Preliminary Observations

While I enjoy commenting on a wide range of issues, it's true (as I've been reliably informed) that my area of 'expertise' should be telling people about the life of a disabled person.

There's my first generalisation, for what exactly is a 'disabled person'? Is he or she physically incapacitated in some way; have they been born with only one arm; or were they involved in a horrible accent? Does this person have a learning difficulty, or, after enjoying 70 years of perfect health, has their knee, eyesight, hearing, heart given way? Society would classify all such individuals as 'disabled' - a term which my girlfriend thoroughly objects to - but we must remember that their needs and experiences of life are totally unique.

To the eyes of the world, I am disabled. One hundred per cent - born without legs in fact, though the doctors didn't know why at the time (maybe after 25 years they do now; maybe I should find them and ask them!), but the world isn't a silent, totally black place for me like it might be to a blind or a deaf person, nor is it an electric wheelchair from which there is no escape.

I realise, therefore, that, while I can give you my perspective on disability (sometimes serious; often comic), it is my own unique perspective. I do not claim to speak for all 'disabled' people. However, I also believe that every 'disabled' person would strike on some common themes if they did the same thing - their narratives would overlap ever so slightly, and I can only hope that mine will do so as well.

To begin, one of the things I've noticed about so-called disabled people is that they have an unspoken 'understanding' with one another. I walk (or push myself in my wheelchair) through a shopping centre or other public place and fellow wheelchair users will give me 'the nod'. This is a strange but universal phenomenon, I've found, for it has happened to me in the U.K, Australia, as well as the 'comfortable, convenient, friendly disabled waiting areas' of the many international airports I've frequented. This nod - a slight inclination of the head, often accompanied by an attempt at eye contact - appears to mean 'Hey, mate, how's it going? I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL. We're brothers in disability'. Or words to that effect.

I haven't got a big problem with 'the nod'. I'm not one of those 'disabled' people who tries to avoid other 'disabled' people because they somehow break the illusion of my own independence (although I think we're all prone to doing that from time to time). Seriously, though, what makes these people think I'm 'one of them'. Just because I'm sitting in a wheelchair and am clearly missing a couple of legs? A wheelchair, after all, can be a quirky fashion accessory.

What I prefer is when someone on crutches who has been injured, or someone pushing somebody else in a wheelchair for what might be the first time, comes over to me and says 'I never appreciated my 'ability' (as opposed to 'disability'), but now I do; you only miss independence when it's taken from you'. Those moments are nice, because they contain an important moral which I'm not ashamed to repeat here - enjoy your life, enjoy everything you're capable of doing while you can. I've often dreamt of running around a field as fast as I can, but I know that I'll never be able to this. Then again, if I'd been born with legs, I'd probably put them up on the desk, drink my can of coke, and watch TV like lots of able-bodied people do - who knows?

But 'the nod' - just don't. I have nothing in common with you other than that I'm in a wheelchair. I will treat you with the exact same courtesy as an Olympic athlete - no more, no less - so please return the favour.

Surprised by my irreverent attitude to disability? I surprise myself sometimes.