SPED.
It’s short for Special Education; the academic support for students with disabilities. But it’s become a slur. For the 21st century, it’s become the new R-word. If someone does something stupid or dumb, people used to say that it was “retarded.” Now it’s SPED. Most not realizing that both terms are derogatory in nature toward those who live with disabilities.
I live with a disability. For my entire life, I have. Although, I would do anything but admit it. But I do.
Sounds ironic. It’s quite easily noticed - the limp fist of my right hand coupled with a slight limp on the same side. I live with cerebral palsy. What fails to be seen is the seizure disorder, for which I must take medication daily to maintain a healthy and independent life. Negligence to do so would risk full-body intensive seizures that momentarily leave me unable to speak or walk as my body recovers. All of this due to a stroke before birth.
I am not just a Special Education teacher. Truth is, I have been a SPED student myself. And with that confession, I must also admit that I still psychologically hold the insecurities I kept secret as a child.
I know I have done well. I know I have accomplished much. I give an air of confidence, all the while, I am quietly measuring up unknown intentions. I fear what you may think of me. I expect you to deem me less than valuable, because of where I have an inability. Moreover, my anxieties only rest when you prove to me that you see me more than just my hand.
I fear, therefore, I judge. And I judge, therefore, I fear. It sounds hypocritical, and at some level, it is. I don't want to be judged for what I can’t do. Yet, do I have a right in judging someone’s intention, before they say hello? But present and past social norms in Western society have not treated those who are disabled (either physically, emotionally, or cognitively) kindly. So my apprehensions, though amiss, seem very justified.
During the Middle Ages, those who lived with a disability were seen as having been cursed by God, or worse, possessed by the devil, himself. The latter often required the death of the individual. In Ancient Greece, Sparta was praised as being a warrior culture. As wonderful as they seem (they even chose to educate their women!), if a child was born with a disability, they would abandon them on a cliff side. More barbarically, they sometimes threw them off its sides.
The introduction of Darwinism and the ideology that the strongest survives gave way to a social implication. If someone was poor, compassion was no longer given. The person was to pull them up by their own strength, or they were better off dying. If disabled, they were but a pitiful creature whose only help was God’s own mercy. That being said, many were left to die. Or, if lucky, put into institutions. However, these were a little more than holding houses for those with disabilities. Many chained, or even put into cages until meal times. Perhaps it was a lack of knowledge of how to care for these individuals; perhaps it was a way to ignore the problem and put it out of consciousness. Maybe a little bit of both. Thankfully, by the 1970s, an awareness grew that things needed to change, and by the 1990s, IDEA was developed with an outlook that students with disabilities need to have the same opportunity to succeed academically and in life, as their non-disabled peers.
Nevertheless
, the problem is that the Western society prizes itself as a culture of independence and strength. We focused on what we could do, and will hide and deny any weaknesses. Because, we believed, if we showed any flaw in our system of humanity, then we are viable to be cut. We don’t like weakness. We can’t get ahead if we are weak. So, we push aside anything or anyone who shows any signs of it. After all, it is the strongest that survives. And it’s the strongest that succeeds.
And despite how strong I can prove myself to being, every time I walk into a gym, I wonder if anyone in the room thinks, “Oh, wow. Look at her right hand. She’s handicapped. (Poor thing.) God bless her for trying.” I know it’s an unfair assessment, but I’ve had my own share of worth determined as less, because I couldn’t do something as well as someone without a disability (or I had to work harder or longer for the same achievement).
We live in a day and age where abortions are legal when a mother finds their child will be born with a disability. Because apparently one can determine the fruitfulness of a life by the diagnosis given before the first breath.
The coach who wouldn’t play me more than one minute per game (in junior high, mind you) for basketball or volleyball, because she “wanted to win.”
Picking teammates for basketball at a sports camp, I was picked second to last. The last person being a kid who was overweight. In both of our cases, we were picked based on a visual representation and not our skill level.
Playing Lightning, I told a classmate that he should have gone easy and let me shoot. He said he was. I was joking. He was not.
In freshman year, playing Ultimate Frisbee, and catching the frisbee, I almost hurt my left hand. One kid yelled, “Hey! Don’t f-- up that hand! You already have an f--ed up hand.” Later, when we played tennis, I was the only one to make him move out of my way when casting my ball (he played on the tennis team for high school). I felt pretty good about that.
Peoples’ comments of how they don’t know how they would live with a missing limb, because it would be so hard. (Because, again, somehow, you can determine the fruitfulness of the future based on a present misfortune.)
In my senior year, during human biology, we read about a medical case of a man (I think it was fictitious) who continuously had misfortunes that began with the loss of his hand and ended where his head was connected to a robotic body. One of the discussion questions for class was, “At which point did the man stop being human?” You may understand my table partner (who lives with a form of dwarfism) and my emotions filled with shock and disgust when one of our classmates responded, “When the man lost his hand.” To her, essentially she was saying, neither of us were human.
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After running in the Spartan 2018 race.
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I know I am guilty of determining my worth based on my experience, and retorting as such. I am not just insecure. I am also prideful. I have aimed to take away all doubt in anyone’s mind of my worth by attacking great challenges. My cousin once told me that growing up, it was like I always had something to prove. It’s true. I live with a Napoleon (Bonaparte, not Dynamite) complex. In sports, I have a knack for picking out the biggest player and sizing up. Because David slays Goliath, and no matter the cost, this fight won’t be easy. Goliath is going down, or I will die trying (cue dramatic up-close movie shot)!
Frankly, at the core of this show is really a girl who just wants to do things just to do them. I see a mountain, and I want to know what the view looks like from the summit. Should cerebral palsy tell me I can’t? The worst thing I can be told is that I can’t...just because of a disability I live with. I push my boundaries, because partially, I want to prove to myself how far I can go. That living with a disability is not going to determine the call of God on my life. That having weaknesses won’t prophecy how my life should be lived, based on society’s judgment of my worth.
I have proved my strength, because I, too, have bought into the lie of our culture that says to live with a weakness is to be worthless. To be marred means my value has been depleted. And yet, God wants me to understand that as long as I try to prove myself according to society’s patterns, I am living in a psychological and emotional cage as cramped as those found in the institutions of the 19th century. As long as I emphasize my own ability, I will fail to see the ability that God gives, no matter what I can or cannot do (see 2 Corinthians 12:7-10).
We may measure one’s potential by their capacity, but God states that our very existence already defines our purpose. And it has never been based upon what we could do. There are a couple instances in the New Testament where Jesus healed men with withered hands. A plausible parallel, but that is not the Scripture reference I have gleaned hope from. It has been John 9:1-7. Those who know more of my story can get a glimpse of another reason why, but I will reveal this: in verse 3, Jesus points out that the person’s disability is not for the lack of value of the person, but so that God’s glory may be revealed. I am not a freak of nature. I am not a mistake. It has taken me a LONG time to accept that.
I am thankful - if I would just pause a second and reflect - to have family and friends who do see me as their equal despite living with a disability. I become so self-conscious when I see a video of myself. I see the unequal pacing of my walk, my right arm hangs perpendicular. And my hand never stretches out as others do. This must be what my friends see! And maybe it is...but it isn’t all they see. They see me. They aren’t afraid to invite me over for company, or have conversations, go on camping trips, hikes, run races or invite me to play basketball (and I have become a better player because of them). This is SPED.
I have also learned that I don’t have to be afraid to show my weakness. Having a lack of ability in some areas, or recognizing that I may need help is not an exemption from being valued. Furthermore, we all have gifts and strengths that differ from one another, and we have areas where we need to grow and receive assistance. We all need each other. This is SPED, too.
Who I am is not what I can do. Who I am is not what I cannot do. Who I am is because of Whose I am.
