Incident In A Store

I was in a store quite a few years ago, and I went up to a saleslady and asked her where a certain item...I forget what... was.

She pointed.

"Could you please tell me in words?" I requested politely.  "I have a perceptual disability, and it's hard for me to tell just where you are pointing."

"Well, tough on you!" she snapped in a VERY nasty voice, and walked away.

I followed her, tapped her on her shoulder, and responded.  "You are right.  You're absolutely right.  It is tough having a handicap that people don't understand.  But do you know what makes things so much tougher for me?"  I looked right at her and answered my own question.  "People like you."

Kanye West Incident (with link to an old blog post)

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I very, very seldom comment on the behavior of celebrities, but this time I have to say something.  Actually, a few things.

Whether or not a concert-goer is disabled, he or she is not obligated to stand up and dance.  Some people really don't

enjoy dancing at concerts.  They'd rather just sit back and

enjoy the performance, and that is their right.  Paying for

their tickets GAVE them that right.

I also feel disturbed and angered by the fact that members of the audience started chanting "Stand up! Stand up!" and booed

those who remained seated.  In a strange way, it reminded me

of this incident in my own life.

Perhaps I am basing my reaction to the Kanye West incident, at least in part, on what happened to me.  But, putting things into perspective, I can see that what Kanye did was so much worse.  The people on the bus thought that I should give the lady my seat; they did not believe that I was disabled. If I did not know about hidden disabilities, I may... no, I probably would... have reacted the way they did.

So why do I say that what Kanye did was so much worse?
Simple. When people come to see you perform, you do not
hassle them, you do not heckle them, you do not harrass them,
you do not humiliate them.
These people came to SEE the show, not BE the show.

If I could say anything to Kanye West, it would be, "Apologize... and mean it."

She Broke My Heart

I loved my first grade teacher, until she broke my heart.
Fast forward to the fifth grade, when I still had not been
diagnosed properly.
Because I was so slow on the staircase, it had been decided that I wouldn't participate in fire drills; I would sit in the office instead.
Looking back, I can see that this was a bad arrangement. Some adult should have assisted me during fire drills. Assisted kindly, and patiently.
One day the fire drill bell rang, and while everyone else went outside, I went to the office, as usual.
Suddenly, a woman who worked in the office came in and said, as if she thought I was just a troublesome brat,
"We don't have time for your nonsense right now."
And she dragged me out of the office and down the stairs.
The speed, the being dragged down the steps, was very upsetting, and I started to cry.
And then I was outside, and still crying.
And then my first grade teacher, who was standing there with her class, scolded me.
"Shame on you, Rochelle! You're acting like a baby! These little first graders are behaving better than you!"
You don't DO that to a child who is frightened, upset, and crying, especially one who had practically idolized you.
This was nothing less than a betrayal.

Incident in a Restaurant

Once, when I was by myself in a restaurant, I ordered steak, even though I have trouble cutting meat. Several men in business suits at the next table began talking, loudly enough for me to hear. In fact, they probably meant for me to hear; they probably wanted to embarrass me.
"Look at the way she cuts her meat."
"I guess nobody ever taught her proper table manners."
And so on.
Well, I was embarrassed. More than that, however, I was just plain mad!
I turned to them and said, "Excuse me, but I am awkward cutting my meat because I have a slight physical disability and poor co-ordination. YOU have bad manners!"

Pencil or Pen?

When I was in third grade, our teacher, Mrs. Berk, began teaching us to write in script. Several days later, she realized that she had gotten ahead of herself; script wasn't supposed to be taught until the FOURTH grade. This mistake was understandable; Mrs. Berk had, until that year, taught the fourth grade.
We wrote in pencil in those days, but Mrs. Berk decided that anyone who learned to write script well (meaning legibly) would be allowed to use a pen as a reward.
Nobody, back then, had heard of dysgraphia.
Years later, another teacher, whose name I've forgotten, asked what we would do differently if we were teachers. I told her that if I were teaching children to write in script, I would not reward the kids who had good penmanship by allowing them to use pens instead of pencils. I would teach them to use the pen first, and after that I would teach them script.
"That's not very important," the teacher sniffed.
"Oh, yes it is," I said, "if you're the only one in the class
still using a pencil."

Incident on the Bus

I'm going to share an incident which, in one form or another, happened many times when I used to use public transportation. On this particular day, I was on the bus when an elderly woman boarded. She asked me for my seat. I explained that I was sorry, but I had to remain seated to keep my balance. She didn't believe me. Well, next thing I knew, everyone on the bus was commenting on how rude I was, what a liar I was.
"There's nothing wrong with her. She's just lazy."
"Young people today have no respect for their elders."
Well, I was embarrassed... and I was angry. I spoke up. "I'm not lazy, and I'm not rude. I really do have a physical handicap, and I'm not able to stand on a moving bus. And while you've been criticizing me, not one of you has offered this lady your seat. So
what are all of you, handicapped, or hypocrites?"

This Might Surprise You

This is adapted from at least one of my older blogs.
Time to reveal a bit more about myself. 
I am a middle-aged {I've never really liked that expression, because to me middle-aged is half as old as one is GOING to be} single woman. I still live with my mother due to a physical disability. We have separate apartments; mine is downstairs, and Mom's is upstairs. The computer is upstairs.
I have poor eye-hand-foot co-ordination, and a perceptual-motor problem, and am a non-dyslexic dysgraphic. I was reading at an early age, but I still can't write legibly. How many times was I scolded by my teachers who thought that since I read so well, my sloppy penmanship was due to carelessness and laziness? "She's just not trying!" {In fairness to them, I should point out that in those days, most people were unaware that my particular disability even existed.}
What does poor co-ordination mean? The best way I can explain it is this: (And remember, my medical training is non-existent!) My eyes work fine,  my hands work fine, and my feet work fine.
Now, imagine that my eyes, hands, and feet are students in a classroom. Individually, they are
excellent students (I suppose that, in the case of my eyes, I should say excellent pupils.) However,
put them together in a committee, and they do not work well together. 
My poor co-ordination also gives me a problem with my balance. I can walk quite well in my own home and my own yard, where I don't have to worry about people in a hurry pushing into me. So I only go out and about if I have someone to hold on to. I do use a walker from time to time, but I have to stay on my own block even then; the traffic is too dangerous. For one thing, some drivers go
BACKWARDS on our one-way street!
Another aspect of my perceptual problem is that I cannot see where things are in relationship to where I am. I can see WHAT it is, but I won't be able to point to it accurately, nor can I tell what other people are pointing to.
I remember being very confused, very puzzled many, many times because I saw the teacher pointing to me when, in reality, she was pointing to one of my classmates, and vice-versa. I can't remember how many times I was scolded for calling out, or for not paying attention.
Once I was diagnosed, however, I explained my problem, and requested that my teachers call on me by name.
I was also one of the kids some, though not all, of the other kids picked on and called "REE-tard!" Of course, I very well might have acted the same way, had our situations been reversed.
After I had become a Catholic, someone told me that Purgatory would be much worse than anything that happened to me in school.
I responded, "No, I think it will be better, because it will be FAIR. I won't suffer anything I don't DESERVE in Purgartory, and I won't be confused as to why I am there."
And as I type this, it occurs to me that Purgatory won't only be FAIR; it will be MERCIFUL, because God is merciful. I'll suffer in Purgatory much LESS than I deserve.