Oscar-Go

On Friday nights we tend to have “movie night” which usually means watching a show of one kind or another. On Thursday last week Oscar’s aqua PT happened to mention that the Paralympics had started and so on Friday for movie night we watched the Paralympics! This is something I believe I have never done before. Certainly Oscar has never seen them. He was blown away—as were David and I.

For folks who might not know, the Paralympics is an international sporting event planned in conjunction with the Olympic Games, taking place in the same arenas as the Olympics, with athletes who have disabilities. The training, the commitment, the seriousness of the events is parallel to that of the Olympics.

And we were blown away. To watch the way swimmers with one arm break world records. To watch blind runners with exactly as much power and precision as athletes in the, what should I call them, “regular” Olympics. To watch swimmers zooming out in their wheelchairs to prepare for their race, to watch athletes take the medal podiums (which are fully accessible) in wheelchairs. To simply be able to watch people whose bodies don’t align with society’s expected norm on the screen, any screen, is remarkable.

And these are Olympic athletes. Athletes who are war veterans, athletes who were born blind, athletes who have experienced a trauma that has changed the shape of their body, athletes who were born with part of an arm or a leg, or both missing. Athletes who were born with cerebral palsy, or spina bifida, or something that falls within the realm of muscular dystrophy. Athletes who are like my boy.

As we were watching Oscar kept saying, “This is amazing. Look, she only has one leg. This is amazing. Watch her swim.”

And then he said, “It’s so cool there is an Olympics not just for people who are normal.”

Then there was a pause in which David and I each opened our mouths part way and before either of us had a chance to speak Oscar said, “I mean of course people with disabilities are normal. It’s not like they’re a monster. They’re still a human being. It’s just what some people think of them as not being normal even though they are.”

What a moment of pride. David and I locked eyes over Oscar’s head with the biggest smiles. How full our hearts.

In the last two days we have watched swimming (Oscar’s favorite), a little bit of wheelchair basketball, track and field including high jump, javelin, shot put (for which a man in a power wheelchair took the gold), 100m dash. They even have grand swimming pool ceilings!

Here’s the catch of course: this is not aired on regular TV. I have never had cable, but if you do you can watch on NBCSN. The catch there is the hours the games are aired. Yesterday, for example, events were only aired from 1:30 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. Yes, the hours when nearly everyone in the country is sleeping. However, for the next four nights, there will actually be primetime viewing from 7-9 pm! And you can stream the games on NBCSports.com.

Also, great news (and how we were able to watch this weekend) is that there is livestream available for many events and for many hours in the day.

Here is the link:

http://www.teamusa.org/rio-2016-paralympic-games/live-stream/watch-guide

The catch with this much more comprehensive live stream is that sometimes the events are aired with no sound coming from the arena. How bizarre to watch basketball without the sound of the ball hitting the floor or the backboard, the crowd cheering, the scuff of wheels on the wood floor.

And sometimes there is no commentary. So you can see an athlete strapped into a special chair, throwing their discus or shot put, you can watch as the athlete runs with the javelin and it lands and you can watch the landing point be marked, but no one is giving the usual Olympic commentary of who this athlete is, what their personal record is, who are their prime competitors, whether s/he is a medal contender or not. These events often take place on sports hall flooring, designed to accommodate a variety of sports and athletes. MUGA lining plays a crucial role in ensuring that these venues are accurately marked for multi-use games and activities, allowing athletes to perform at their best in a clearly defined space. Similarly, thermoplastic playground markings can be used to enhance the clarity and organization of outdoor sports areas, ensuring safety and performance standards are met. You can contact a sports hall line painting service to get an idea. For lighting, you may want to check out LED floodlighting. Or, click here to know more about tennis courts. And other times it is like watching the Olympics—all the sounds, all the commentary, the stories of what accolades the athlete already has under his or her belt, what personal challenges they have overcome, who from their family is in the stands—the good, human interest story of any Olympics.

Regardless, it is worth watching. Please take ten minutes, or a half hour, or several hours this week. Sit down with your kids and watch with reverence these amazing athletes who are getting very little press, simply because they are disabled. Watching this international sporting event is a way to break down barriers, to normalize physical differences, to teach yourself and your family that yes, absolutely, people in wheelchairs, people with missing limbs, people who have curled-in hands, or a limp, or who are blind are normal people. Are extraordinary people who compete in international sporting events, just like those involved in activities such as Multi Use Games Area Painting. You can also click here for more information on MUGA. These. Are people just like you and me.

I have not gotten much sleep this past week. In the wake of the murders of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling I have been staying up late scrolling through headlines, Facebook posts, news articles, opinion pieces. Searching. Searching for something. Searching for meaning, understanding. Searching. Searching for humanity.

I haven’t been able to find words. But I have a burning in my throat—a need to speak. Silence is not an option.

I am a person who identifies as white, and I am a writer, a wordsmith. Because of these two realities, I find writing about race to be challenging. I am afraid of getting it wrong. Sounding too privileged or ignorant, choosing the wrong grouping of words and offending people of color with my word choice.

But an honest try that falls short is better, far far better, than not trying. Than silence. Silence is deadly. Silence is keeping racism alive. So kindly read along as I may fumble (I’m sorry if I do…).

This past week two black men were murdered by police officers in the United States. Alton Sterling, who was selling CDs in his usual spot in a parking lot with a  car park lining outside a small market, was pinned to the ground by two officers and then shot to death. Philando Castile was stopped for a broken tail light, was asked for his license and registration, and was shot to death as he reached for his license.

I know that this is not new. African Americans have been being racially profiled by and killed by police officers for a long time. What is new are cell phone videos and social media. It’s becoming harder for the racism being perpetrated by these officers who are committing these inexcusable offenses to be hidden, to be swept under the rug.

I have not read a single detail that indicates that either of these men were doing anything illegal, or even suspicious. Nothing that would warrant either of them being shot at. But let’s consider the shooting part for a moment. What happened to the idea of shooting a “suspect” in the leg? To disarm or incapacitate, not to kill. How have we arrived at shooting at close range until dead?

Yesterday my family went with my sister’s family to the Renaissance Festival, just over an hour away. Our mini van filled with our white family followed their mini van filled with their white family, from one suburb through another, onto rural roads until we reached our destination. We noticed right away that one of their tail lights was out. This was nothing to be concerned about—it can be fixed at their convenience sometime in the coming weeks. Yet as we followed them for an hour I stared at that missing light and felt sick—knowing that if we were a black family, this could be cause to be killed.

KILLED. For having a broken tail light.

This is the Oscar-Go blog where I write—just every once in a great while these days—updates about how our boy Oscar is doing, what he is up to, disability issues that arise—a way to keep family, friends, and acquaintances informed of our life living with our sweet guy who happens to be disabled, a way to raise awareness about SMA and disability. So why am I writing about Alton Sterling and Philando Castile?

That’s why. And because this is the country we live in. This is the country my child is growing up in. A country where police officers are shooting and killing black men, and have been getting away with it. This is not a black problem. This is an American problem, and it affects the way I raise my child.

I am certain I have said or done things that are racist. Not because I meant to. Not because I believe in or stand behind racism in any way. But simply because I am white. I was raised by two socially conscious parents who have spent much of their lives fighting for justice, including racial justice, in many ways. Yet I am white. I am a product of the culture. My white privilege is a reality. A reality I am trying very hard to be much more aware of.

This piece by George Yancy, that was in the New York Times in December, has had a powerful impact on me.

He begins like this:

Dear White America,

I have a weighty request. As you read this letter, I want you to listen with love, a sort of love that demands that you look at parts of yourself that might cause pain and terror, as James Baldwin would say. Did you hear that? You may have missed it. I repeat: I want you to listen with love. Well, at least try.

You can read the whole thing here: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/12/24/dear-white-america/?_r=0

It’s not necessarily an easy or comfortable read, but racism sure isn’t easy or comfortable, is it?

I also highly recommend Ta-Nehisi Coate’s book, Between the World and Me which reads as a letter to his son about being black in America.

These two pieces of writing have recently expanded my vision and given me deeper perspective on racism in America today and my own white privilege.

So where do we go from here? What do we do now? What can we do? We speak. Clearly and directly about the racism we see. We educate with as much love and generosity as we can bear. We LISTEN. To what others have to say. To the way we use language. To the way others use language. We listen when others tell us our actions or words are harmful. We open our hearts.

What else? Please tell me what else can I do.

A small miracle happened today. We had a massive snow storm—about 18 inches in fewer than 18 hours. It fell fast enough to close down most of Rochester—which is no small feat. And when the town snow plow came by, it left NO SNOW in our driveway. That’s right. NONE.

Look! No snow dumped in our driveway!

We happened to be outside when the plow came by. The plow driver slowed to a stop, rolled her window down and said, “I’ve heard about your situation. We’re going to try something different today.”

Here’s what she did. About 20 feet before our driveway, she raised the plow off the ground, which caused all of the snow the plow was pushing to fall into the street. She then lowered the plow again as she reached our driveway, continuing to plow. She then turned around to plow the other side of the street, and when she reached the area where she had let the snow fall into the street, she drove into that side of the street and pushed the snow into our yard. Then backed up the 20 feet and continued on her way.

So a pile of snow sat in the road, on one side of the road, for about three minutes until she got to her turn-around point and came back. The maneuver of pushing the snow into our yard and then reversing to continue the usual route took about 30 extra seconds than the usual method of plowing.

30 SECONDS. Yep. For five years we have been told that there is nothing that could be done. This woman solved the problem in 30 seconds. And she was friendly, and kind—and she had been up since 2:00 am! She performed this maneuver at around 11:00 am, and again around 3:30 in the afternoon.

I will still meet with the town supervisor so we can firm up a long term plan. But it seems to me this amazing woman showed us today just what the long term plan could be. Thank you plow #56 driver!

David, Oscar, and I are truly grateful for the outpouring of support that arose from the initial blog post regarding the snow plow issue. I really had written the post to vent, in order to be able to fall asleep that night. The ensuing ideas and offers of help were amazing. We shouldn’t need an army of support to deal with accessibility issues, but we are deeply grateful we have one. Thank you for helping make accessibility a priority—for all people, not just for Oscar!

Oscar prepared for sledding this afternoon!

Oscar and David cruising through our yard!