I had a new post I was planning to publish today, but there was a discussion I read this morning that I just had to respond to. People were complaining about handicap parking spots. First, the comment was about people using the spots without seeming to need them (I added the “seeming” – they were judging the need, without more information). Another individual mentioned that what bothers her even more is an empty handicap spot.
The last several times we have been to our area Wal-Mart, the handicap spots have all be full, and we had quite a time finding a place to park. This is the biggest reason that T.R. dislikes shopping there. Empty marked spaces in a parking lot are there so that they are available for customers who really need them, and if a parking lot is completely filled, that is a sign that it’s not large enough.
…I just wanted to rant a bit – thank you for obliging. The comment I referred to in 2007 was in response to the start of the original blog, the concept that many disability issues are unseen, hence the “invisible issues” title.
This was first posted on June 1,2007
And just what does that look like?
I am glad to see some conversations started here! One bit was shared by Laura about a week ago, and that is something I know many face. “But you look so good!” is a nice thing to hear, but it can also be discouraging. Does he mean that I look really nice today, but shouldn’t? Does she mean that I must be exaggerating, I really can’t feel as wiped out as I say I do? Do they mean that I’m being a hypochondriac?
The reason I’m referring to Laura’s comment is that she had a response I hadn’t really thought of before, and I thought it was very well stated. Like many, she has a car with plates marked to let her parked in a “handicapped” spot. And like some, she doesn’t necessarily look “handicapped.” As she relayed in her comment, a gentleman approached her at a parking lot, looking quite annoyed, and informed her that she shouldn’t be parking in that spot, as she certainly didn’t look handicapped. So she extended her hand and said, “Thank you. Thank you for thinking I am not handicapped. Could you tell me what I need to look like to be handicapped?” That definitely caught him off guard, and she went on to explain that she was having a good day, and on other days she might be using a cane or a chair.
With M.S., fatigue is a major issue, and even if a person is able to walk in a straight line without a cane on a given day, walking a distance can use all of her energy. So parking nearby helps at least to conserve a little bit, and this isn’t something that is easily visible. But this is a worthwhile question: what does a handicap look like? What do we expect it to look like?