Skip to main content

Shit Needs to Hit the Fan

These are some tender times my friends. If I read stuff off the internet, I should be indignant over the fact that Robin Wright had to fight for her millions of dollars of pay to equal that of her House of Cards costar Kevin Spacey. I’m not calling her out, because she’s completely right — she should make at least the same as Spacey. My problem is, as usual, here’s an example of someone being treated unfairly and the rest of the universe recognizing it. Meanwhile, there are nearly 50 million people in the U.S. living with a disability and they often get denigrated for their portion of social security benefits. Supposedly we need watchdogs to focus on how all these disabled people beat the system.

It’s like when I used to get food from my local food pantry years ago. I worked two jobs, I had three kids — one with a certifiable disability — but the people at the food pantry had to be sure that I was okayed to get those cans of Spam. I regularly heard stories about millionaires who unfairly collected cans of tuna and lima beans just because they could, leading those in charge to question everyone else. 

I’m not an idiot. I realize there are people in this world who may not exactly fit the “disabled” category who are getting a government handout. I’m sure there are many. But, I’m equally as sure of the other millions who were born with cerebral palsy, autism, missing limbs, missing their intellect, missing parts so that they can’t ever be considered a “whole” person by those who judge such things. All of the parents and caregivers of this group have to battle government agencies every day and “prove” that the person they are supporting really really deserves a whopping $800 a month to live on. That they really need the services provided by the state where they live. 

In my lifetime I’ve watched marginalized groups make headlines. I’ve written those headlines. I’ve marched in protests and I’ve stood behind my beliefs. What I haven’t done is to push a wheelchair or march with my own autistic son in a big protest about how people with disabilities are treated. You want to know why? Because that protest doesn’t happen. It’s because those of us who work with and love people with disabilities — we’re good people — we don’t want to antagonize everyone, we don’t want to fight people. We want to care for the person we love, and this leaves a lot less time to protest.

Every single day I look at the internet and read headlines about how we should all recognize people who are marginalized. Not once are they talking about people with disabilities. Not once. Where the hell is everybody? I’m totally ready to pull the wagons together on this. Apparently, some shit needs to hit the fan. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I might need a price check

So my husband Chris works three days a week in America, and I’m trying not to take this personally.
He’s commuting Monday mornings on the 6:30 ferry over to Cape Cod, where he works at an upholstery shop in Hyannis, the Mattydale of Cape Cod, for all you Syracuse readers. I stay here and hold down the fort, cooking up a cocktail of frozen pizzas and mac n’ cheese weeknights for my poor Danny. Chris comes back late Thursday night, all giddy over toilet paper prices and quotes on cheaper rent.
No, no, no, and more no I say. I can’t possibly leave all this off-season quiet and high-priced laundry detergent. There’s no convincing me to leave no matter how many times Chris points out that there’s a Trader Joe’s “over there.”
I want to stay here until I miraculously win on one of those $5 scratchers and can buy my own house here. The difference being that I feel confident that I will someday scratch my way to freedom while Chris thinks we’d be smarter to look into a nice rental “over there.…

Library lady

So today a co-worker who is — let’s just be honest here — 70 years old, gave me a serious run for my money at the library. Some guy was looking for a specific movie, which just happened to be located on the very bottom shelf, and I did one of those pretend searches for it on the middle shelf. She walks over and squats down like she’s going to give birth in some Third World country and finds it in two seconds. Again, here we are. Now I’m at home tearing open the cardboard box of a frozen pizza and she’s obviously at home on a rubber mat touching her big toe to her nose.      I regularly call the doctor to renew my prescription for muscle relaxers, while it seems like the rest of the women on this ridiculously fit island drink hot tea and take a warm bath for their yoga-stressed muscles. Thank God my teeth are relatively good.
     It’s not easy to work with women your age and older who think nothing of drinking spinach shakes and lugging all kinds of crap around. If I tried half the…

Getting well takes baby steps

So I’ve had what you could call a case of the pneumonia. It was not pleasant. And to top it off it happened in San Antonio, Texas. Like I wasn’t sweating before the fever.
I was there to see my niece Michelle, who by the way kept asking me, “Are you going to write about this?” which is funny because she’s a writer too. I naturally said, “Oh no, of course not.” And here we are.
Thinking back, the best part of that trip teeters between meeting my two great-nephews, Oliver and Isaac, and having a couple of beers with their Yaya, my sister, who I haven’t had beers with in decades. Like I said, it’s a toss-up. There’s also the fact that I got to spend time with my niece’s husband Alex. He’s a hardcore military guy. He teaches other military guys how to be military policemen. I’m not going to gamble on writing anything about him. He’s from Wisconsin though, which I like. And he likes to cook, which I also like.
I thought to myself before I ever left my nice cocoon of Martha’s Vineyard to tra…