Age Has a Funny Way of Changing Your Life
Growing older changes the way we see, hear and feel.
Age might even change how we think, but the key is to not lose sight of what brought us to where we are in the first place.
Our journey to get where we want to be might force us to leave many things behind. Our means of getting there may not be conventional or expected. We’re sometimes met with raised eyebrows and cringed faces when go against the grain and follow an unexplored path. As I’d find out, however, the road that’s less traveled is often the one with the greatest reward.
My reward didn’t come as quickly as one might think.
I didn’t expect it to, because my path had been far from “normal” so far. I had a sneaking feeling it was going stay that way for a long time, if not for the rest of my life. I couldn’t have asked anyone else to travel this path. It wouldn’t have been fair because that responsibility wasn’t theirs. It was mine — and I knew it.
Not only that, but I knew staying on the path I’d been on was going to be much easier said than done. Many things up until this point were. I was now getting ready to “graduate” from elementary school and start junior high. I looked at it as a new chapter in my life, one in which I could possibly begin building my world — or at least parts of it — around something other than my disability. More than anything, however, I thought this was a real chance to gain more independence.
It was painfully obvious by now that I wasn’t going to get away from making cerebral palsy the centerpiece of my existence. I couldn’t simply cross it off my list of things that demanded my attention. Everyone around me knew that and respected it for the most part. I also understood the fact that technology had impacted my life in a very personal, intimate way. It wasn’t just there for ease and esthetics.
That quickly became one of the most important things I wanted other people to understand as well. I was willing to do whatever it took to get that point across. More than that, however, I still had so much to prove to myself and others. Little did I know, I’d have an opportunity to do just that by the end of sixth grade.
My class was asked to write book reports about influential figures in American history. I chose Harriet Tubman — and like my classmates, I checked out books from the school library and did my own research. I quietly started typing my paper on my communication board, hoping I would get a solid paragraph or two written before the school day was over.
It didn’t happen, even though I worked diligently.
I took my paper home to finish it that night and transfer it to my parents’ computer to print out. Most of my teachers were aware that this would be a regular occurrence because it took me longer to complete my assignments.
Fast forward to around 11 p.m. I could barely keep my eyes open as I cringingly typed out the very last line of my paper. I knew more about Tubman than I ever thought I’d know, but I was OK with that because I was finally finished with this assignment. I proudly read it over before taking it to school the next day.
When I handed it in, however, my teacher looked very confused. She was almost in disbelief. So much so that she gave it back to me after a few minutes. There were no pen marks on it. No comments.
“Erin, you didn’t write this yourself,” my teacher said with a disgusted scowl on her face.
“Yes, I did,” I explained. “I finished it at home last night on the computer, without any help.”
“First of all, this is too well-written to be yours…”
I could tell from there that this exchange wasn’t going very far. No amount of convincing was going to change my teacher’s mind. While I didn’t have proof that I wrote the paper on my own, she knew I didn’t finish it in class the day before. She also knew that I had to take it home to do the rest.
This turned into a 20-minute debacle, which resulted in me having to do a second research paper. I was hurt, angry and crying at this point. I was confused for a few minutes, but I realized this was yet another test of my determination. It did, however, bring back a flood of unpleasant memories.
My personal care aide, who helped me in class, watched this entire scene unfold and came to my defense. She advised me to write another paper, even though both my parents and I fought against it. I was angry at the fact the fact my teacher didn’t trust in my own merit. Writing that second paper wasn’t the problem. In fact, I worked on it for about a week and turned it in.
It had the same quality as the first one. The same care and attention to detail. My teacher was completely silent when she saw this. I wasn’t sure if she didn’t know what to say, or just didn’t want to honestly acknowledge what had happened. Either way, I felt at ease knowing I kept up my end of this.
I didn’t get an apology until many years later.
Maybe my teacher wanted to show me tough love. Maybe she wanted to make an example out of me and my writing. I don’t know, but whatever her reasoning was, worked.
And I’m a better person because of it. This wouldn’t be the last time I faced doubt, however.
It goes to show that people will never know who you truly are unless you show them. They might not believe it at first, but that’s when you give it all you’ve got. And if you give enough of yourself, a few eyes are bound to be opened.
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This story was previously published on The Good Men Project.
