If you're dropping by my blog as part of the Disability Blog Carnival festivities, WELCOME to Disaboom! I love carnivals 
(both real and virtual) but have missed the last several due to conflicting deadlines or difficulty writing on the suggested topic. When I heard Wheelie Catholic would be hosting this mid March extravaganza, I had to get in on the fun. The theme is "Allies" which couldn't be more fitting. Wheelie Catholic was one of the very first bloggers to offer support and encouragement when I first began writing, so I'm honored to attend her event!
[Picture caption: Graphic of amputee on crutches standing by little boy looking at bay. Labeled "Disability Blog Carnival"]
Now on with the show...
Like any abstract term, allies means different things to different people. For some, it might be a potentially manipulative relationship where two parties work together only because their loyalty increases the likelihood that they will both be rewarded. I believe allies share a common cause that both parties feel passionately about and everyone involved is willing to fight feverishly to protect, improve, or obtain the desired goal. In the context of the disability community, I see allies as those that recognize the battle before us of discrimination and oppression. They don't just acknowledge our frustration but they suit up and get in the trenches with us in an effort to fight for equal treatment when it is denied.
While not born or inducted through injury or illness into the disabled culture, I view our able-bodied allies almost as honorary members because they have the dual ability to empathize with our community and influence theirs. I remember a wave of sadness when I first absorbed the perspective that children with congenital disabilities are usually born into a family of a completely foreign culture. Unlike many ethnic and religious backgrounds, there is often no one in the family who is willing or prepared to teach this child about their unique cultural attributes. There's a disconnect of shared history and often a lack of cultural identity because the child is left to learn their culture on their own if at all. I'm thankful to say that I was an exception to this all-too-common scenario as my family fostered the development of my disabled-self just as they provided a foundation for my religious beliefs and ethnic heritage. Perhaps that's why when I hear the word, allies, I immediately think of my family.
My family's alliance with disability culture goes beyond protection, love, and loyalty to me simply because I am their daughter or sister. Not to imply there haven't been those moments of sheer retaliation or defense against danger or discrimination. I do have the not so found memory of my brother hurling a kid across a hallway because he had just plowed me over, barely avoided flipping my chair, and hadn't bothered to apologize. The boy abruptly found his manners. I also recall my mom laying out a night nurse that had complained after a major surgery that "her back hurt too 
much to take me to the bathroom all night." It wasn't a joy for me to be transferred there either after what doctors had what they eloquently called, shish kabobbed my tibias. But try telling that to my bladder that had been under anesthesia for 8 hours! Anyway, my mom took over my care that night and in my high school, people were a little more careful around me in the hallways! These examples represent loyalty of a family that loves each other, but not necessarily an alliance to a community.
Now a first year teacher, I see my brother's allegiance shining through with the rules he enforces in his classroom and the integrity he maintains even in a high school boys' football locker room! Where and how his students probably least expect to learn it, Nick provides his students an education on disability as he teaches health and physical education classes. He doesn't just add an another lesson, but teaches by life example. He provides a fully inclusive environment, offers additional supports to students with disabilities, and corrects inappropriate terminology he hears slung in the halls. He's learned to change his stance from punitive when his students say "midget" or "retard" and offers them cultural comparisons about these derogatory words so youth can begin to see our community as a culture instead of a group of medical patients. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he remains a fairly intimidating guy (if need be) so he tends to get his message across loud and clear!
[Photo caption: My brother embracing my "Mernie" (grandmother) under the Friday night lights of the football field.]
My mom, also a teacher, battles an even younger generation's depressing fascination to describe virtually everything as "retarded." She weaves her lessons about other civil rights struggles as seen through the eyes of artists into the disability movement in a way that students can see our similarities with them rather than our differences. Just as Picasso went through his "Blue Period", my mom is currently in her "Wheels Period"-just without Picasso's doom and gloom of that time! She photographs and paints the symbols of my cultural identity in a way to capture what she sees as the beauty of our existence. In true eccentric artist form, my mom spent several hours last weekend outside ALONE (with no children in sight) building snowmen....in wheelchairs! She photographed her creations and other snow/wheelchair scenes as part of a seasonal series she's completing.
[Photo caption: My mom crouched by three snow figures with the caption "That's my mom-posing proudly with her snowman in a wheelchair and a service snow dog! Oh and what's that to the left? A snow penguin of course!"]
I can't even begin to guess how many teary-eyed well-meaning people have come up to my mom or brother and said, "Isn't she something? she's such a fighter. She's so inspirational." Most people assume that their physical ability dictates that my family members, like most of the walking world, judge me from the opposite side or across the cultural divide. These questions, the stares, and even the blatant acts of discrimination bother me a little less because I don't feel alone in my skin (or in my case, bones!)...even in my own home. When asked, I can confidently answer that I don't wish away my disability. Reality dictates, however, that it often resemble more a battle than a peaceful ride. I'm thankful to have both my disabled community members and our allies fighting by my side.
