A Small Wonder

Living in a rather small town and being someone in a wheelchair, I am often easily recognized. People I hardly know stop me on the street and ask me how my son is. They tell me they’ve seen him standing on the back of my wheelchair as we rode through town. This always gave me a warm feeling of belonging to the community.

As a volunteer at my son’s elementary school, many of the students recognized us whenever we were in the local playground. Being excited by seeing someone they knew, they’d run up to me saying hi, interrupting my conversation with their parent. For one four year old girl seeing me in the playground, or anywhere else for that matter, was an absolute trauma. As soon as she saw me, she’d run to her mother cry hysterically and demand they go home. Unable to calm her child the mother packed up their belongings, her other child and after apologizing to me, left the playground. I was saddened by her reaction. Not only did I feel bad that my presence bothered this little girl, but their leaving never gave me a chance to get to know her mother.

In school, whenever I entered the classroom she was in, she’d panic, run to the back of the room and face the wall so she didn’t have to look at me. Crying, she knew going home was not an option. Her second grade teacher decided to have me speak to the class about my disability. Everyone, except for the terrified girl who stared out the window, listened and asked questions. I was later told even her classmates tried explaining to her there was nothing to be afraid of. The teacher and I hoped it would be something she’d grew out of.

When she was in the third grade there was still no change. Disheartened I couldn’t help but break down and cry over the fact that she was still afraid of me while the others were not. I just didn’t know what more I could do to help her get over her fear. Seeing my tears, the teacher and the principal reminded me of the very reason I volunteered. It was their belief that children at a young age should come in contact with me in order to increase their awareness of people who have disabilities and to decrease their fears. We were all at a loss as to how to help this student but knew she shouldn’t be rushed.

In the fifth grade her fear seemed to worsen. She didn’t dare walk past me and ran back to her classroom when she saw me in the schoolyard waiting for my son. I began to realize nothing was going to change without some kind of intervention. She somehow needed to be stimulated into no longer being afraid so I spoke with her teachers about how to help her. When they asked her why she was afraid she said she didn’t know. Her parents were made aware of the situation but no matter what was said or done, her fears could not be calmed.

It was three weeks before summer vacation that I received a message on Facebook asking if I’d “friend” her. I thought the request came from her mother as an attempt to help her daughter so I accepted the friend request right away. After sending her mother a message thanking her for the request I received an instant message saying her mother didn’t contact me and asked if she could chat with me. We chatted a bit that day and a few times after until she was comfortable enough to ask if she and her mother could come visit me. Of course I immediately said yes.

What happened when they came was something extraordinary to see. I opened my front door and clinging to her mother, they entered but she dared not to go further. Sensing this, I told them to have a seat on the couch while I brought our dog into the yard. Upon my return I found her sitting as close to her mother as possible. I ignored this and started a conversation with her mother hoping she’d join in when she felt comfortable. She chose her words carefully and slowly when she spoke. As time went on I saw her whole body relax. It was magic to see the fear leave her. At one point I got out of my wheelchair and sat next to them in my recliner. Before they left, she moved next to me so her mother could take our picture as proof she was no longer afraid.

As it turns out, she now comes to my house after school when her mother has to work. The three of us have become good friends.

What I learned from all this is: You can be different and make a difference. With patience and love miracles really do happen.

And now we even dress alike.

Minority Wins the Majority

Today my nine year old son reminded me that I was in such awe when Burack Obama won the presidency that I wrote the following:

My parents always warned me never to discuss religion or politics as those were the two issues that divided the world the most. I don’t know if their telling me this makes me reluctant to write this but my head and heart is so full of things I need to express. I am in total awe - awe at the fact that I am living a historical moment in America’s history. There were always the moments in time that I watched television coverage of like the Twin Towers being destroyed and thousands of lives changed forever, but when you witness a change from the history that you’ve learned and read about in school, that is awesome! It’s like a pop-up book you’re reading the story and boom an image jumps out at you that changes your interpretations of what you’ve just read.


In history class thirty years ago, I read about slavery that lasted from 1607 until 1865. Over two-hundred years of people being treated like animals because of their skin color. The beatings they received when their white master was not satisfied with their work. How they were sold from one person to another as if they were a possession. How in 1860 fifteen states of the United States of America found the behavior to be legal, just and in accordance with the Constitution written by the founding fathers until Abraham Lincoln pushed the thirteenth amendment through congress.

Although there was an amendment that ended slavery after the Civil War, fifteen states prohibited blacks from voting. Right were given to blacks by the United states with the fourteenth amendment but states tested those rights by demanding blacks take a writing test before voting. Of course they could not pass because they did not have the education whites did. They were segregated from government services. In order to keep black people from mainstreaming into the white America segregated schools and transportation were setup especially for them.

I remember reading about the blacks on the bus who were not allowed to sit in the front of the bus because they had dark skin. About Irene Morgan, the twenty-seven year old black woman who in 1944 had the courage to defy the interstate bus driver who ordered her to give up her seat to make room for a white passenger. The driver drove her to the sheriff where she resisted arrest by tearing up the arrest warrant and kicking him in the groin. She was forced off the bus and jailed. Rosa Louise McCauley Parks the black woman also arrested for not giving up her seat on a bus for a white passenger joined Martin Luther King in the Montgomery Bus Boycott a year-long protest against Montgomery, Alabama’s policy of racial segregation on its public transportation system. This boycott led to the United States Supreme Court declaring the Montgomery segregated bus laws unconstitutional.

From the Montgomery boycott a civil rights leader was born. Martin Luther King, the pastor arrested, whose house was bombed and who was subjected to personal abuse. After winning the boycott, he became the first president of the Southern Christian Leadership conference in 1957. He raised public consciousness of the civil rights movement when he delivered his I Have A Dream speech at the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. He had the simple dream of having everyone regardless of color or creed, live together in a united world not a divided one.

The history books told of the assassinations of all who fought for the civil rights of Americans - Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy. Three days ago the newspapers told of the passing of Madelyn Dunham, the woman who had a direct impact on one black man’s life. I couldn’t help but wonder if her passing was a sign that she and all the spirits before her had arrived and they were now standing tall and proud next to the first black man who won the 44th presidency of the United States. They help Barack Obama live the American dream.

On November 4, 2008 my pop-up book image came from my television at the early hours of the morning here in the Netherlands. There was Barack Obama my new president, standing at the podium in Chicago, Illinois thanking the American people. This image changed my heart and way of thinking.

During the past eight years I had lost my faith in the American voting system. I was terrorized the morning four airplanes flew into the New York monuments of the state where I was born and raised. I was then terrified each Christmas season after at the thought of having to fly home to my parents. I was so angered and frustrated by a senseless war that my motto had become “I am an American proud to be living in the Netherlands”. The love for a Dutch man I met through the internet caused me to settle here but America will always be my first home.

The chanting of yes we can reminded me of all the people who told this disabled white woman with Cerebral Palsy you won’t or you can’t and then I look at my healthy eight year old son and think - The “Minority” Wins the Majority! A true happy ending for us all! Or is it just the beginning - all I know is you have to believe in order to achieve!



A year and a half later thousands of miles from the United States, my son wrote "yes we can" on a paper he wrote about whether or not his school could raise money to build a library in Guatamala.  It just goes to show how much impact three words from one man can have on the world!

Blind, Deaf, Dunham

Recently the activity center for people with disabilities I attend weekly had an outing to a local theater. One of the center’s volunteers invited us to a comedy she was in. The performance was not a play but a bunch of comedy skits they had put together.

We were transported by our usual taxi service that brings us to the activity center. My van was one of the first to arrive so I was able to choose where I positioned my wheelchair as the seats in the theater were chairs that could be moved as needed. Naturally I chose what I thought was the front row and held the spot to the right of me for my friend.

A blind woman I knew sat in the chair to the left of me. My friend soon came thereafter and there was very little room for anyone else near us. Just when we were settled in two things happened: First the theater crew asked us to move forward so there would be an aisle behind us for the performers to walk through during the show. Second, while we were doing this, the sister of the blind woman who uses a manual wheelchair and is also blind, asked to be seated next to her sister. As we were repositioning ourselves an employee of the center squeezed the wheelchair of the woman next to her sister. As a result, there was no longer room for both me and my friend. One of us now had to sit elsewhere.

I completely understood that the two sisters wanted to sit next to each other but was at a loss as to why two blind people had to sit in the first row. They couldn’t see what was taking place on stage but certainly didn’t have trouble hearing. Did their inability of not seeing give them the need to sit in the first row because they now had to rely more on their sense of hearing? Compensation of senses is something common so when sight is gone - hearing and smelling becomes much stronger.

This brought to mind a quote of one of my son’s favorite performers - ventriloquist Jeff Dunham, “You don’t take the blind to see David Copperfield.” His comedy sketch with his puppet Peanut brings up some serious things to consider.

When blind people go to the theater or more commonly, the movies, they need someone to sit next to them and explain what is being performed. Of course talking during a performance is prohibited and therefore cannot take place. This got me wondering why there can’t there be a special area for people who are blind or have poor eyesight. Given the century we are in and the technology available is there no way to construct something so whispering in the last row would not be a disruption?

Jeff and Peanut also tell the story about a group of deaf people who came to see their show. “Everyone was facing us but there was one guy who was facing the other way waving his hands moving his fingers. He was a signer!! Think about this for a second - they brought a bunch of deaf people to see a ventriloquist!”

Deafness is the easier disability to compensate for in theaters because signing makes no sound. Why then isn’t there a system where when purchasing tickets, someone with a hearing disability can request a signer be present. Is it really too distracting to have a person stand at the corner of the stage or has no one ever seriously considered the needs of the deaf?

The mass media doesn’t even have a way for those who can’t hear to watch television or enjoy going to the movies. Does it really too costly to have a signer appear in the corner of the screen? Since not everyone who has trouble hearing knows sign or can read lips, another solution is to provide subtitles. If subtitles can be used on DVDs for those who don’t understand the language then why can’t they appear at the bottom of our televisions?

All this would be the norm in a perfect world - a world in which those with sight and hearing disabilities are taken into consideration and not just given a ticket discount.

Me In A Nutshell

Now that I’m blogging, I thought you all should know who the blogger is. This is me in a nutshell:

On July 20, 1964, in the middle of a very hot summer, I came into this world kicking and screaming. This might sound like the average birth to you but it was not. After nine months of a healthy pregnancy, I was born anything but healthy. My umbilical cord was wrapped three times around my neck and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. After unraveling me, I was placed in an incubator and a priest gave me my last rights. Little did everyone know then that I was to defy everyone and every negative thought they had.

Five days after delivery my mom was released while I was still under observation. As the doctors and nurses watched me, they called me a “fighter“ but didn’t know there was something just not quite with this newborn. Two weeks after my birth, I was released to my proud parents and thirteen-year old sister Ursula. The first big event in my life – my baptism was different. I was the only baby who could not have the oil or water.

At four months, I was having great difficulty sitting up and keeping my head upright. To my mom this didn’t seem right. She had my sister to compare me to and I was in no way like her. My parents talked to people they knew concerning a baby’s development stages. They told her to wait two or three more months before consulting a doctor - development takes time and every baby is different.

Three months came and went. I was now seven months, but there was still no change. My mom was sure something definitely was wrong, but my dad could and would not accept this. To him his little girl was perfect. Even the pediatrician saw nothing unusual, excusing my behavior as being a “slow” child needing more time to develop. It was when my mom noticed that I had become cross-eyed and was referred to an optometrist. This doctor confirmed her doubts and referred us to a New York hospital specializing child development. The very next day I was being examined there and diagnosed as having Cerebral Palsy. This medical phrase was completely foreign to my parents. The doctor assured them this condition was not fatal and told them it is a malfunction of a small part of the brain that controls the various muscles in the body. This damage was from the umbilical cord being around my neck. Not enough oxygen entered that part of the brain. The cerebrum area of the brain, which is the center of the thought and intelligence, was undamaged. Under his advisement, I was enrolled in a specialized school where children like myself were receiving the proper care and attention.

I attended the United Cerebral Palsy Center’s infant program in Jamaica, Queens. There I was taught how to properly sit, stand, speak, and the other fundamentals of child development. Through vigorous physical therapy, I learned to coordinate my leg and arm muscles. In the very beginning, I sat in a wheelchair, because I could not maintain my balance at all. As the years went along, I graduated to walkers, canes and crutches.

Although I was getting therapy at the center, this was not enough and therefore I needed to go to the hospital in Manhattan for extensive rehabilitation. Mondays – speech therapy, Wednesdays – physical therapy and Fridays – occupational therapy. This was not only going to be a challenge for me, but for my mom as well. Being an immigrant from Germany, living in a city where everything was within walking distance, she had no driver’s license. Through a friend, she quickly learned and got her license on the second try. This was half the battle; she also needed someone to go into Manhattan with us. I could not sit in a chair let alone in a moving vehicle without my head bouncing all over the place. The same friend volunteered.

Summers meant vacation from school but not from therapy so the center sent a visiting nurse to continue poking, pulling and prodding me. We lived on the second floor of a three-family house. When the downstairs doorbell rang, I’d crawl to the top of the stairs and yell down, “When are you going home?” My mom would remind me she hardly had a chance to come through the door. Nonetheless, I wanted to know!

From age five to eight, I appeared on several United Cerebral Palsy telethons as a representative for my school. On one such occasion, they did a segment on me throwing away my crutches completely. I have been walking without them ever since. This new found independence was a fun time in my life because my dad who held my hand everywhere I went, had to get used to letting me walk to where I was going on my own. I’d get up and he’d be there with his hand out and I’d laugh saying, “I can do it!” From there on I believed I could do anything! I had a setback when I could not walk because of a broken leg. I did this while riding a trike. A friend was helping me ride by standing on the back and pushed. I felt we were going too fast and decided to put my left foot in the front wheel to stop. We did, but boy was I in pain!

I had as many friends as anyone else but the teachers and counselors at the center thought it would be a great help if I were to spend time away from my parents. Not only did I need to learn to become independent, but my parents deserved a break also. I was not looking forward to this summer at all. Along with my best friend, Eva Munson, I went to my first sleep away camp for disabled kids. We were not allowed visitors and I stayed for the six-week program while Eva went home after three. There I learned to dress and feed myself. I hated it! I was so homesick! I begged to go home and although I got letters with gum in them every other day, I was not a happy camper! I spent two summers there before the sponsored organization depleted its operation funds. You should have seen me run down the driveway when my dad came home from work the day camp was over! I ran saying, “Daddy, daddy.”

This was not my first camp experience. I went to a day camp that my father built with Eva’s father. It was funded and ran by United Cerebral Palsy of Queens. You see, while my mom was getting me to therapy, my dad was getting a form of therapy of his own. He just couldn’t talk about what was going on with people so he decided to join the father’s support group at the center. There, they not only talked but were given jobs to get them involved with the center. Fred and my dad started out running bingo night and then constructed a house down the street that would house the camp.

I wound up having a great camping experience in New Jersey. At Camp Oakhurst the personnel taught campers such activities as arts and crafts, drama, music, woodworking and photography. I liked it so much I kept returning for fourteen years. They would have let me continue coming for their adult program, but my parents decided I was too old.

In my first year of junior high school I was one of those well-known, well-liked students. By the end of my second year I was fully mainstreamed. In the school’s mainstreaming program, the disabled pupil is placed into classes having as many as forty “non-handicapped” students for the entire school day. I thought this experience was not only very beneficial to me, but to my teachers and classmates as well. Many of the students had never before come in contact with a disabled person. As a result, they would often ask if I was either drunk or stoned; some would just stare or laugh. Since I was able to laugh at myself, I was able to put them at ease. This worked most of the time and my fellow classmates started to ask questions out of pure curiosity and wondered what it was like to be handicapped in a classroom setting, among other things. I understood their curiosity and tried to answer them as openly and honestly as I could. I actually started to enjoy teaching everyone in school about my disability. Sometimes though, it would get very frustrating because deep down I had the feeling knew that no matter how much or how long I talked to them, they would never fully realize what it is to be looked upon as different.

At age of sixteen I went to Francis Lewis High School. Better known as one of the toughest schools in Queens. Since I don’t have the physical ability to write, my notes were taken for me. A teacher, who taught publishing, didn’t want me taking his class because I couldn’t write. When I sat in the seat in front of his desk and I said, “my disability is physical not mental”, he got the idea I wasn’t leaving and I wanted to be a writer very badly.

In 1987 I graduated college with a BA in English. Unfortunately, there was no work in the field where we were living so I stumbled (excuse the pun) into a job with the Nassau County Police Department. I worked there full-time as an inventory custodian.

For most of my spare time, I was heavily involved in sports; wheelchair handball, track and field, equestrian, and trike: all for competitions. In 1994, I went to international competition for trike and bought home a silver medal.

Like I said, I am a person who defies what people say.

I was told me I would never wear "regular" shoes and be able to walk in them - I do!

I was told I could never drive a car - I did as well as ride a horse!

I was told I would never marry because no one other than my parents would want to care for me - I married in 1999.

I was given a dog from people who said I would never have a child - I have a wonderful son!

Life is good!

Zoomingmamma

Are you not asking yourself what a zoomingmamma is?

The answer is simple – a mother on wheels!
That’s me and this is the story of why I call myself Zoomingmamma.

Having been born with Cerebral Palsy (that’s another blog maybe) I always used wheelchairs, both motorized and manual from time to time. When my son was born, the wheelchair use changed to most of the time because doing things like carrying him from room to room was much easier and safer for us both. Outside I didn’t need a baby carriage. My husband would plop him on my lap and off we went.

Off we went alright, when my son was six weeks old, we travelled from The Netherlands to New York to introduce him to my parents. While we were on the east coast, we decided to travel to my favorite city, Washington, D.C.. The six hour drive took us to an old friend who lived there gave us the grand tour only he knows how to give.

As we headed west there was one more stop I needed to make and will be forever grateful I did! We stopped at the house of Trish Day a woman I met through an internet forum/website. She started the Parents With Disabilities Online Website - http://www.disabledparents.net/It was the resource/information website that answered many of the questions I had during my pregnancy. I was thirty-five, pregnant with my first, had CP and lived in a foreign country. Boy did I have questions. Although feedback came from all members of the website, all my questions were also answered by Trish. We exchanged instant messenger names and phone numbers so we could chat. We really connected and wanted to meet each other so my husband, six-week old son and I had lunch with her and her family at their home in Maryland. It was like reuniting with old friends.

After a wonderful lunch she gave me a book – Mamma Zooms by Jane Cowen Fletcher. Handing it to me she said, “This is nothing really. I have several copies. I give them to disabled mothers as a gift when I meet them. I just love the book because it shows just how many different things a mother in a wheelchair can be.”

She was wrong. That book was anything but nothing! As I turned the pages, tears came to my eyes. Those crisp, colorful pages showed me all the things I could and just maybe would be to my son. The last page was the most impressive – “…Then mama is just mama, and that’s how I like her best.” No words could ever thank Trish enough for giving me that book. No words could ever express what that book meant to me on that day or today.

Today I use that book as a teaching guide at my son’s school. Although my son is now in a higher grade, I volunteer my time once a week in his old third grade class, so that the children come in contact with someone who has a disability. The teacher and I feel that if this interaction is done at an early age, acceptance of people with disabilities will take place while ignorance and fear become less.

So if you see a woman with a child either standing on the back of a motorized wheelchair or sitting on the armrest, think of me – Zoomingmamma!