My good friend Annie on Facebook likes to share her experiences about her handicap. Annie had her leg amputated when she was young and she currently uses a prosthetic leg. Other than that, she gets around fine (thank you very much) 
. She is currently going though motions dealing with people who don't like being labeled "Handicapped". I kinda know where she's coming from. Actually, it scared me because it almost echoed my own life.
It all started when I was born. I was born blue and quickly placed in an incubator. I was born June 24th but according to my Mom, I "was supposed to be born on the 4th of July". At 17", 5lbs., and 8 oz. I have a feeling I was about a month to possibly 2 months premature. Then again it's hard to compare medical standards of 1967 to those of 2009. I might have been born with a stroke but nothing was really clear.
My developmental stages were more unique than anything. I might have learned to read before I can speak. My speaking and walking started late, but I can read newspapers by the age of two. I also had a thing when I was 4 in which where if told me a certain date in time, I can trace it to the day it fell on. For example, if someone asked me if what day January 13, 1947 fell on I would give the exact day. The funniest thing is , I cannot do it anymore but when I very young it was no problem. But that's when the weirdness just started. I never really spoke in complete sentences until I was 7 although I could read aloud perfectly. When I was 6, I read on a high school level. I also have a very vivid memory in which I can remember things when I was 1 1/2-2 years old (but no memories from the womb)This was the time I was more of a case study than anything. I also remember from the age to 3 up to 10 where I went through a battery of tests: WISC-R, DLM, the California tests, and the one where they glue wires on your head and hold it down with a spaghetti strainer (like Rick Moranis in "Ghostbusters"). I remember being asked questions when I was 6 with this damn thing on my head. What was the capital of Greece? Who wrote "Faust"? Who was the 13th President of the U.S.? I would answer (AT 6!) Athens, Gounod (who wrote the opera- Goethe wrote the original story), and Millard Fillmore (he was the first to have a bathtub in the White House).
Due to this "oddity" I was placed in Special Ed classes starting 1st grade. I also remembering going through PT/OT and Speech Therapy until I was in the 9th grade. In the 6th grade, I was finally labeled "Neurogically Impaired" but the "NI" diagnosis was never specified. Even my mother brushed everything off and said I had a "learning disability".
And yeah the neverending name calling began. Oh yeah. I was called a "Retard" , "Polio Victim" (b/c my feet goes "out" when I walk), and my least favorite "special".It was also weird b/c in some Special Ed. classes I was the "smart guy". In other classes w/ the "normal" people I was the outcast. I remember a time when I was in 5th grade , since I was different from the rest of the kids, some kid in class called me a "faggot". I went to my Mom and I asked her what a faggot was. I remember her reply: "I hope you don't grow up to be one". I felt puzzled and said "What?" She then said "little sticks, yeah little sticks". However she gave me permission that if the mean kids call me a "faggot," I should tell them to go fuck themselves. And I did! One kid called me a "faggot" and I told him to go fuck himself. There was a teacher there and he was on MY side! The kid who called me a "faggot" got suspended and I got off scot free! I then asked the teacher what is a faggot. He looked at me, winked, and said "Just don't grow up to be one, kid!" Grade school in the '70's-- you can't make this stuff up!
Then grade school turned into high school. The mean kids then became meaner kids. I mentioned in a few blogs that I changed high schools in the middle of the 11th grade. I attended my new high school that was dominated by Preps. Of course, there were the sarcastic questions and the "special" label hanging over my head like a black cloud. The funniest thing was by Grade 11, I was fully mainstreamed. I knew college was my only way out.
I remember asking my guidance counselor about college. She laughed in my face and said I should go to trade school. I started to get teed off. However, I took it out on my school work. Shortly after I graduated from H.S., I later learned that the guidance counselor got fired-- KARMA!
I took a couple of years off and went to college. I took yet another aptitude/psych exam and the powers that be decided that I had LD (Processing Disorder). I started out in Junior college in which I had an advisor who started a support group for students with LD. I thought it was a good idea in order to share stories and learn from our experiences. The "club" as the advisor called it was more of a joke if anything else. The other students in this "club" acted like they had mental problems rather than having a learning disability. I remember this other advisor (who was a grad student in Behavoral Psychology) talking down to us and made us sit in a circle in which we did dittos. We the students in the support group were in "regular" 100-200 level classes and we were in a workshop doing worksheets that were meant to be used on the 6th grade level. I remember the advisor asking me in slow voice "Do you know what a bank account is?" I took out my ATM card and asked, "does this answer your question?" I then walked out the group one day saying that this precious "club" was "Romper Room Bull****"! I then delved into my work and and finished J.C. (Junior College).
In the summer of 1991, between J.C. and my four-year, I was doing my thing in a 1979 Chevy Chevette driving on the L.I.E. (Long Island Expressway, for those keeping score).. I was listening to music when a cop pulled me over. The officer told me over and over that I was going 12 miles over the speed limit. He was basically looking for drunks. Firstly, how in the world can a 1979 Chevy Chevette with a 4 cylinder eggbeater can do a 67 in a 55? The one thing he was focused on was the way I spoke. He looked at me and asked me with a flashlight in my face, "do you always have a slurred speech"? I looked at him and dead in the eye I said, "Yeah". He still wasn't convinced-- so he made me take a breathylizer. When the B.A.C. came out 0.0, he threw out the mouthpiece sharply on the ground, and promptly apologized for pulling me over. Disappointed, he drove off looking for drunk people with slurred speech instead of sober people with slurred speech. Ironically when I'm drunk, my coordination improves and my slur goes away.
In the fall of that year (1991), I went to my four year college. I had a better advisor. She then asked me to look into this support group on campus. It was a better support group.It was a better school -- SUNY Stony Brook (known as "the Berkeley of the East") had (and from what I know still has) a very good support group for disabled students. I went in the first day and shared my story with the others. I later then became President of this group. I thrived in this school and some of the members of this group and I became close friends. Yeah, there were some militants who were big time about this. There were some Blind people who prefer to be visually impaired. There were some Deaf people who preferred to be called "hearing impaired ' and so forth. God forbid, if anyone made the mistake and call someone "handicapped"- OUT COME THE PICKET SIGNS!
Myself, it was hard for me-- I had no true idea what my disability is! Even though it was "LD" there was something a little more to it.I remember ppl. thinking I was dyslexic but I clearly wasn't. Really it was something else, but what was it really? Was it CP, LD, Asperger's, or Aphasia? I still had delayed and slurred speech. In addition, my coordination was still off. Yet I had no clue. In late 1992 and early '93, I've decided to go to the state agency (VESID) and see if I can recieve any benefits for Grad School.. If anything it was for sake for identity and closure. I went though another battery of tests, no spaghetti strainers this time. I had seen a Neurologist with a terrible accent, and a Neuropsychologist who was more interested about my "drinking habits". I then got the so-called results: I was told I "had" a disability but I was "CURED" of it! WHAT THE FRICK?!?
After all the bullcrap and discrimination I faced, I'm cured? After being in Special Ed. AND special schools for all those years I'M FRIGGING CURED!?! I gave up the sacred "quest" for my "true" handicap and I began to do my thing. I graduated from Stony Brook and then later went to Grad School in which I also graduated. I still pay my student loans, but I DID IT!
Am I still pissed? I am little piturbed, but it's all in the past. I achieved some things that "professionals" thought I never could do. I am happy with what I have done. If it wasn't for my past, I wouldn't be in the field that I'm in (Human/Social Services).
Do I see myself as Handicapped? I think "handicapped" is a state of mind. I believe that a handicap is as trivial as a personality trait. I still slur my speech and stutter at times. I even still duck walk, but it's me and people like it. I like it. Do I think I have a disability? I believe I have a low level of Asperger's w/ a touch of CP. My "diagnosis" is based on my own personal research --I have a friggin Master's for Crissake! I decided that if there was anyone who would know best about me, it would be ME! Do I still want closure for all I've been through? I'd still want closure although I'm not really desperate about it as before. After all of this, I'm not resentful. If I have children, I definitely need to keep an eye on their development. Mistakes are meant to be made, and God knows I've learned from them! The good news, they weren't all my mistakes. In the end, I believe nobody really owes me --I owe MYSELF! That chip fell off my shoulder a long time ago.
. She is currently going though motions dealing with people who don't like being labeled "Handicapped". I kinda know where she's coming from. Actually, it scared me because it almost echoed my own life.It all started when I was born. I was born blue and quickly placed in an incubator. I was born June 24th but according to my Mom, I "was supposed to be born on the 4th of July". At 17", 5lbs., and 8 oz. I have a feeling I was about a month to possibly 2 months premature. Then again it's hard to compare medical standards of 1967 to those of 2009. I might have been born with a stroke but nothing was really clear.
My developmental stages were more unique than anything. I might have learned to read before I can speak. My speaking and walking started late, but I can read newspapers by the age of two. I also had a thing when I was 4 in which where if told me a certain date in time, I can trace it to the day it fell on. For example, if someone asked me if what day January 13, 1947 fell on I would give the exact day. The funniest thing is , I cannot do it anymore but when I very young it was no problem. But that's when the weirdness just started. I never really spoke in complete sentences until I was 7 although I could read aloud perfectly. When I was 6, I read on a high school level. I also have a very vivid memory in which I can remember things when I was 1 1/2-2 years old (but no memories from the womb)This was the time I was more of a case study than anything. I also remember from the age to 3 up to 10 where I went through a battery of tests: WISC-R, DLM, the California tests, and the one where they glue wires on your head and hold it down with a spaghetti strainer (like Rick Moranis in "Ghostbusters"). I remember being asked questions when I was 6 with this damn thing on my head. What was the capital of Greece? Who wrote "Faust"? Who was the 13th President of the U.S.? I would answer (AT 6!) Athens, Gounod (who wrote the opera- Goethe wrote the original story), and Millard Fillmore (he was the first to have a bathtub in the White House).
Due to this "oddity" I was placed in Special Ed classes starting 1st grade. I also remembering going through PT/OT and Speech Therapy until I was in the 9th grade. In the 6th grade, I was finally labeled "Neurogically Impaired" but the "NI" diagnosis was never specified. Even my mother brushed everything off and said I had a "learning disability".
And yeah the neverending name calling began. Oh yeah. I was called a "Retard" , "Polio Victim" (b/c my feet goes "out" when I walk), and my least favorite "special".It was also weird b/c in some Special Ed. classes I was the "smart guy". In other classes w/ the "normal" people I was the outcast. I remember a time when I was in 5th grade , since I was different from the rest of the kids, some kid in class called me a "faggot". I went to my Mom and I asked her what a faggot was. I remember her reply: "I hope you don't grow up to be one". I felt puzzled and said "What?" She then said "little sticks, yeah little sticks". However she gave me permission that if the mean kids call me a "faggot," I should tell them to go fuck themselves. And I did! One kid called me a "faggot" and I told him to go fuck himself. There was a teacher there and he was on MY side! The kid who called me a "faggot" got suspended and I got off scot free! I then asked the teacher what is a faggot. He looked at me, winked, and said "Just don't grow up to be one, kid!" Grade school in the '70's-- you can't make this stuff up!
Then grade school turned into high school. The mean kids then became meaner kids. I mentioned in a few blogs that I changed high schools in the middle of the 11th grade. I attended my new high school that was dominated by Preps. Of course, there were the sarcastic questions and the "special" label hanging over my head like a black cloud. The funniest thing was by Grade 11, I was fully mainstreamed. I knew college was my only way out.
I remember asking my guidance counselor about college. She laughed in my face and said I should go to trade school. I started to get teed off. However, I took it out on my school work. Shortly after I graduated from H.S., I later learned that the guidance counselor got fired-- KARMA!
I took a couple of years off and went to college. I took yet another aptitude/psych exam and the powers that be decided that I had LD (Processing Disorder). I started out in Junior college in which I had an advisor who started a support group for students with LD. I thought it was a good idea in order to share stories and learn from our experiences. The "club" as the advisor called it was more of a joke if anything else. The other students in this "club" acted like they had mental problems rather than having a learning disability. I remember this other advisor (who was a grad student in Behavoral Psychology) talking down to us and made us sit in a circle in which we did dittos. We the students in the support group were in "regular" 100-200 level classes and we were in a workshop doing worksheets that were meant to be used on the 6th grade level. I remember the advisor asking me in slow voice "Do you know what a bank account is?" I took out my ATM card and asked, "does this answer your question?" I then walked out the group one day saying that this precious "club" was "Romper Room Bull****"! I then delved into my work and and finished J.C. (Junior College).
In the summer of 1991, between J.C. and my four-year, I was doing my thing in a 1979 Chevy Chevette driving on the L.I.E. (Long Island Expressway, for those keeping score).. I was listening to music when a cop pulled me over. The officer told me over and over that I was going 12 miles over the speed limit. He was basically looking for drunks. Firstly, how in the world can a 1979 Chevy Chevette with a 4 cylinder eggbeater can do a 67 in a 55? The one thing he was focused on was the way I spoke. He looked at me and asked me with a flashlight in my face, "do you always have a slurred speech"? I looked at him and dead in the eye I said, "Yeah". He still wasn't convinced-- so he made me take a breathylizer. When the B.A.C. came out 0.0, he threw out the mouthpiece sharply on the ground, and promptly apologized for pulling me over. Disappointed, he drove off looking for drunk people with slurred speech instead of sober people with slurred speech. Ironically when I'm drunk, my coordination improves and my slur goes away.
In the fall of that year (1991), I went to my four year college. I had a better advisor. She then asked me to look into this support group on campus. It was a better support group.It was a better school -- SUNY Stony Brook (known as "the Berkeley of the East") had (and from what I know still has) a very good support group for disabled students. I went in the first day and shared my story with the others. I later then became President of this group. I thrived in this school and some of the members of this group and I became close friends. Yeah, there were some militants who were big time about this. There were some Blind people who prefer to be visually impaired. There were some Deaf people who preferred to be called "hearing impaired ' and so forth. God forbid, if anyone made the mistake and call someone "handicapped"- OUT COME THE PICKET SIGNS!
Myself, it was hard for me-- I had no true idea what my disability is! Even though it was "LD" there was something a little more to it.I remember ppl. thinking I was dyslexic but I clearly wasn't. Really it was something else, but what was it really? Was it CP, LD, Asperger's, or Aphasia? I still had delayed and slurred speech. In addition, my coordination was still off. Yet I had no clue. In late 1992 and early '93, I've decided to go to the state agency (VESID) and see if I can recieve any benefits for Grad School.. If anything it was for sake for identity and closure. I went though another battery of tests, no spaghetti strainers this time. I had seen a Neurologist with a terrible accent, and a Neuropsychologist who was more interested about my "drinking habits". I then got the so-called results: I was told I "had" a disability but I was "CURED" of it! WHAT THE FRICK?!?
After all the bullcrap and discrimination I faced, I'm cured? After being in Special Ed. AND special schools for all those years I'M FRIGGING CURED!?! I gave up the sacred "quest" for my "true" handicap and I began to do my thing. I graduated from Stony Brook and then later went to Grad School in which I also graduated. I still pay my student loans, but I DID IT!
Am I still pissed? I am little piturbed, but it's all in the past. I achieved some things that "professionals" thought I never could do. I am happy with what I have done. If it wasn't for my past, I wouldn't be in the field that I'm in (Human/Social Services).
Do I see myself as Handicapped? I think "handicapped" is a state of mind. I believe that a handicap is as trivial as a personality trait. I still slur my speech and stutter at times. I even still duck walk, but it's me and people like it. I like it. Do I think I have a disability? I believe I have a low level of Asperger's w/ a touch of CP. My "diagnosis" is based on my own personal research --I have a friggin Master's for Crissake! I decided that if there was anyone who would know best about me, it would be ME! Do I still want closure for all I've been through? I'd still want closure although I'm not really desperate about it as before. After all of this, I'm not resentful. If I have children, I definitely need to keep an eye on their development. Mistakes are meant to be made, and God knows I've learned from them! The good news, they weren't all my mistakes. In the end, I believe nobody really owes me --I owe MYSELF! That chip fell off my shoulder a long time ago.
