Do I Wish I was Younger?

     Some people wish they were younger--that they could relive their lives differently.  I do not.  Don't be mistaken, I have not lived unblemished by ill-advised words, and actions.  Yet, to relive my youth differently would be to negate the lessons I've learned--the insights I've been given.
     I would return to people, to places, and to events.  Not to change them.  To celebrate them.  To honor them.  But, not to change them.  To friends, to family, you know who you are.  Words escape me.  We know what we have lived--before us is our future.
     To unlikely people my mind is drawn.  To Katie, you taught me the meaning of grace--of disgrace, her antonym, as well.  You gave me poetry--"Brazen Honesty"http://patty-pattysponderings.blogspot.com/2011/03/brazen-honesty.html--a gift I shall treasure forever.  An unlikely gift, I dare say.  A gift nonetheless.  To Janet, never before had I met, and never again will I know, a piece of work such as you are.  Into my core, "there goes another gimp," you did gore.  Yet, your words broadened my vocabulary--sharpened my ear.
     My alter egos.  Pre-school giraffe.  A ballerina.  Patrushka.  Patty Tricia.  Pat.  Ms. P.T.  Thorsen.  Zoomer.  Aunt Patty.  Roboaunt.
     To places.  Michael Dowling School for Crippled Children.  Bassetts Creek.  2625 Vale Crest Road.  Washington, D.C.  Oslo.  The College of St. Catherine.  Grand Marais.  West Publishing.  Developmental Disabilities Council.
     To events.  Teasing.  Junior high school choir class.  My first class at St. Catherine's.  Baptism.  Graduation.  Master's degree graduation.  Master's degree graduation celebration.
     Do I wish I was younger?  Do I wish my youth I could reclaim?  No.  I treasure the joys.  I honor the sorrows.  Neither joy, nor sorrow could enrich me now, if I was younger.
     Once I was asked, "If you had not been born left handed, do you think you would have been right handed?"  I was tempted to say, "If you had not been born a woman, would you have been born a man?"

Listen. Pray. Speak. Act. Pray. Listen

My tears—my sadness—are God’s nudging me to arise.

Listen.  Pray.  Speak.  Act.  Pray.  Listen.

Long after your name—your face--is eclipsed by wonder-filled days,

Your words echo—reverberate—in the depths of my being.

The rhythm of your words inspires in me a constant drumbeat.

Listen.  Pray.  Speak.  Act.  Pray.  Listen.

What do I say?

When do I speak?

How do I voice my sadness to you?

Will you listen?

Will you hear me?

Listen.  Pray.  Speak.  Act.  Pray.  Listen.

Lend me your ear.

Give me a voice.

Give me a plan.

Grace me with faith.

Listen.  Pray.  Speak.  Act.  Pray.  Listen. 

You will listen.

You will hear.

You will change.

Listen.  Pray.  Speak.  Act.  Pray.  Listen.  

                                           September 4, 2007

     One day, a former coworker and I were working alone in the library.  With my back turned to him, my coworker must have seen someone who used a wheelchair.
     Without thinking anything of it, she said, "Oh, there goes another gimp."

     What?

     I was stunned--absolutely stunned.  I was rendered uncharacteristically speechless.  Never had anyone called me a gimp--never had I called myself "gimp."
     Writing has been the vehicle I have used to process my feelings--the deeper the hurt, the clearer the writing.  This piece was my attempt to process what happened, and what my feelings were.
     I do remember Janet.  She was not malicious per se--she was genuinely naive, and totally clueless.  Janet was a piece of work.  She is retired now.  I know nothing more of her life now.

     Ever since I was a little kid, I have believed that if I found the right words I could foster understanding.  I don't know if Janet ever understood--truly understood--the impact of her words.  The relationship that followed was based in nervous fear.  Janet was put on notice that if she ever so misspoke again, there would be consequences.

     It is ironic.  At the time that I wrote Listen. Pray.  Speak.  Act.  Pray.  Listen, my energies were focused on the word "gimp" and my inclusion in the word's definition.  I was walking with an ankle-foot-orthotic--a brace-- at the time, but, I was not in any way shape, or form, using a wheelchair.  Nor was I about to do so.

     Five years later, my circumstances are quite different.  No, I do not call myself a "gimp."  That has not changed. What has changed is that I use an electric wheelchair to live--to move long distances.  I don't know how I might have responded.  I guess the word "gimp" still would have been the main issue.  Yet, I wonder how would Janet and I have interacted.  I cannot mourn a lost friendship.  Close friendship far exceeded any physical differences.
     Although much has changed in five years, in all aspects of my life today, I continue to be committed to listen...pray....speak...act...pray...listen.

Invalid...Birth Defect...

     For a lifetime, words have fascinated me. Specifically, words used to describe individuals with disabilities, in common parlance.
     I was handicapped as a child.  Today, I am disabled.  Both are loving names.
     Cruel kids crippled me.  Punks proclaimed, "Palsy Patty."
     I was stunned by an adult appellation of Gimp.  I am Patty, I am not a Gimp.
     Yet, I am having the last laugh.  I was blessed with a lifelong sensitivity, and passion for words of all forms.  The sting of those words is replaced by dedication.  Words used to describe individuals, be the words adjectives, or nicknames, may in no way dictate derogation.
     Two words akin to handicapped, and crippled, were not spoken in reference to me.  Yet, they still sting.
     Invalid.  In-val-id.  In-va-lid.
     These two words speak volumes.  Do we hear the emphatic value judgment that we make?  Do we care?
     I don't believe these words are used as frequently as they were at one time.  Yet, they are worthy of our notice.
     Birth defect.
     Manufactured goods have defects.  Children are not manufactured.  They are not mistakes on an assembly line.  They are children of God.
     I may be said to have two birth defects.  But, they have names.  Call them by name.  Let them be known.  Let them be understood.  My birth defects are cerebral palsy and epilepsy.  The next time you meet them, in me, or in someone else, address them by name.