Is That Four and a Wheelchair?: Understanding Why Words Matter

Not too long ago, I overheard a conversation in my kitchen that went something like this:

Dad: "I would like to make a reservation tonight for five people please, and one of the people in our party uses a wheelchair.

Person on the other end of the phone:  "So is that four people and a wheelchair, or five people and a wheelchair"

When I heard this I was completely shocked. I couldn't have possibly heard that right. Did somebody really think that my dad forgot to count me as a person, or that I was nothing more than a piece of metal? I know they didn't mean it that way, they didn't realize what they were saying was wrong, but that casual comment stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't the first time this happened, and it wasn't the last. In fact, it has become so common for me to be referred to as my mobility device that it has become somewhat of a twisted joke in my household.

 You may be thinking surely you understand that people don't think you’re actually a wheelchair, it's just words why does it matter. It matters because I am a person, and when you talk about me as an object slowly strip away my humanity, and it becomes acceptable to treat me as less than human. I can't count the number of times that people have completely ignored my presence and spoken about me to the other people around me as if I wasn't even there. I can't count the number of times that I've been sitting in my wheelchair and have been moved without my permission, and without a second thought. I can't count the number of times that I have been used as a coat hanger. So why do words matter? They matter because they make all of this okay.

When you refer to me as a wheelchair, you casually forget and erase my humanity. When you refer to me as a wheelchair, it becomes okay to think of me as less than you. When you refer to me as a wheelchair you remind me that you don't see me for anything more than the shiny metal object I use to get around.  I am grateful for my wheelchair, it is important to me, necessary for me, and I couldn't live my life without it, but I am not defined by my chair. When I hear somebody say that there is room in an elevator for people but no wheelchairs people but no wheelchairs over and over again without thinking about their words I am reminded of the power of language.

When you call me a wheelchair, you forget that I am a complete human being who just happens to get around using wheels instead of my legs. Language has the power to shape how we think about people and how we understand them. Language  has the power to remind us of our similarities, and point out our differences. Language has the power to heal the deepest of wounds, and destroy even the strongest of human beings. Language has the power to create a whole beautiful world from nothing, and in one single word, in one perfect sentence, destroy it all again.

When you don't count me as a person, those few words single-handedly destroy my humanity. When you think of me as a wheelchair first and a person second you remind me that all that matters is what makes me different. When you call me a wheelchair, you completely erase all my accomplishments, my struggles, my passions, and my desires, and turn me into an inanimate object.

I am proud of my wheelchair, I will not be ashamed of it, but I will also not be defined by it. I am not a wheelchair. I am a person, a beautifully complicated and complex person, who sits instead of stands. I am a wheelchair user, this is a big part of who I am, but I am not a wheelchair, I am a human being. Please don't forget that, and please don't forget to count me as part of the group.