We all have special needs

Reading an old guest post on Rants from Mommy Land on "Special Needs Mommies" led me to think about Pooh Bear and the Dancer and their relationship.

The Dancer is the oldest but still, she was only three and a half when the Pooh was born.  At first, we didn't know that Pooh had special needs, but it was really apparent by the time the Dancer had her 4th birthday.  Especially since, if I am not mistaken, the birthday party had to be postponed because Pooh was in the hospital - again. 

The point being that the Dancer probably does not remember a time when Pooh's special needs didn't come before anything else.  Special needs kids are DEMANDING.  Like 24/7/365 demanding.  Because the moment you stop paying attention for JUST ONE SECOND JUST LET ME PEE FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, disaster strikes. 

Pooh was in a wheelchair when she was four - mostly in a stroller before that, because by the time she was adept at sitting up by herself she was dangerously top-heavy in like a shopping cart or whatever.  But being in a wheelchair brings stares and inconveniences and heaven help us, comments and questions. 

"Why is she in a wheelchair?" 
"Can she talk?" 
"What's her name?" 
"How old is she?"
etc ad nauseum

I had to grow a thick skin quickly if I wanted to live a normal life and teach my girls to treat Pooh like a human being and not something to be hidden. 

The thick skin did not grow well on the Dancer. Really, still hasn't.  It still bugs her.

First time I realized that it bugged her is when she verbally attacked another kid her age, maybe 9 years old?, in a department store that was asking all the regular questions.  I was trying to both shop and answer as honestly and as simply as I could without going into too much personal, when the Dancer rounded on them:

"WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT? Didn't your mother teach you that's rude?  Why are you asking so many questions?  Is it REALLY any of your business?"  and so on until I nearly had to drag her away.

"The way you behaved was as rude as what they were doing,"  I lectured her.  "Pooh does not need you to defend her from stares and rude questions.  And besides, I'd really rather them ask the questions than walk away with the wrong idea about her." 

This has had mixed outcomes:  On the one hand, Dancer and her other siblings, and for that matter, cousins, tend to see the person before they see the handicap in almost everyone they meet.  They accommodate handicaps without thinking.  Opening doors, opting for the table that's easiest for the wheelchair to pull up to, talking to disabled people like PEOPLE and not like the handicap, if you know what I mean.  It's given them a perspective that I'm sure they would not have had without Pooh Bear.  On the other hand, they are hypercritical of the starers, the commenters, and have developed strange strategies to cope with them.  Especially Dancer.

This was obvious when Pooh Bear and I went to visit Dancer and her husband one weekend.  There was a street fair going on a few blocks from her house so, it being a gorgeous day, we decided it would be nice to walk down there and wander around. 

Occasionally, Dancer would, out of the blue, speak to someone:  "Hi, how ya doin'?  Great day for a festival, yeah?  Y'all here from out of town...?"  At which point I realized that she didn't know these people. 

"What are you doing? Do you know those people?" I hissed.
"No.  They were just staring at Pooh."

At least she doesn't tackle them any longer.