PITY ≠ COMPASSION (a Newfound Pet Peeve)

Ada dancing in her Mexican dress on Cinco de Mayo

[Begin rant]

Ada received a scooter for her birthday from her Oma. This means that all my kids have scooters. Which means getting to school without a car won't take 45 minutes. Yay!

So this week, I decided we'd start scooting to school instead of driving. It's been fun and the weather's been nice. It's been a pleasant and enjoyable experience, except for one thing: the crossing guard on 700 east. I shouldn't judge harshly, because she clearly has good intentions-but she's driving me nuts and I need to get this off my chest: Here's the situation...

It's the rule to walk across the the street, rather than ride (for obvious reasons) and Ada is usually the last one across. If you've watched Ada walk, you will notice that she has a distinct gait. Here's why (in case you don't already know):

• Ada has Hemiplegic Cerebral Palsy. Last year she had surgery, but it's becoming apparent that she needs more therapy for her tibial muscles. (She's walking on her toes again).

• She kind of sprained her left foot a couple of weeks ago and so her gait is more pronounced.

The crossing guard noticed this (ogled is a better word). And the next day, she suggested that Ada be an exception to the rule and ride her scooter across so she can keep up.

***HERE IS WHERE I COULD HAVE HANDLED THE SITUATION BETTER...***

I should have said, "She's okay. I'll hold her scooter. We're happy to walk. It's safer anyway."

What I actually said was, "okay", in the hopes to kind of drop the conversation. She went on and on about it. About this poor girl. In this way I'm sure she felt like she was displaying the utmost compassion. She was trying to be helpful. She asked me this morning if Ada was born with that "clubbed foot". It's not a clubbed foot. But what could I say? The light is green and we have 5 minutes before the bell rings. I say, "yep". Then I pick up her scooter and we walk across the street. Because we can.

I try to meet the grave expressions and hushed concerns with open levity because, hey, Ada does not need to feel sorry for herself. It's not in her nature to do so and I'm not about to introduce or promote that kind of crutch. Especially when she's about as "normal" as a girl can get.

UGH: I'm trying to learn from this experience. I want to remember so that I can be better. Here's a list of what I've learned so far:

1. In this particular situation, I clearly see where I'm responsible for this annoying outcome. I'm not exactly sure yet how to handle these situations. I should have told her that Ada was capable from the get-go. I also should have mentioned to Ms. CrossingGuard that "the girl" has a name (in a tactful way, of course).
   
2. Like the title says: compassion is NOT synonymous with pity. One lifts, encourages, enlightens- the other demeans and cripples. One is delivered under the assumption that you CAN, the other is motivated by the assumption that you CANNOT.
   
3. Speaking of assumptions-it's not the offers for help that bug me. It's the assumption that a person is less capable than they really are. Don't assume, ASK: "Can I get that door for you?" or, "Would you prefer to have your daughter ride the scooter across the street?" Then the person can say "yes, please" or "no, thanks".
   
4. When the person answers your question. Believe them. Don't go on an on like you know all about their situation.
   
5. Don't talk about a person like they're not there. Whatever the situation, it's rude.
6. Ask yourself: What is your motivation? Is being helpful a way to stroke yourself, make you feel good? Or is it to genuinely BE helpful. This is important to ask because it's easier to know when to STOP being helpful if that is truly your aim.
   
7. Whatever apparent weaknesses or difference a person has, it does not define them. Staring is a natural urge, sure. But when you look, don't narrow a person down to whatever one or two things you instantly notice, whether it's a wheelchair, a missing limb, a tattoo, missing teeth, a Rolex, or unnaturally large breasts.
   

It baffles me to think someone is looking at my daughter and feeling sorry for her. It's downright laughable. She's smart, she's beautiful, she has a gift of resilience and optimism that is unmatched. She has a song in her heart 24 hours a day (and is usually singing it). She's a fast runner, can climb and play with the rest of the kids, no problem.

Phew! Now that I've got that out of my system, I can step down from my soapbox and get on with my day.

[End rant]