No More Cuts! Rally in Downtown Santa Rosa

“No more cuts!” chanted the crowd of 250 able-d walkers and people in wheelchairs on the downtown sidewalk. “Don’t cut our services,” we yelled together, unifying voices in the chilly breeze. It was uncomfortable to be on the cool side of the state building, the cool side of interest in funding, looking out at the inviting sunshine of other interests warmed in the limelight.

The people that gathered have a way of making uncomfortable present and real. They lay it on the line, with open and honest remarks about their income, their bills, their struggles, and their contributions to society, but real is uncomfortable. Have we forgotten to consider that people who happen to have disabilities contribute most of their “extra dollars” to our communities for any leisure activities or personal items they need, just as people without disabilities do? I was reminded of that in a board meeting at Becoming Independent when Carin Lawrence spoke about Community Living Services.

Uncomfortable became friendly as we huddled closer for warmth against the biting wind causing goose-bumps on skin. An extra sweater became a source of warmth for Anita, who reminded me of Hannah in twenty or thirty more years. She held her colorful sign out as she chanted softly, holding her purple lunchbox in her other hand. She was prepared and ready to take action.

A rally makes everyone feel different from those passing on the street or driving in their cars. Differences lead to questions, awareness, and possible answers. Close quarters on the sidewalk led to engaging conversations in the huddle. I learned about Loretta, and her brother who drives a red truck to his job building houses. It dawned on me that I knew her from her race-walking event at Special Olympics. Our conversation shifted to the races she was looking forward to participating in at the finals. We had a common experience beyond the sidewalk.

Rally-day was another’s birthday, celebrating with chocolate or vanilla cupcakes. It didn’t matter which flavor, “It’s all good,” she said. Can we have some sort of equality and an “it’s all good” attitude about how we treat people with disabilities? We are not there yet, and it feels as if we are going backward on this journey. Additional 1.25% cuts make everyone scream when services to people with disabilities comes as a low blow to the existing wounds of the last 3% cuts.
Life doesn’t prepare us for things that happen, that don’t make any sense. The people I met and talked with don’t deserve to be made more uncomfortable or diminished. They need to be heard and understood. They were there, present to tell their stories—more unusual than the typical person, I don’t think so. They were happy to be heard and passionate about being part of a community where collective voices can make change happen.

New Ways of Learning

Hannah started Special Olympics a few months ago. We attend weekly practices to be part of a group, to enhance her skills, and learn new techniques. Things I take for granted are brand new to her. Jumping from a starting point and walking out of sand pit a certain direction is something we don't seem to practice in everyday living around the house. She was baffled by the concept, and words to actions fell short of fluency.

I had to jump and show her, as I was reminded of every physical step in planning and coordination that was needed to launch my body off of the ground and to a new space following thought and motion. This was how she was as an infant. Every single move had to be taught and practiced. I see how far she has come, how easily she runs and throws, and each week turns into a celebration. A few reminders to step left and pull her arm back for a full arm extension makes the ball go farther. A shout out from the sidelines to, "Run with your head up and look ahead," make instantaneous corrections and lead to her success.

I see the things she takes for granted are brand new to me. Like the way she has no fear of making new friends and putting herself out there...Somewhere in my life I learned to be very cautious. I love learning from her. I am changed every time and it can be an overwhelming life lesson, or as simple as a smile. I hear her coaching words of encouragement to let the big things go and focus on the littlest ones that mean the most in the course of day. A picnic lunch enroute to our next event in a day won't write the article, or clean the house, or even organize my life, but it will provide sustenance and shared time with a precious one. This is where my little girl is my greatest teacher.

Sure, I can be proud of the way I teach her physical movements, mental applications, studies of nature, or just living as part of a family where every person is important and has needs. I can share faith and teach lessons by examples but she shows me how she gets the message every time. She displays her understanding in her prayers at night, or any hour of the day, where she says, "I love you," catching me off-guard, holding me in the moment. There is nowhere to go but the present when that happens. She is completely aware of the here and now, something of a gift I say.