They politely stepped back and said "You first." My parents and I got on the elevator and they waited for the next one.
Among the last people to enter the theater, we were ushered into the front row, the best seats in the house. When we left the theater, everyone thoughtfully made room for us to pass.
The line to get on to the tour bus was so long that it doubled back on itself several times. We were shown directly to the front of the line and allowed to board before anyone else.
Sometimes these kinds of episodes happen to me anyhow. My family and I get early boarding privileges on airplanes or special seats at a play. I am allowed extra time to take exams. Now I'm ending my taking these favors for granted. I'm not going to refuse them, because I do mostly need them. However, I am going to see them clearer, as if from other people's eyes.
The experiences that I described at the top of this column happened during spring break. My parents and I visited the space center at Cape Canaveral in Florida. When I have to stand in one spot, because I stand on my tiptoes, my calves get sore. My dad saw the long line for the tour bus and he knew my legs would cramp up if I had to stand long in line and that I would bump into other people in line. He asked a security person if I had to wait in line. That's how it all began.
The security man took us right to the front. A tour guide then asked me if I wanted a wheelchair. At first I thought, "No, I can walk by myself." But then I remembered the times in the past when some tour really caused my legs to ache. For example, touring the Smithsonian Museums in Washington, D.C. meant hours of walking with frequent stops and without much chance to sit down. So I said yes.
For the next four hours I rode around the Space Center in a wheel chair. When we got on the bus, we were given the seats with the most legroom. Never was I treated so royally. My legs quit aching and felt great. When the day ended, however, I was even more relieved than after we had finished touring the Smithsonian.
It's said that only after walking in another person's shoes can someone understand what their life is actually like. I rode in the wheels, I guess, instead of walking in the shoes of a person who is wheelchair bound. Still, I got a real dose of what the wheelchair bound life is like.
Even though everyone was so nice, many problems arose. The only table we could reach at the snack bar was on the outer edge. If the only empty table came in the center area, too bad, no snack. When in a standing crowd listening to a speaker, forget seeing the speaker. When wanting to look through a rental telescope (it costs a quarter) at a missile launch site that's out of range of the naked eye, save the quarter for something more possible to reach.
Most surprising, however, were the reactions of other people to me. Most very carefully looked the other way when I passed in my chair. When someone did look at me, they smiled kindly, leaving me with the impression that they felt great pity for me. Little kids were now at my eye level, so that when they stared openly, I couldn't miss seeing them. After a while, I found myself riding with my head down so that I didn't have to see these reactions.
Maybe some day I'll save my legs again by riding in a wheel chair. Probably not.
Ian Wetherbee 4/1/98