Disabled People Need Access, Not Backpacks

You guys, time is weird.

I miss a lot of major news stories. They happen overnight, and I’m sleeping. Or trying to.

This morning in the midst of getting Isla ready for school, I’m scrolling through Facebook.

I see the same story a few times, with different commentaries. I told you time is weird.

A teacher has gone viral for carrying a wheelchair-using student on his back during a field trip.

Oh, boy.

We’ve got the inspiration porn out there with stuff like: OMG, this is the best thing you’ll see all day!

And then we’ve got my fellow disabled writers pointing out the ableist issues with inaccessible field trips.

I love a good bit of ableism to wake me up in the morning.

Now that I’m here, let me tell you a story. You know there’s a story, right?

Back in the 80s, like every other awkward girl trying to fit in, I was a Brownie.

For about five minutes.

Stick with me.

My favorite part was selling candy bars. Both my Grandmas would buy their quota, so I could eat them.

So I liked the candy bars and even the badges, and all that being a good person um, stuff.

I did not like the field trips. They meant I got left out a lot. Because of access issues, or inaccessibility to me as a wheelchair user.

If there was a badge that went along with the trip, and I couldn’t actually participate, they’d throw me a badge, anyway. Gee, thanks. But I wanted to do stuff.

One trip was to a carnival. It was one group trip where I actually got to y’know, go with the group.

Now. I love carnivals and fairs. They make me so excited I could throw up, as I famously did at the top of a Ferris wheel one year.

But that was after this Brownies field trip. Possibly to make up for what happened on the Brownies field trip.

What happened was this.

I arrived at the carnival with my Dad. As a kid with divorced parents, my Dad weekends were sacred to me, so two of my favorites in one day meant I was pretty freaking excited.

And so we get there. Hit the carousel first. I went up the steps to the platform. But couldn’t well, get on the horse.

My father, as he did back then, lifted me from one place and put me somewhere else. That’s just what Dads do. And this one is mine. He was doing a very Dad thing.

He was also, that day, making the world fit his disabled daughter. Which is a very my Dad thing to do.

Instead of making disabled people fit the world, which everyone else still makes us do.

So, he’s lifting me. For reasons.

And a Brownie leader comes over to us. Suggests it’s inappropriate for the other girls to see me um, manhandled like that.

But would I like some cotton candy?

Never mind that this is my father, helping me get somewhere otherwise inaccessible to me.

I went around on the carousel one time. And then we were asked to leave, because having to be helped down meant I was um, manhandled twice.

Too many reasonable adjustments for them, I guess.

And then it was suggested that I not move up to Girl Scouts. By Girl Scouts.

Instead of making trips accessible, they chucked out the disabled kid.

Instead of making trips accessible, let’s put disabled people in backpacks. And get praised for it.

Let’s tie disabled kids to their parents legs, call it therapy, and then say they’re walking.

Let’s praise this teacher, instead of finding and highlighting wheelchair accessible nature trails.

I noticed that this kid is happy the story went viral. That’s cool. But disabled people are more than just props for someone’s ‘good deed’.

We need access, not backpacks.

*

If you like my writing, if you’ve ever binged on my blog, or you want video content, consider joining me on Patreon. Become a Patron!