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With the recent passing of actor George Wendt (Norm from Cheers) I found my mind wandering to that classic TV theme song, but not the “Where everybody knows your name” line that the song is named for. These days, I identify more with the first line: “Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.”
Nothing puts that in sharper relief than parenting with a disability and that same sentiment certainly came to the fore when I found myself in Cologne, Germany having to navigate my three-year-old across a street undergoing tram track construction while I drove a mobility scooter and didn’t speak a word of German.
My son Wells and I found ourselves in this particular predicament because my wife, Brit, was Team Canada’s Chef de Mission (spokesperson) for the 2023 World Dwarf Games and Cologne was the host city. Both my wife and son have achondroplasia dwarfism, while I have spastic diplegia cerebral palsy, so while Brit was at the German Sport University attending meetings and making sure our Canadian athletes competed in their respective events, I was a few blocks away about to guide Wells back from a very scrumptious sandwich lunch at Kraus Bakery, situated diagonally across from the Ameron Hotel Regent, where we were staying.
All that stood in our way was the giant chasm across the Melatengürtel transit hub where German welders worked feverishly in the late August heat—sparks flying and cigarettes dangling—to repair the tram track before school resumed the very next week.
Of course, in an equally feverish state, I was looking for an accessible way (any accessible way) across the street that allowed us to bypass the construction. It involved a lot of “This way Wells” as I went from one side of the street to the other looking for safe passage while my child dutifully followed behind. Thankfully, as a lover of order and following instructions, Wells’ own maternal German lineage shone through in that moment and I wasn’t dealing with the external chaos of a three-year-old cackling with laughter as he ran out into the street. No, no external chaos, just the internal chaos of thinking some well-meaning stranger is watching this about to call the polizei because a developmentally disabled man in a mobility scooter has somehow made off with someone’s child.
You may think I’m exaggerating (and in that moment, maybe I was) but losing my son to some equivalent of Child Protective Services, either international or domestic, is a real fear for me as a father with a disability. My wife often reminds me that I have to be more careful and more aware of how I’m coming across when I’m out in public with our son–and I believe her.
This is because I’m acutely aware that there are people out there who believe people with disabilities can’t or shouldn’t have children and that, if you see someone with a physical disability, especially someone in a wheelchair, there’s probably some mental disability that goes along with that. As a result, I’m always calm and restrained when in public with my kid, careful not to yell or come across in any way that seems out of the ordinary.
It’s also important to admit here that on some level I question my ability as a parent myself each and every day. I question that I’m offering just as much as an non-disabled father and that I’m not cheating Wells out of some childhood he would otherwise get if I wasn’t disabled. How dare I think I can do this. But just as my mind creeps toward the dreaded thought that maybe the naysayers are right, I’m reminded that in my actual experience, my child seems to meet my abilities where they are and only give me that which I can handle.
Case in point, he followed my every direction as we attempted to cross the street in Cologne: sticking close by and delivering amazingly articulate and clear communication as a three-year-old. “I’m behind you,” he would say, while moving as quickly as his little legs could carry him.
Still, we needed a saviour in that moment. I didn’t convey this to Wells, but at that moment, it seemed as though all avenues I had tried were exhausted and as I didn’t speak any German, I was seriously considering calling my wife and instantly busting the idea that I could take care of him on my own.
But just when I was about to throw in the proverbial towel and call in reinforcements, a German construction worker came out of nowhere to wordlessly lead us safely and accessibly across the street. “Follow that man, Wells!” I exclaimed and soon something that seemed so daunting and complex a moment ago became so clear and easy. It was a reminder that when you have a disability, no matter how independent you are, sometimes you have to rely on the kindness of strangers.
Upon reflection, that whole incident in Cologne, Germany served as a reminder that I can do it. I can take care of my kid on my own and as he’s gotten older, it’s only gotten easier. Of course, there’s always going to be ups and downs. Shortly before, I cut his nails too close to the skin and I’ve never cut his nails since, but that doesn’t mean, when the chips are truly down, he can’t rely on me when called upon. And as much as I still hear: “No, I want mom,” come out of his mouth, I know I make up pretty good parental stunt double when needed, even if I don’t have the lead role in his mind yet.