My son has a superpower.
He is invisible.
Most disabled people are, you know
They are born with it, alongside twisted limbs or broken minds.
My son, he can’t walk, or talk, or eat
He can’t hear and he will never fly. But
He is invisible.
You may not have seen him. But he saw you
He smiled at you. A smile
Bright as a ray of light shining through a cracked window.
He looked at you.
Hoping you would see past the invisibility tattooed on his skin, cloaked around his wheelchair.
He stood beside his siblings
His cousin and he smiled. For you.
You didn’t see him.
Or you wouldn’t see him.
Was it the drool on the side of his mouth which
scared you off?
Was it the twisted way he held his hands?
Or the way his head flops slightly to the left?
He smiled still
As you overlooked him, tossing pieces of candy into the bags
Other children held out.
His bag, empty
Invisible.
He smiled still as his aunt explained why he sat at the bottom of your stairs.
“His legs don’t work.”
He smiled when you refused eye contact with him and handed a piece of candy to me to give to him.
Refusing to touch him.
Refusing to come out of your warm bright homes to see him.
My invisible monkey boy, he smiled for you.
I stood beside him, willing you to see him
Wanting my pride, my love for him to be a beacon for your eyes.
Wishing for your eyes to land on him and see his value.
To see him.
For him not to be invisible.
House after house
We tried.
Door after door, princesses, vampires, Spidermans
they all wished they had super powers as they begged for treats
My boy,
he tricked them all.
He still smiled
even when you didn’t see him,
couldn’t see him,
wouldn’t see him.
Everybody should have a superpower.
Nobody should be invisible.
If I could pick a power
I’d use it to shine the light on every person with disabilities,
I’d make you see.
My son. He is NOT
Invisible.
I see you, kid.
Jen
Thank you.
Deanne
I see you darlin boy! Happy Halloween!
Hugs,
Grammie of a beautiful autistic boy
Mark
I never thought about that. I see your boy. What a cutie!
Suzy Smith
My disabilities came to me as an adult. I went from physically fine to having to use mobility devices to get around.
And I disappeared. When my husband and I are at restaurants, I can order for myself, yet, they only talk to him. If I pay the bill, they’ll still bring the change back to him.
If we are in a store, they always talk to him, no matter what. I am the talkative one, he is not a people person, but they ignore me.
I hate it. I hate how if my wheelchair or walker is out of sight (ie. i have moved to a chair) that I am talked to, am there, yet if the devices are there, I am not. Jumby got a good Momma. I’m glad you understand.
The Chick
This is the first I’ve been to your blog. Came from The Bloggess. I would have left my porch and came to your son, smiled back, and gave him his candy – because I SEE HIM ! What a powerful post
Laura
This post is very powerful. Thank you for this.
In some ways it kind of reminds me of something that happened to me almost 18 years ago. I was a cashier at a Dairy Queen at the time, and into my line came a mother and her teenage son who had Down Syndrome. Even in my flighty, 17 year old, brain I remember thinking to myself: “You ask him what flavor soda he wants. Don’t go through his mom. Treat him with respect.” I am so glad that I did and I still think of that day. Little did I know that the baby I was carrying in my belly at that very moment in time, the one who was born 3 months later, would also have Down Syndrome.
Having a kiddo who is “different” really drove the point home. I have learned many valuable lessons from my son. I don’t think I would be the person I am today without him. I feel bad for the folks who live in ignorance and who just don’t know or understand.
For what it’s worth, I would’ve given your kiddo extra candy if you came to my house
Heck, you would’ve had to stop me from giving him all that I had.
Thank you for articulating something so difficult so that others can learn to understand.
Erin
This makes me want to cry because I know exactly what it is like. I have been mostly invisible for most of my 18 years, and yet, have stood out so much, too. Time and time again I have experienced the hurt of being overlooked. By my peers. By complete strangers. By my supposed friends, even. I often wonder how it is possible that someone who “stands out” so much, someone who has been stared, gawked and laughed at so many times, can also go so unnoticed for such long periods of time. One of life’s ironies, I suppose. All depressing comments aside, your son is very cute and you write so very well. He is lucky to have a mother like you, someone who isn’t afraid to make the world see him. And so they should.
One girl
How touching. I am sure that must be hard for you. I wish people could learn t get past their own hang-ups long enough to see what is right in front of them
Jennifer
We see you Jumby and we like what we see. You are handsome and sweet. And you have a really cool haircut!
Love and support Tanis.
Lynn MacDonald
In a word: WOW. That was beautifully written. I grew up with a disfigured brother. People would talk to my other brother and myself and compliment us on being “cute”, all the while ignoring my older brother. It not only affected him but I ended up with a huge case of “survivors guilt”. Invisibility affects us all!
Kristine (Mommy Needs Therapy)
I’m so sorry.
Amber
Thanks for this beautiful post. After reading it, I went to Target, where a mother pushing her son in a wheelchair needed some help to reach something. I handed it to her and made a point of smiling at her son and telling him I liked his glasses. I could tell it made both of them happy. Such a little thing as acknowledgement is so easy to do and yet we need to be reminded sometimes. Thanks again for making me think of others.