I was there talking about community connections ... and ironically, for me, that's what really happened during that short, unscripted and unscheduled meeting. There are times when it just feels good to talk with those who have sat where I have sat, who have rolled where I have rolled. There is a degree of commonality that crosses borders, cultures and even language some times.
Joe and I went to a movie theater in one of the suburbs of Toronto one time and there was a young woman who was tasked to take tickets at the door. She was painfully shy, but she also clearly liked her job. She would rip the ticket, give it back and quietly announce the theatre number. When I handed her my ticket she noticed my wheels, she looked primarily at the floor, her gaze came right up to my fact, something she'd not done with any of the others ahead of me, she smiled and softly said, 'Thanks for coming.' I said it's really nice to see you here. I meant what I said, it wasn't a pat greeting, it was a statement of loss of aloneness. I knew she understood.
I've mentioned this a couple of times in conversation with those who do not have disabilities and some have become offended. They say that this need of mine to occasionally chat with and be with other wheelchair users demonstrates a weakness in me. That I should be completely happy living the privileged world of complete inclusion. I ask, How can inclusion mean exclusion ... if all means all wouldn't it be natural that I would run into and be able to communicate with others similar to me.
I want inclusion and but I will fight any form on inclusion that excludes others.
You see, I still think, all means all ... and for all the right reasons.