Third Culture Kid(s)

Gary Kamiya has a thoughtful essay on Barack Obama and the race question up on Salon.com that I wanted to pass around as well.

M’s often talked about not having time for the established Nikkei (Japanese-American) community, because he refuses to be defined by their political agendas. In his particular case, it may or may not make a difference that people tend to see his disability first (unless he’s already sitting down) and his race second, and he’s experienced at least two kinds of discrimination in his life. And, at least in his case, the discrimination he faces as a disabled person, while arguably less intentional, is far more entrenched and institutionalized. I’m talking about the things that the able-bodied simply take for granted: next time you go shopping in some quaint neighborhood, count the number of shops that have steps leading up to their doors. Try and figure out if a three-wheeled scooter (or a wheelchair - powered or otherwise) would have any chance in hell of getting around all the pretty knick-knack tables and shelves. Make sure to keep an eye out for three-pronged outlets, especially if your neighborhood is at all hilly - those little hills are murder on a scooter battery.

The American with Disabilities Act has made a difference, but it’s really not enough. I know I like to go ballistic on all those people who look at us funny, or worse, when we pull into handicapped parking - as if a family as “young” (that is, not “old”) as ours could ever have need for a handicapped space. But the fact is that people seem to think that all those empty parking spaces are really just an unnecessary luxury. The disabled don’t get out anyway, so why don’t I just borrow one for a little while? And, in the meantime, someone like Michael can’t find parking near where he needs to be, has to go find it elsewhere, and has to do his best to find a path to where he’s going that involves neither long distances (battery-killer) or mostly decorative stairs.

Hm. I didn’t intend to rant like that. I’m a little anxious about the parking situation at M’s campus, since there was only one handicapped space available (of about 10) when he arrived at his building, and he said there were several cars that were parked illegally.

I think I’m also having flashbacks to the last time I had to push a dead scooter up a hill with husband seated and toddler in tow. Basically, it goes: me in back pushing, M. steering scooter, and MM up in front being pushed in her stroller by M. It’s always like one of those GRE analytical problems:

You’re visiting the National Zoo in DC and choose to park at the top of the hill with your disabled husband and turns-on-a-dime toddler. You strap the toddler, kicking and screaming, into the stroller because the alternative - letting her walk - will mean that you cannot progress three feet without having to sit down on the ground and pick up whatever crap has come off the bottom of someone else’s shoes. The little low-battery light on the scooter starts flashing somewhere near the concession stand at the bottom of the hill, and you now have to figure out a way to transport the husband, toddler, scooter, and stroller to the car. There’s a parking lot at the bottom of the hill, but it’s filling up and your husband insists that “there’s probably enough charge to make it back.” When you discover, halfway up the hill and nowhere near any parking lots, that there isn’t, in fact, enough charge left, do you:

1. Jettison the husband and scooter, but keep the toddler and expensive stroller
2. Jettison the husband, scooter, toddler, and stroller and make a run for it
3. Jettison the stroller, put the bucking toddler on her father’s lap, and push the scooter up the hill
4. Take the toddler and stroller to the upper-level parking lot, get the car, drive it down to the lower parking lot, and meet up with the husband and scooter, who have hopefully been able to use the force of gravity to suck the remaining life out of the battery and get to the lower parking lot
5. Abandon all pretense at grace and dignity, growl at the husband to steer the stroller, get behind the scooter, and push all 300+ lbs. of them up the hill

For the record, I only seriously considered 4 and 5. The stroller was too expensive to even consider 3, and 1 and 2 really only sounded good when I was in the middle of pushing the scooter up the hill.

Anyway, go, read Kamiya’s essay. It’s good.