I wrote about my son’s bright green hearing protectors for Pacific Standard. I hesitated to get them at first, badly swayed by the idea that they would more firmly mark him as different and cause isolation.
They do the opposite. They open up the world. Including Hamilton.
Here’s the takeaway:
I’m not alone. I know far too many people with disabilities, family members of people with disabilities, and other caregivers who hesitate to meet access needs if doing so involves revealing disability. Hearing aids are expensive because they try to be invisible while containing complex electronics. Some of the most interesting new hearing amplifiers are highly visible, giving the makers more room to embed computers to process sound.
On Twitter, AbbyLeigh C., a 23-year-old woman with Crohn’s disease and multiple forms of arthritis, wrote at length about her reluctance to use a wheelchair when in college. She exhausted herself walking, trying not to “give up” by using a chair, and eventually took a medical leave from school. Now working on her last few credits, she says, “Once I stopped hurting myself by pushing myself, and accepted having to use the wheelchair, and got out of bed—I started to get less sick.” She told me over direct message that her wheelchair allowed her to get back out into the world, which “was a crucial moment for me getting back to feeling like a real person.”
My son’s needs are specific, but they are neither special nor abnormal. Whenever any of us encounter disability, we must stop letting our sense of the “normal” shape the choices we make either for ourselves or for others. Best of all, my concerns about people staring at his headphones were completely unfounded. Everyone was too happy watching him dance.