Because just like being tailgated on the highway makes me go *precisely* the speed limit, someone telling me they don't think I should do X with my life or I ought to really conduct myself in Y fashion makes me even more determined to machete my way through the path I've chosen for myself.
Pointing out abuse isn't the problem. The ABUSE is the problem.
My daughter was three years old when she got her first wheelchair. To that point, she had used a stroller provided by a wheelchair company, so NOT a regular stroller; it had appropriate therapeutic seating to encourage her ability to sit, and hydraulic wheels to absorb shocks, and a seat back that reclined completely for... Continue Reading →
On the way into the hospital for a routine visit, I saw a perfect depiction of the entirety of life; an older man and woman pushing someone in a wheelchair who appeared to be the woman's mother chatting as they passed a young woman heavily pregnant, waiting for her partner so they could take the... Continue Reading →
My paying gig as front-desk customer service at a community arts center means I get to talk to a lot of people. Some people are signing up for classes with Portland Parks, some are visiting our art gallery, some are looking for something else altogether. What I do every day is sorting out what people... Continue Reading →
Meg Currell 