There is a strange yet earnest sort of equality that abounds in the Carleton Disability Awareness Centre (CDAC) office. A few minutes lounging on the couch and one is likely to see punishment meted out for insolence, regardless of how able-bodied the perpetrator might be. CDAC co-ordinator Graham Perrin strolls across the room, kicks Tim Rose’s wheelchair into manual and wheels him over to the corner to face the wall.
“Tim loves getting his face out there. He’s shameless,” John McRae says.
John often has a smile on his face and jokingly says he has no shortage of stories that make CDAC look bad.
Tim and John are part of a small group of people gathered in the CDAC office, swapping anecdotes and making calls at each other. The subject at hand is the occasionally tumultuous nature of relationships between disabled and able-bodied people.
According to Dina Skvirsky, another CDAC co-ordinator, the most potent obstacle in a disabled-able-bodied relationship is not so much physical as it is psychological.
“People see the wheelchair before they see the person,” Dina says. “They don’t think they have a personality.”
Hollis Pierce, a second-year history major with muscular dystrophy concurs.
“[The disability] is definitely a minor part of your personality,” he says. “I’d say I’m a people person.”
Indeed, it’s hard to say that any of the regular visitors to the CDAC office are lacking in personality, with no greater example of this being Tim. A former CDAC co-ordinator himself, it’s no difficult task to look past his wheelchair and see someone with a personality equal parts aloofness, self-deprecation and hilarity.
“I’ll be really blunt: I’m really, really disabled, and really, really ugly. People are very apprehensive because my disability is very evident,” Tim says. “I use humour for people to let their guard down — often horribly inappropriate humour, but it’s the best weapon.” As if to exemplify his unique but undeniably funny take on things, he adds, “I don’t swim; I frolic!” he says while miming the breast stroke as best as he possibly can.
“The chicken-wing swim!” Graham interjects.
Mohamed “Mo” Virji, a first-year law and philosophy major with cerebral palsy, doesn’t rely so much on humour to connect with new people as on openness, opting not to let anything get in the way.
“I’ll talk to anybody,” he says.
But breaking the ice can come with its bumps. Delaney Dunlap notes that people are hesitant at first.
“You have to get in there. If they don’t like it, they don’t like it. You have to show them your disability doesn’t matter. You have to learn to work around it.”
Yet a barrier persists — not so much prejudice as simple tentativeness, such as not knowing what boundaries there are, if any, and a want to avoid awkwardness, even though some attempts to do so can ironically augment or even create discomfort.
Tim notes a natural tendency for professors or other able-bodied people to speak to his attendant first rather than Tim himself. He supposes that this sort of indirect interaction is a product of how disabled people are portrayed in the media.
“There’s an expectation that disabled people are wallflowers,” he says. “I’m not a wallflower. I’m a train.”
“. . . wreck,” Dina adds.
According to Tim, the media also has an unfortunate tendency to make the disability the central aspect of disabled characters — such as Joe Swanson of Family Guy, or Timmy and Jimmy of South Park. He also dislikes “fragile” traits being associated with some characters, and how these perceptions carry over to day-to-day life.
“How many times have I heard, ‘Good for you for going to university.’ ‘Really? Have you seen my grades?’”
“[There’s] an expectation for us to appreciate everything we have,” Delaney adds. “But if it’s not help, it’s not appreciated.”
This idea of fragile appreciation can carry over to even the most mundane circumstances. “When I’m introduced to someone, they only grab the tip of my finger, as if it’s going to snap off,” Hollis says.
He prefers it when people shake his hand, especially when some others have resorted to patting his head in the past. As well intentioned of a gesture it may be, it’s nonetheless regarded with no small contempt in the CDAC office by disabled and able-bodied people alike.
As Delaney says: “I’m not an animal!”
Tim can’t help but agree. He likes his hand to be firmly shaken, even though it has been left somewhat contorted due to his disability.
“His groping hand,” Graham comments, but Tim snaps back in an instant: “That was between you and I in the basement!”
Another assumption is that a disability can occupy and even replace the more romantic aspects of a person’s character.
“Girls come up to me and ask, ‘How do you have sex?’” Tim says he’ll joke back: “Why? Are you interested? Need a diagram?”
“I think [dating] is one of the most interesting things,” he says. “People assume that disability means asexuality. I have the same urges.”
Tim is in the process of writing an informative book or pamphlet called The Cripple Sutra, the content of which should be clear from its title.
“I get the best looks of my life when I go to buy condoms. ‘They have sex?’ They assumed my ex-girlfriend was my nurse.”
“First dates are always awkward,” John says. “I’ve never had a disabled girlfriend. I think they’re going to be more apprehensive than they actually are. Some people can’t get past it. There are some things about people you can’t get past in any relationship. As long as we are open about [our] feelings, what else can we do?”
Tim says his current friendships and relationships are founded on the fact that others aren’t afraid of his wheelchair.
Delaney feels it’s essential to ask questions, which is always preferable to awkwardness.
To Mo, being oneself is important.
“Don’t try to fit into a group,” he says. “If people don’t like the personality that you have, move on.”
“The key [is to not] be in denial about your disability, but don’t let it define you,” John says.
“I’m going to steal that line,” Tim quips.
Like any working relationship there has to be mutual respect and an absence of condescension. This means seeing the person rather than the wheelchair, being open in one’s thoughts and feelings, and always — always — avoiding pats on the head.
In John’s words, “Don’t put the ‘pat’ in ‘patronizing.’