Who among us is okay?

 

A good number of Americans were cheering this week as John Fetterman, still recovering from a stroke in the spring, took to the debate stage with TV personality Dr. Oz. Fetterman has lingering problems with speech, so he was sometimes hesitant, sometimes of the mark. Greeting the crowd, he wished them “Good night,” which Ted Cruz thought was so hysterical he mocked it at a later rally. But who listens to Ted Cruz? But then there was Dr. Oz, who instead of admiring the courage of his opponent, also mocked him, rolled his eyes in impatience, and was generally a boor. The debate revealed a lot about the rivalry between these two.

Fetterman has spent much of his life working for the people of Pennsylvania. Dr. Oz bought a house in Pennsylvania barely in time to qualify for the residency requirement to run for office—his primary residence is in New Jersey, with a mansion in Florida. The story I like best: Oz had someone build a private basketball court in one of his properties; Fetterman built a community court so underprivileged kids could play basketball. Tell me which is the better man?

Yet, Fetterman got a fair share of criticism, even from his own party where at least one person opined he probably should not have debated. And Republicans were quick to judge that he is not capable of holding such a responsible position as senator. (These same people think Herschel Walker is capable, even though every time he opens his mouth word salad comes out.)

The Fetterman episode, if you want to call it that, made clear the value too many in our country place on ableism. There seems to be one cookie cutter version of who is okay—the man or woman who excels at everything from public speaking to sport and beyond. Anyone who varies from that norm is different, suspect, and probably incapable. Take the way Republicans hastened to claim President Biden is senile. The fact that Biden battles a lifelong stuttering problem, which accounts for his occasionally hesitant speech, elicits not cheers for what he’s able to do despite that handicap but accusations that he belongs in a care facility and Dr. Jill Biden is really running the show. If anyone has ever demonstrated that they are in command of the situation, it’s Joe Biden whose accomplishments in two years of presidency have been nothing short of amazing—from turning the economy around, passing legislation for economic growth and renovation of the infrastructure to delicately aligning allies to support Ukraine in its fight against Russia’s incursion. And he’s done it all despite dig-your-heels-in opposition from conservatives.

I have felt some of this ableism myself. These days I need assistance to walk and hearing aids if I am going to hear what others say. I always have someone with me when I am out, because I do not drive any longer —fighting the walker into the car without losing my balance presented too many chances for disaster. But almost inevitably, salespeople, receptionists, and others talk to the person with me until I want to raise my hand and shout, “There’s an okay brain in here!” I am still writing, still cooking, still very much a functioning member of society.

None of us fit that cookie cutter mold of the prefect person. Fortunately many people fight to recognize and accept the differences in people. Some of us are learning to fold those with differences into our lives and world and make them welcome, to let their light shine as it will. My neighborhood has a special early trick-or treat night—this year on Saturday before Halloween. The evening is a sensory friendly event, a calm and less overwhelming experience for children with different abilities. No loud noises or scary tricks.

In addition, the city ambulance service, MedStar, brings two severely handicapped children and their families for a special night out. Ambulance drivers dress in costume, three streets are blocked off, and everyone goes all out to give these special kids a rare treat.

Somehow I’m thinking of Martin Luther King, Jr., and his dream speech—like him, I dream of a world where all are equal, but my dream deals less with racial themes and more with welcoming the handicapped into our full society, appreciating and utilizing their specific talents and accommodating their differences. We are all different, each in our own way.

There’s a meme going around Facebook in various versions (here’s a more graceful version): In January, John Fetterman will be better; Mehmet Oz will still be a fraud and a huckster.

Adaptation

Happy hour by the lake

Sunny, clear, and gorgeous today, but the lake is not mirror-smooth like it was last night when Colin and I at out there with two dogs and watched dusk turn to dark. The wind is up today, and the surface of the lake is ruffled, the windmill (decorative only) spinning fast. Even the swimming pool has tiny waves. Lisa has suggested happy hour by the lake tonight, with a fire in the pit. We’ll see how that goes.

Sophie and I are adjusting to different schedules than we keep at home. In the cottage, I usually take a short after-dinner nap and then work until eleven or twelve. Here, I’m in bed at ten—and I’m the last one up in the house. I laugh at Sophie—having once been shut into the bedroom, she won’t go in there with me unless I bribe her with a treat. But about nine o’clock, she decides it’s bedtime and crawls into her crate. When I come into the room, she looks askance at me as if to ask, “Why are you up so late?” But after that first rocky night of being in strange surroundings, we both sleep soundly all night. And she no longer sits anxiously outside the closed door when I disappear into the bathroom—the first day we were here she didn’t want me out of her sight and seemed to think the bathroom was a black hole which would swallow me.

For me, adaptation is a bit more difficult. At home in my cottage, I can roll around on my Rollator and fix my meals, take care of myself; Sophie can come and go out the patio door at will. Here, the house is on many levels, so I pretty much live in the section that has the family room, bedroom I’m using, and bathroom. For morning tea, meals, and the like I have to depend on others—and it makes me feel like a bother, though all four Tomball Alters are sweet about taking care of me. And about walking Sophie—when she comes to me and barks, I have to call for someone to come take her outside on a leash. No fenced yard. It’s a learning lesson in gratitude—gratitude that this branch of my family cares enough to take care of me and my dog and cater to our needs, cares enough to have me visit them even though my visit entails inconveniences.

Adaptation has been good in another way. Everyone here is busy—Colin working from home, Lisa getting ready to feed a multitude tomorrow, the kids busy with whatever teens do, from phones to working out. Where at home I can distract myself with everything from cooking to Christmas shopping, here there are no distractions. I’ve gotten a lot of work done, some of it things I’d been putting off.

Dogs and people, I’ve decided, are adaptable creatures, if they want to be.

No happy hour by the lake. Clouds came out in the afternoon, and by five, it was almost full dark. And then we were off to Lisa’s parents house, with Morgan driving that short distance, carefully and slowly. It was fun to see the house—they just moved in last July after some family remodeling updated floors, counters, paint, and the like. Torhild, Lisa’s mom, is quite happy with it. Now, we’re home, bellies full of Norwegian hamburgers and noodles. It’s time to sleep.

‘Night all. I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with thanks for many blessings and brings you the kind of day you want—a turkey feast or a tofu turkey, a crowd or dinner for two. Make it your day!

Grandma and Grandpa's house across the field

Somehow   going there made me think of 

Over the river and through the woods

to Grandmaother's house we go