FInding Your Voice

It feels comfortable to just blend into the crowd.  But if I don’t speak out, how can I expect others to do so?

It was student-led parent-teacher conference night…for all students.  I thought I’d get there in plenty of time to shop at the Book Fair, pick up my son, and head to his conference.  Then I headed over to the school.  My first suspicion should have arisen when I saw all of the cars parked on the road.  Instead I thought Glad I brought my placard with me so I can park in a handicapped space.  My heart sank when I saw the parking lot near the gym, where the handicapped spaces were already full.  Then I got to the main school entrance, and I was livid.  Not only were there cars parked in all of the spaces (some of which did not have placards), but there were cars parked in the walkways between those handicapped spaces.  I have to open my car door widely to get my foot out, and it would have been impossible even if there were a space available.

Tears in my eyes, I headed back to my parents’ house, since they were caring for my other son who was sick.  I told them what happened and asked my father if he would drop me off at after-care later so I could pick up my son, since there obviously wouldn’t be a parking spot available.  He got me in the car right away so I could be back in time for the conference, and calmly reminded me not to flip out while I got there.

So once I was there, I had three choices – fume on my own, whine to people I knew about it, or take the risk of speaking out.  I don’t like conflict, but I reminded myself that I couldn’t expect others to stand up for me if I couldn’t stand up for myself.  I decided I had calmed down enough to speak rationally.  When I saw two school officials standing in the entrance, I silently walked toward them.  One of them asked how I was doing, and instead of the generic “fine”, I quietly told him I was furious.  Then I briefly explained why.  He immediately got on his walkie-talkie to make a request, then he told me the name of the police officer he was contacting to take care of the issue.  A little later, I heard an announcement over the loudspeaker, describing the two cars in the walkways and instructing them to move their cars immediately.   Those cars in the walkways were replaced with traffic cones to prevent further parking violations.  Instead of churning up inside, I could relax and enjoy my son’s conference.

Later in the week, I watched the Duke-UVA basketball game.  As a UVA grad, I didn’t have high expectations for the game, so I was pleasantly surprised when my team led the entire game and won.  We don’t usually beat Duke. so the students rushed the court to celebrate the game.  The next day, I turned on my computer to read the articles about my team’s victory.  Instead, I saw articles and message boards blowing up about security.  While the fans were heading to the court, Duke coaches and players believed they didn’t get a chance to get away from the students before they stormed the court, and there were f-bombs traded on both sides.  One of the Duke assistant coaches came back from the tunnel to join in the f-fest.  I had two thoughts jump into my head:

1) C’mon Wahoos, we just outplayed them…no reason to cuss them out.

2) Wait a minute…who’s the grown-up here?  Why would a coach with that much experience respond by stooping to the f-bomb exchange level?  And if he was really concerned about security, why was he blabbering to a reporter instead of talking to the people who could really do something about it (like the league office)?

The whole situation left a bad taste in mouth.  His concerns could be completely valid.  But when you’ve got a valid concern, you’ve got three choices – fume to yourself, whine to anyone who’d listen, or take it to the people who can do something about it.  By talking to a reporter instead of the league office, he came across as a whiner to me.  His quite valid message – that security of players and coaches needs to be a priority – got lost amidst the medium through which it was delivered.  I was disappointed in the sore loser who was taking the attention away from the team who had earned the victory because he wanted the spotlight.

So…are you willing to take a risk and be part of the solution, or just complain about your situation?  That’s a question each of us with MS has to ask ourselves every day.  It’s so easy to curl up in a corner and curse our fate, but that choice won’t make the situation any better.  Doctor’s appointments, physical therapy, self-injection, etc. – these are the difficult choices.  There’s no guarantee that any of these will improve our situation, but they are more likely to help than sitting and whining does.  MS tries to take our dignity, our quality of life, and our independence.  It’s our choice whether we quietly give in, whine to anyone who’ll listen (and even those who don’t), or whether we make an effort to try and make the situation better.

What’s YOUR choice?