against yourself or others in the same group (the latter part’s stretching it, though). Otherwise, you damn well better keep your mouth shut and also shut up anyone else who’s tempted to break that rule.
Your diary also reminded of so many accounts I’ve read of women who were sexually assaulted. They were so shocked that they didn’t do anything to defend themselves. What was happening was unthinkable, and they just froze.
Defense lawyers have successfully convinced juries over and over that she didn’t really object, because she didn’t clearly say “no.” And that’s just bullshit.
A verbal slur obviously isn’t on the same level as a physical assault. But I think there’s a lot of the same sorts of systemic abuse and prejudice at play.
I could mansplain that “It wasn’t really what you thought” about how I think he was probably just trying to be ironic and making a joke, since you clearly aren’t C-word.
I could say that I deliberately make it a point to hold the door every chance I get. I have since I was a little kid, because I was taught that that’s just a polite thing to do. I may go out of my way to help people with mobility issues when I can, but I try to make it the most positive non-event that I possibly can.
I desperately hope that I have never given anyone else the impression that I was doing anything more than being a polite human being who cares about them as fellow human beings who deserve respect and love. At the same time, I’m absolutely positive that I’ve managed to screw it up, because that’s the way human interactions work.
Most of us try to be good and kind to each other. Sometimes the signals get crossed, and those attempts fail.
Other people pretend to look like they’re trying, just so they can send out dog whistles.
How do you tell the difference? There’s a billion dollar question. You have to pick and choose for yourself. Personally, I recommend being open to the possibility that your first impression was wrong, but I’m not sure it’s worth giving anyone else more than a second chance.
(Gah. I don’t really mean that either. But this has gone on for for too long).
