Handicap Hierarchy
A while back, I wrote a post about the benefits of dating someone with a D card. I needed some help compiling my list, so I asked my boyfriend if he could think of any perks to dating someone with a disability. He surprised me by cleverly sidestepping the (somewhat loaded) question. “You tell me,” he said. “You’re dating a disabled person.”
I turned to face him and ran through a quick series of mental checks: both of his eyes work fine. He wears glasses, but those don’t give him any sort of handicapped status. His hearing is adequate, his mobility and balance are in the normal range. His speech is unaffected, and while his handwriting isn’t exactly easy to read, this is more symptomatic of the time he spent at a computer — that is, not using a pen and paper — than it is of any fine motor difficulty. With a dual degree from Rutgers University, his intelligence is not in question. I narrowed my eyes slightly and cocked my head to the side, confused. “No, you’re not,” I said.
Then he reminded me — he has narcolepsy. I shrugged. “Yeah, but that –” I cut myself off and turned back to my computer.
He made a sound that was a mixture of shock and amusement. He seemed ever so slightly offended when, after a beat or two, he asked, “Were you about to say that it doesn’t count?”
Busted.
