Unpacking Checked Boxes
Disclaimer: written using voice dictation… My voice is faster than my one finger. Please excuse some typos.
It's difficult to pin down just how many people with disabilities there are in the United States.” The definition of disability often varies based on the context in which it is being referenced. In some contexts, disability is viewed in terms of medical conditions that need treatment or therapy, while in others disability is viewed as the result of the interplay between impairments and environmental conditions. The way disability is measured can also vary.” That's from a report on disabilities published in 2018 by the US Census Bureau. To be honest, I couldn't make sense of the data so I will not use it other than what is above. I went in search of what percentage of the population was black and disabled. That was an easy number to locate. The difficulty came when trying to extrapolate my place in that number.
By now, you have all seen my baby pictures. Would you have guessed just by looking at me that statistically speaking I am one of them? Ok, besides my hair, probably not! I am mixed. I hated my hair up until I was 24…True story. When I would go to the salon with my mom and brother, I hated that my straight-haired bother had more style options than me from the books on the table. In college, some friends took me to the barbershop. I got my first legit fade. The owner, my barber and well EVERYONE else called me “Casper”! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why! Every now and then when one of the guys carried me out to the car …someone would yell “Hey, where’d he go!” We would all lose our shit. I loved it.
My hometown as I have always known it is far from a picture of ethnic diversity. Mom's generation, however, tells a vastly different story. I never feared for my safety in this city. I grew up white. I pass for white. The only first responder I feared was my dad. I do not understand what it means to struggle as a black man. That is my privilege!
In the wake of George Floyd, It has become painfully and clearly obvious to me that I need to do better with my approach to understanding African-American culture. Thank you to my friends who have emerged as my thought leaders in this area. I appreciate our conversations and you answering my requests for resources. That will continue. A friend and I were having a conversation about jobs and the application processes. I've have filled out a ridiculous amount of those over the last few years. We got on the subject of equal opportunity questions at the end of most applications…
Do you now or have you previously had a disability: CHECK
Race ( Check all that apply) White: CHECK | Black: CHECK
Without any anger, he said, “Do you know how you can help us?” Understand what's in the box you check. This statement hit me hard. It was the source of the message. This wasn't a leader or celebrity I will never meet. He was right! I am proud to check the disability box. I check both races without a second thought but what do I actually know about that box. Jack shit! Its gotta be more than my hair and my DNA. I will never again check that box without a better and ongoing understanding of that box. Specifically, what it contains as well as, the weight and volume of it. How can I ask these same friends and others to support me in my quest for equality and not support theirs? To my friends and readers…. I will never understand but I stand with you! The pain in my legs will subside, this wave of change cannot!
For Bobbi, Millie, Mr. Clarence Dart… I love and miss you all. Pop, This is for you also. Thanks for the conversation this past week. Love you too.
