I'll take the elevator

I was at Borders yesterday, looking for a particular book. Instead of rambling all over the place, like most Borders stores, my Borders is a narrow, two-story affair. The book I wanted, of course, turned out to be on the second floor. “Follow me. I’ll show you where it is.” the salesperson offered and began bounding up the stairs. “Um, I’ll have to take the elevator,” I said. She joined me, graciously insisting I was saving her a trip.

The reason I balked at the sight of the steps is not important. What is important was my embarrassment at having to admit to someone that those stairs were going to be a problem. I’m sure that dozens of people take the elevator every day. That’s why they have one. Since the passage of The Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA), every place of business must be “handicapped accessible.” That law has made it possible for people with disabilities to go places and do things they had never been able to in the past.

I know a lot about disabilities and ADA. I learned from disability agencies, advocates, and activists. I wrote training programs and books on the subject. I was educated and enlightened … in a distant sort of way. The law was passed in 1990—twenty years ago. I was in pretty good shape in 1990, running and swimming and engaged in lots of physical activities. I guess I thought I would always be able to do those things.

I remember when I was learning about disabilities, I became friends with people I would never even have met under other circumstances. These experiences opened up my eyes to a world I hadn’t known existed. I was fortunate to be introduced to the disability community in the way I was, but I knew that for many people the sudden appearance of people with disabilities was disconcerting. They didn’t know how to act. They were uncomfortable. It took me a while to understand why.

While some people are born with disabilities, many are not. Accidents, illnesses, war, and age create them—sometimes suddenly, sometimes gradually. But we all know we are vulnerable. Anyone, no matter how healthy and strong, can become disabled. It’s a scary thought and one most of us try to avoid.

Here I am twenty years older than when I began writing about a subject that touched me intellectually and emotionally, but not empathetically. I didn’t really understand then, but I do now. I haven’t had an accident or a degenerative illness; I have just aged. And with age have come some limitations. One of them is the inability to negotiate stairs without becoming short of breath and feeling my knees pop with every step.

So, I take the elevator. But as I’m writing this, I’m finding myself asking, so what? What’s the big deal? Why was I embarrassed.? Why is that tiny event still on my mind?

I’m not sure I know the answers, but I do know this: If that’s the worst thing that ever happens to me, I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life that I can get where I need to go by simply stepping on an elevator.