Waiting in Line is Hard

Waiting in line is hard. I've never met anyone who loves to wait in line and certainly can't imagine there being a person who hopes to get as close as he can to the back of the line. Well, unless the line is leading to something horrible. But I'm talking about lines for desirable things, lines that we have a choice about being in. The line I'm talking about is the one leading to "The happiest place on earth", Disneyland.

I read an email today that sent me on a journey without a clear destination. The email was about Disneyland changing it's policy about who they give special passes to and why. The email spelled out ways that the special passes have been used and abused. People have faked being disabled and have taken advantage of a loophole that was designed to help people who literally cannot wait in lines.

Waiting in line for a ride at Disneyland is not as fun as riding the ride but most people can handle it. They wait 2 hours because they understand that there is a payoff at the end that they believe will be worth the wait. Most people are able to endure the long lines and still have the capacity to fully enjoy the experience of riding the ride. Most people.

Now try standing in that same 2 hour line with my brother Nathan or with someone else's sibling who has an 'invisible' diagnosis like say autism. Try waiting in line with them and I bet that after about 10 minutes you will wish one of things: either they should be let on the ride before you or you should be let on first. Either way someone needs to get some sort of pass to make the crying stop so that we can go back to believing we are all happy.

Should all the people capable of waiting in lines be punished for their ability by having to wait longer? Should people without that particular ability get to be rewarded for their disability by being allowed to walk right onto the rides? 

Are those the only two perspectives?

When I was 19 years old I asked my parents if we could go to Disneyland. I thought it would be fun now that Nathan and I were adults to experience the magic. Actually I thought it'd be fun to get on all the rides without having to...wait in line. Well, well, well...look at this pot calling the kettle black. I wanted to take advantage of my brother's disability. My motivation wasn't for Nathan to have a good time. It was all about me and how I wanted to have a good time. I had this feeling that I would finally benefit from Nathan's disability. Finally! 

My plan totally backfired on me though because the only ride Nathan wanted to go on was Autopia. The one where you pretend to drive cars around a track and the only thing you have any control over is the gas pedal. The only rule is not to bump into the car in front of you. There were workers spaced out throughout the track to remind and enforce this rule. If you bumped the car in front of you, then  you could be kicked off the ride. Guess what Nathan called the ride? Yep, The Bumper Cars. And guess what he did every time we rode it (which was often because we didn't have to wait in line)? He bumped the car in front of him! "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! IT'S AGAINST THE RULES NATHAN!" I would yell and he would laugh. "YOU'RE GONNA GET KICKED OFF THE RIDE NATHAN! YOU CAN'T BUMP THE CAR IN FRONT OF YOU!" I would scream and he would act like he couldn't hear me.

The workers heard me though and they could tell something was different about him and me. And they would give him a free pass to bump people. It was an accident. He didn't do it on purpose. WHATEVER! I wanted him to get kicked off the ride so that he would be forced to ride Splash Mountain with me. 

That plan backfired too. big surprise.

I was mad at him about that trip for years after it was over. I hated the fact that he refused to go on rides that I wanted to go on. He refused to let me use his disability for my own selfish gain.

Okay, maybe he wasn't thinking that deeply but he also didn't care that I was mad at him. Every time I brought it up he would just turn his head and wave his hand at me like I should get over it. He didn't care to hear about it any more. His attitude only fueled my selfish fire.

So today, when I read the email about people finding a way to take advantage of the special pass and using people with disabilities for their own gain, I must admit, I was impressed. Not outraged. Typical sibling response. 

But I was also faced with the fact that the special pass does actually enable people to enjoy Disneyland and that without it they would not be able to go on any rides with lines (which pretty much covers all of them!). As an advocate for people with disabilities, I'd say check out the petition that can be signed here.  

Standing in line is hard but there's no need to make it harder. Maybe getting to the front of the line first isn't the only goal in life.

Each Other's Voices

Once upon a time there lived a boy and his sister. They loved each other very much. As children, they were almost always seen together. The boy’s name was Nathan. He was very friendly and loved to talk to everyone he met. If he saw someone he knew he would walk (sometimes run) across any size room to greet and connect with that person. 

Nathan’s sister, Beth, was quite the opposite of him in social settings. She would spot someone she knew, take note of her presence, and only greet her if it was unavoidable. Beth was very friendly in her own way but was often too uncomfortable to show it. She would tell herself that the person was too busy to talk to her. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

Nathan, on the other hand, had no hesitation or inhibition when it came to greeting people he knew or had been introduced to even once. He wanted to talk to them, wanted to have a connection, wanted to tell them (embarrassing) stories about how his favorite gospel quartet was coming to town and how he could hardly wait to see them. He wanted to say and share all these things. He didn’t feel like they wouldn’t want to hear about singing bass or about his latest medical procedure or about his newest CD. He didn’t second guess himself. He would just greet and share and enjoy the inevitable positive feedback that he would get from doing so. 

The only problem was that Nathan didn’t have a voice. At least not one that most people could hear and understand. He made sounds but his words were not clear. He said fragments of words, made some other incoherent sounds, used gestures and facial expressions, and avoided eye contact yet expected to be understood. 

Most people would acknowledge his friendliness with awkward yet genuine joy but have very little idea what he was actually saying, besides the obvious greeting. They’d smile, high five, laugh, nod, smile some more, and maybe even try, to the best of their ability, to guess what he was saying,. But how can people be expected to hear “my group” and “excited” and see lots of hand gestures, jumping in place, a lightening quick point to his shirt and understand that his favorite gospel quartet Acappella was coming to Visalia on the 20th for a concert and he wanted to get their autographs? 

But if Beth was there, she would translate. She would fill in the words that he left out. She would hear those fragmented sentences and tell the stories for him. She would plug those words into a massive database and do a keyword search. She knew his history. She was one of the only people that could see all his cues, interpret them, and really hear all that he was saying. He relied on her to be his interpreter and she relied on him to help her reach out beyond herself to connect with the community around them.

They were each other’s voices.