The View From Way Down There

I call my column the view from down here because I believe the millions of us in wheelchairs do experience life from a different level, both physically and emotionally. As a schoolchild I recall joking with the tall kids and asking “What’s the weather like up there?”. We talk about overviews, helicopter views and worm’s eye views. I discovered another view the other day, one a little lower than mine, but brimming with enthusiasm and confidence, but let me start at the beginning . . .

Some time ago a father of a newly disabled daughter commented on an Internet discussion forum that there were no disabled children around. The thought stuck with me, and I wondered whether this was a fact, or merely a perception. Are there relatively fewer disabled children than disabled adults? The answer is both yes and no. Yes there are fewer children than adults, but there are also far too many disabled children. Research conducted at a care home for mentally disabled children revealed that 80% of them came about their state through motor vehicle accidents when their heads were smashed against windshields and dashboards. Add diseases such as ours into the equation, and birth defects, and other accidents and the numbers sadly mount.

So why then do we see so few disabled children in public? I believe the answer lies in a sense of embarrassment on the part of the parents and broader family. I can recall my mother telling me of the torrid times she had to endure when taking me out in public as a disabled child. Endless questioning, and often ridicule and chastisement. Fortunately for me, my mother had a thick skin, or she deliberately put one on. She brushed off the scrutiny and kept me in the public eye. Unfortunately she appeared to be in the minority.

In our local shopping mall, at any one time you can probably count 75 to 100 children under the age of 13, go to the larger malls and one can double or treble that figure easily. Now if 3% of the population is mobility disabled, a conservative figure, then one should see 2 to 3 disabled kids, or 4 to 6, or more. Yet one sees none. Where are they? Why are they being hidden away? What will become of them when they grow up?

In the midst of all this baggage, and social commentary, imagine my surprise therefore to chance upon five year old Angelo as he motored around the V&A Waterfront in his Permobil “Koala” powerchair. With not a care in the world he breezed in and out of stores, flicking the joystick with utmost precision and dexterity. We met in between the coats and trouser racks of an outdoor apparel store, and his interest was immediately pricked by my powerchair. Now we know that when two males meet it is only a matter of time before they begin talking about cars. When two powerchair males meet, well, it is only a matter of time before they begin talking about their motors. And so Angelo quickly demonstrated to me that although his chair might have been lower to the ground than mine it did however have seat elevation, and tilt. He also asked about top speed. Who wouldn’t? I countered that my rapidly greying hair permitted me to travel a bit more sedately. Whew! Off the hook. Then we moved on to manoeuvrability, and control switches, and joystick mounts. Heady stuff that would have a Formula One commentator scrambling for words.

What struck me during our brief time together was the confidence, control and calm that young Angelo possessed. He wasn’t concerned about the throngs of people in the mall, in his powerchair he was his own man. He was in control of his body and the environment he was in. He was secure, and comfortable and confident in his own ability to propel himself. I knew exactly how he felt.

Watching young Angelo weave effortlessly through the shopping mall I could not help but wish that his future would be as clear as the freedom he was experiencing in the moment. Wouldn’t it be liberating if there were more Angelo’s out in the public view? Wouldn’t it be enlightening if more people could be inspired by his presence? Wouldn’t it be encouraging if the public infrastructure was more accommodating to disabled children?

Education, social interaction, employment, and building a home and family were the last things on Angelo’s mind in the V&A Waterfront, and rightly so. Right then, right there, despite his profound disability, he was able to “walk” with his Mom and Dad and siblings, just like all the other kids in the mall.