So it’s pretty self-evident that Ying’s limbs draw a lot of comments from kids, some mean-spirited, many unintentionally funny. But nothing makes me want to whip out my megaphone and soapbox like hearing, “That’s so sad.”
I know these kids are repeating something they’ve heard from their parents. I also know they mean no malice by it. But it really gets me.
Having a limb difference might be a whole holy host of things, but sad isn’t one of them. We recently met a young woman at the mobility dealership who was getting her first car. It had been adapted so that the steering wheel could be controlled with almost no pressure. The able bodied men at the dealership said that they hated driving it during the modification because it was almost impossible for them to steer. That’s not sad – it’s stinking awesome.
A few months back, we had the opportunity to met another congenital quad. He was on the floor playing with Ying. When we all went to get up, he practically catapulted up from the floor on his prosthetics while I was still trying to get my legs underneath me. It wasn’t sad, it was impressive.
Sad is children going to bed hungry. Sad is the people that you love never knowing it. Sad is not living out your God-given purpose because you’re crippled by the fear of failure.
People who are differently abled don’t need you to take out a hanky for them, unless you’re going to cry at how beautifully they get on with the business of living. But they probably don’t want that either, it might only serve to embarrass them.
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