I attended a Mariners game here in Seattle with a friend, and we found ourselves in an  interesting situation.  I find it uncomfortable to sit  in my wheelchair for too long, so I will often transfer to a seat when possible. In this case, there was a space for my wheelchair and then a “regular” seat next to it. I asked my friend if it was okay to switch seats, and he happily agreed. I moved to the fixed seat, and he sat in my wheelchair. No big deal, right? But when the time came for a beer run, and my friend rose from the wheelchair and walked off to get the beers, several people openly stared. They seemed genuinely perplexed. No one dropped to the ground and proclaimed, “God hath cured this crippled man, and he can now walk!” But, believe me, that was the vibe.

What does this incident raise about disability? People are expected not to change but to conform to a specific role, stereotype, image. One is either in a wheelchair or out of a wheelchair, which creates a clear dichotomy and eschews any grey areas of mobility. It seems to me that people are more comfortable when they can fix people into certain positions. The more society can confine a group, the easier it is to depersonalize them; to refer to them by their diagnosis, to the “spinal injuried” or the “borderlines,” and the measuring stick is always upright and walking. Normally.

At the ball game that day, I felt the fear of my neighbors and their trepidation about being too close to someone who uses a wheelchair. Many people would not dare sit in one for fear of being seen as disabled. That part is true, for sure. Too many times, I have had people shrink from contact with me, as if that contact might be contaminating. So let me be clear, friends and readers. What I have can’t be transferred, but your fear certainly can.