On a beautiful day with moderate temperatures and a sunny sky, who wouldn't want to take a walk in a local nature preserve?
As a person with a chronic condition that causes pain, I am constantly judging how much energy I have and how much I am going to spend and how I can get some energy back and how I can preserve some and and and. On and on. I know which activities cost more energy and cause more pain. Flat surfaces for walking? Pretty good. Gravel? Torture. Stairs? Okay, but cost energy. Ramps? Torture.
So on a nature walk, there are judgements made. Uneven terrain? Hard. Grassy knoll? Not bad. Worn trail? Okay. Swinging bridge? Torture.
If I don't agree to it, then I am the person who can't do something. People don't forget that. Is that really what I want for part of my identity and for part of our friends' visit?
If I agree to a nature walk with friends, then I risk being portrayed as stubborn and not pacing myself.
I chose shoes that might work and brought my backpack purse that distributes the weight while carrying some necessities. This walk would be fun and refreshing. How long have we waited to unmask in public and enjoy the company of friends?
A cup of hot coffee sets expectations that I am not setting a record pace on this walk. It's a stroll. Can't walk faster! I'll spill the coffee. (I also really like coffee and a stroll.)
The nature preserve is an expansive, beautiful piece of land with water holes, fishing, trails, and creeks. We walked around with our friends and with hundreds of other people enjoying the landscape.
So I made choices as we proceeded. I wanted to be with our friends and continue the walk. To do that, we either had to cross bare-footed through an ankle-deep creek on limestone rocks or use the swinging bridge to cross the creek.
Naturally, I should leave the shoeless creek crossings to the toddlers and just cross on the swinging bridge, but previous trips have taught me that the bridge take a lot of leg energy. We all crossed the bridge and continued on the walk. The first crossing took plenty of leg energy, but I did it and we kept walking.
On the way back, of course, we had to cross the same swinging bridge to return to where we started. I waited until no one else was on the bridge, held the cables and turned slightly to the side, but began crossing the bridge. Leg energy fading, I was fairly focused on just finishing this part without falling. That's it. I wasn't upset. I wasn't talking to myself or anyone else.
A group of parents and young kids came onto the bridge from the opposite side. I didn't say anything, do anything or register that in any way. It makes my trek more difficult, but I had done it before. Someone behind me yelled, "You're brave!" I didn't realize at that moment, but that person must have thought I was afraid. I didn't attend to it. I just wanted to get across. Then a man coming toward me began saying things like, "This doesn't look too secure. That cable looks like it's going to GO any minute! Ting! Ting!" he said as if a thick cable snapping would make that sound. "OH stop!" his partner managed to utter between giggles. A few more feet and I was finished. I had crossed the swinging bridge twice.
My legs were tired, but I had done it. Then I had time to process the cruelty of the man on the bridge. The man who was with at least one small child and a partner on the bridge. The man who couldn't resist chiding someone struggling. The man whose schoolyard bullying is funny only to him. The white, mid-thirties ambulatory man in the yellow t-shirt and sunglasses spending a day with his family at a nature preserve who simply had to comment on one person's obvious struggle and make that struggle more difficult.
He got it wrong. I'm not afraid of the swinging bridge. It hurts. It hurts my legs, hips, back and arms to cross it. But it doesn't really matter that he got it wrong. It doesn't matter that we won't see him again or that he is out of our lives forever. It matters that cruel people are everywhere. They don't mind showing cruelty to people with chronic conditions, disabilities, challenges, needs or difficulties. It matters that bullying behavior happens more frequently and more places than any of us care to acknowledge. It matters that I said nothing. I let him do it. He'll do it again. He'll do it to someone else just trying to navigate despite challenges.
While we're here, let's address the partner's response. She doesn't control him. I don't pretend that is the case. But if her response is to giggle and make a half-hearted "plea" to stop, then that is probably the scripted reaction he was hoping for anyway.
So why use a struggling person to get a laugh? Oh, wait. There's a long human history of that from sideshow and circus days. More recently, Tiktok trends include mocking people with cerebral palsy and other disabilities.
Of all people to target, the man in the yellow t-shirt and sunglasses picked the ONE person on that bridge who could not and would not be able to defend herself because she was too busy clinging to the cables stabilizing her body to make the journey less effort. He didn't pick the men. He didn't pick his partner. He didn't pick-on, bully, chide, or goad anyone else. He didn't intimidate the able-bodied men.
I hope his partner stops laughing at his cruelty and I certainly hope his child does not emulate it.
Comments
Post a Comment