Saturday, July 18, 2009
Driving Harold Home.
Thursday evening, I had a board meeting. For the time being, let's omit the content of the actual meeting.
I lingered after, visiting with some folks. As I loaded the van, our Executive Director inquired whether I could drive a "consumer" home; he lives in PB a whopping 6 blocks from me and while she could, it was completely out of her way and it was already 9:30 p.m. "Of course...just warn him Lucy is going to cry the whole way home."
So Harold (who is, I would guess, about 50-ish) and I had a pleasant (LLGA-wah-punctuated) conversation about his 21-years of work at SeaWorld and the US Navy (as his dad was a Navy doctor) and that he was going to try to go see Wicked (which I didn't even know was playing in San Diego).
About halfway home, Harold told me the worst part of having a developmental disability is not having your services subject to the whims of legislators, insurance companies, and family members. He said the worst is people calling one a "retard" or "retarded" -- and the other worst is people making comments about his physical appearance (he has a condition that causes tremendous swelling of his legs). He told me that he wants to tell these people, "I take all of my medicine every day...it's not fun to take 10 pills." He told me that he wants to tell these people to find nicer words. He told me that he wonders what happens if these people have a child of their own someday that is "like me".
When we pulled up at Harold's apartment building -- a very nice location, kudos to Harold's parents -- he asked if I could drive him home again after other meetings. "If I'm there, absolutely." I can buy you dinner for your trouble. "That's completely unnecessary." But double-kudos to Harold's parents for imparting some social niceties :-)
But I want to share with you is what Harold said just as I turned onto Lamont from Garnet. It's what his brother told him and he repeated it a couple of times so that the driver could memorize it:
"I pretty much won the race with what I brought home. I know that. I'm not bragging. I've just done really pretty good for myself."
If Harold can say that -- living alone, dependent upon public transportation/the CQ Taxi, now medically-disabled from his job, and certainly not spending money on his clothes, and with a lifetime of others pointing out the obvious -- then maybe about 90-something% of the rest of us can work to get to the place to be able to say that about ourselves, too.
Crab Queen, social commentator, out.
I lingered after, visiting with some folks. As I loaded the van, our Executive Director inquired whether I could drive a "consumer" home; he lives in PB a whopping 6 blocks from me and while she could, it was completely out of her way and it was already 9:30 p.m. "Of course...just warn him Lucy is going to cry the whole way home."
So Harold (who is, I would guess, about 50-ish) and I had a pleasant (LLGA-wah-punctuated) conversation about his 21-years of work at SeaWorld and the US Navy (as his dad was a Navy doctor) and that he was going to try to go see Wicked (which I didn't even know was playing in San Diego).
About halfway home, Harold told me the worst part of having a developmental disability is not having your services subject to the whims of legislators, insurance companies, and family members. He said the worst is people calling one a "retard" or "retarded" -- and the other worst is people making comments about his physical appearance (he has a condition that causes tremendous swelling of his legs). He told me that he wants to tell these people, "I take all of my medicine every day...it's not fun to take 10 pills." He told me that he wants to tell these people to find nicer words. He told me that he wonders what happens if these people have a child of their own someday that is "like me".
When we pulled up at Harold's apartment building -- a very nice location, kudos to Harold's parents -- he asked if I could drive him home again after other meetings. "If I'm there, absolutely." I can buy you dinner for your trouble. "That's completely unnecessary." But double-kudos to Harold's parents for imparting some social niceties :-)
But I want to share with you is what Harold said just as I turned onto Lamont from Garnet. It's what his brother told him and he repeated it a couple of times so that the driver could memorize it:
"I pretty much won the race with what I brought home. I know that. I'm not bragging. I've just done really pretty good for myself."
If Harold can say that -- living alone, dependent upon public transportation/the CQ Taxi, now medically-disabled from his job, and certainly not spending money on his clothes, and with a lifetime of others pointing out the obvious -- then maybe about 90-something% of the rest of us can work to get to the place to be able to say that about ourselves, too.
Crab Queen, social commentator, out.

1 comment:
Thank you for posting what should be painfully obvious but at times is painfully hard to see for the rest of us. Harold sounds like a gentleman.
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