The Gift of the Continuum of Services Part V: Social-Emotional Development

My “privilege” includes having attended a high school that consisted of a predominantly white, able-bodied, middle-to-upper-class student body rife with the stereotypical cliques of the 1980s. I was one of only three mainstreamed students in my graduating class who had visible disabilities. As such, I was often ridiculed and ostracized. I was called names like four eyes, googly eyes, and Martian. Furthermore, I was even the occasional victim of hate acts. For example, I had a student who threw rocks at my head while walking home from elementary school because he thought a good head jarring would miraculously stop my eyes from wiggling. Unfortunately, this same student was assigned to be my square dance partner for our school-wide performance, and he refused to touch me because he was afraid my visual impairment was contagious. During middle school, I was taunted with homophobic slurs because I had been seen holding another female student’s hand as she helped me navigate rocky terrain and jump across the banks of a small creek. (Sigh… If only I had known the appropriate human guide and white cane techniques, and if only I had understood that what others think of me or my sexuality is irrelevant.) To avoid being teased, I found that it was easier to actively engage in passing—i.e., acting as if I were sighted (Goffman, 1986). I learned it was best to be a wallflower who blended in and did not draw unwanted attention to herself.

To be popular, one had to fit into a Barbie^®-esque mold, which obviously, I did not. In fact, I was the DUFF (designated ugly fat friend) who was always chosen last for any team in gym class (Keplinger, 2010). While my teammates invariably resigned themselves to losing, one hyper-competitive team captain came up with his own kickball adaptation in which he kicked the ball for me while I ran the bases. That day was the only home run I ever scored, and oh, what a sweet memory it is. Similarly, my high school gym mates figured out that I could not hit an approaching volleyball to save my life but could lob a fierce serve. Thus, I was always assigned the position of server and even managed to score points for my designated team. Granted, I was never going to make the girls’ volleyball team, but it did make this annual instructional unit bearable. In spite of such inclusive experiences, I never learned how to use any adapted sports equipment (such as beeping balls) and consequently gravitated toward sedentary hobbies, which unfortunately, has contributed to lifelong weight issues.

Making friends was always a challenge, and many of my relationships started as charitable acts in which a benevolent stranger, classmate, or co-worker helped me.  The first year of middle school was particularly rough, and I remember eating lunch all by myself in the crowded, bustling cafeteria for the entire first semester. Ultimately, I ended up fitting in with an eclectic group I now affectionately think of as the misfits. The glue that held us together was the ostracism we faced based on factors such as sexuality, gender norms, weight, race, socio-economic status, religion, disability, and/or nerdiness. I credit this band of misfits for enlarging my worldview beyond my conservative, White, able-bodied, heterosexual, Christian upbringing. Not only did these misfits teach me to value myself, but they also taught me to respect those whose realities were vastly different than my own.