I was writing a post, and I believe it got lost. Bad Disaboom server, no cookie! :)
My
post was about, as so many have been before, disability in popular
media. I wrote here before about Tropic Thunder and Million Dollar
Baby, two movies I have no qualms about critiquing. But what happens
when you're the person with the disability and you liked the movie or
book that portrays us in a less than perfect way? I don't feel I can be
completely honest unless I talk about that too. I'm not a walking (or a
rolling, for that matter) political statement, guns blazing against
every stereotype. I'm a person.
When I was a kid, I loved the book Pollyanna. Reading the last
letter, the sentence "I can -- I can -- I can walk!" moved me to tears
and moved me for days. I remember feeling sure it especially moved me
because I have a disability that affects my legs. And it still makes me
smile today, as I've learned to walk after not being able to before,
and yes, it's a good feeling. (Though the smile comes with a smirk --
I've had a LOT of fun on wheels, and it's weird and creepy the way
walking is supposedly so much more conducive to happiness than zipping
along with the power of envy-inducing beefy arms.)
Part of it, I'm sure, is just that stpries like those are designed
to pull on the heartstrings. Supercrip stereotypes aside, many people
just plain like stories about people struggling to achieve their goals
and finally managing it. I was a sentimental kid who didn't yet have
any idea that disability is so often presented that way that it's a
damaging cliche.
But part of it is more personal, and more relevant to disability
issues, than that. It's wish fulfillment. I had doctors and therapists
that did things that hurt, that never really bothered to spend much
time cheering me on, or telling me that they understood my
frustrations, or that they were proud of me. I experienced abusive
treatment, and saw far more of it happen to other kids with
disabilities.
Pollyanna, on the other hand, had a whole neighborhood of people
who loved her, waiting with bated breath to know if she was all right.
She had a rich aunt who, though miserly for most of the book, had been
awakened to kindness and was prepared to cover every cent of the
expenses for Pollyanna's rehabiliation. She had a young, cutting-edge
doctor who loved and valued her and would stop at nothing to get her
the best care from the wisest specialists, even ones many miles away in
the big city.
While many of us PWD have people that love us and that work
tirelessly for our care, very few of us have quite what Pollyanna did.
That's perfect and loving care, care without bitterness or anger. Care
without worries about the bills. Care without ever seeing those who
love us wonder if we're irreparably broken. I think part of what made
me cry so hard and feel so good wasn't just the adorable supercrip, but
the fantasy of everything going right. Of having everything we need. Of
not being devalued.
And that's why, although supercripping does annoy and worry me,
however politicized I am I've never felt quite comfortable coming out
full bore against it. I think sometimes we need those syrupy,
simplistic fantasies. Not just the nondisabled people, who need an
inspiring story to make them feel good and assuage their guilt ot fear
of us, but some of us too, actually, who sometimes just want a story
where we're cared for that much.
So what's the solution? I don't know. I do think there need to be,
right up alongside the supercrip stories, stories where we're ordinary.
Where we fail. Where people who don't know us come to see that we can't
do it all ourselves. Or even just where we're regular, not special, not
solely marked by the chair or the crutch or the stutter or the 248
toothpicks fallen on the ground.
Still, I don't know that it's right to get up in arms about
generally positive portrayals either. Of course it's worth it to point
out what's bad about those portrayals: that Pollyanna wouldn't have
been unable to have adventures if she'd been on wheels (hello, she had
working arms!), and that while learning to walk again is tough work and
pride in doing so is justified, a person's quality of life should never
be measured by whether she walks or rolls.
But sometimes a good story is just a good story. Sometimes a story
can be good and problematic at the same time. People are allowed to be
moved or touched by problematic things.
