The Stare-by Kevin Connolly

1 year ago I was asked by a little boy in Christchurch, New Zealand if I had been eaten by a shark.   2 months ago I was asked by an elderly woman in Sighisoara, Romania if I had lost my legs in a car accident.   6 weeks ago I was asked by a bar patron in Helena, Montana if I still wore my dog tags from Iraq.   Everyone tries to create a story in their heads to explain the things that baffle them. For the same reason we want to know how a magic trick works, or how mystery novel ends, we want to know how someone different, strange, or disfigured came to be as they are. Everyone does it. It's natural. It's curiosity.   But before any of us can ponder or speculate - we react. We stare. Whether it is a glance or a neck twisting ogle, we look at that which does not seem to fit in our day to day lives. It is that one instant of unabashed curiosity - more reflex than conscious action - that makes us who we are and has been one of my goals to capture over the past year.   It is after this instant that we try to hazard a guess as to why such an anomalous person exists. Was it disease? Was it a birth defect? Was it a landmine? These narratives all come from the context in which we live our lives. Illness, drugs, calamity, war - all of these might become potential stories depending upon what we are exposed to in connection with disability.   In each photograph the subjects share a commonality, but what does their context say? Looking at each face, I saw humanity. Rolling through their streets, I found the unique cultures and customs that created an individual. -Kevin Connolly X Games Mono Skier and World Travelor http://www.therollingexhibition.com/statement.php

Head Trip Perceptions

It's a bit of a head trip being disabled. The looks and perceptions issue most face is dwarfed by a new dimension. One no one has quite figured it out, nor will they ever, I think it's safe to say.
 
I was recently disembarking off a cruise in a large crowd. We were stuffed in the hallways and lobby like sardines, with barely an inch on any side of our bodies. My feet rests kept hitting the backs of people's feet and their luggage. "Sorry," I'd squeak, fully aware of how annoying that sensation was. They'd turn, a cranky, I'm-already-frustrated-and-now-will-tear-your-head-off look on their face. Then, as they saw me, their expression would change. "No," they say in a soft voice with sad eyes and a smile, "It's OK." Suddenly all their annoyance was washed away and they'd feel bad for me instead.
 
I am 24, slim, blonde, tall (not that it matters right this minute), and blue-eyed. If  I wasn't in a wheelchair I'd run the risk of being an airhead or a slut. But for now, I am perceived as sweet, inspirational, and at the same time, someone to be pitied. Perhaps a dumb blonde also, but people don't make that mistake for very long.
 
Sweet, I like. I mean I'm a believer, so I try to be. But I know it is based on how I look, because people thought that when I didn't follow Jesus and was ugly on the inside. Mothers of teen boys who hung out with me or worked with me on a school project were thrilled. Maybe they thought my disability and looking the way I did, I was innately good for some reason, and would rub off on their sons. I sometimes would laugh at their naivete, but quickly figured out the joke was on me. People thinking the best of you when you don't deserve it never means they are the sad one. Now it is different.
 
Inspirational, well, it's hard to complain about that one. I used to, because it meant I was going through tough times, but that's not any one's fault. And I can't help but be inspired by others going through tough times and not falling apart. It's in our culture to feel that way. 

Pitied--no one wants that. It is especially misplaced on me, because I think I am the happiest single person I know. Pity serves a function though. Pity causes other people to care. It makes people want to help make life manageable for us. It gave us the ADA. It gives me help from strangers when organizations aren't following the ADA. It keeps me from hearing a tirade in a sardine can of a lobby, when I have to worry about 10 extra things that day about flying home that an able-bodied person doesn't need to worry about. 

People either pity us, or don't think too hard about us and what we go through on a daily basis. But really the only reason people should pity us is if they didn't think of us. Because people thought of my hardship, there are ramps and social security money and discrimination laws, etc. As a result, there is less hardship. Without these there would be justifiable pity, because my life would be pitiful. But without pity, the cutting-down-on-my-hardship laws would not exist. All social justice demands some pity to achieve the goals, I think. Where would we be in a world without pity?

See what I mean about the head trip?

The best thing for me to do is to not think about it. Be me, let nothing define me, yada yada.  But I think it's good to acknowledge the stereotypes are out there. And furthermore, know they aren't all bad.