12 Pairs of Legs

I was at the Princes Trust North West Regional Vounteers Conference a couple of weeks ago and one of the speakers introduced us to the story of an amazing lady called Aimee Mullins.

For those of you who have never heard of her before, she was born without fibular bones and both of her legs were amputated when she was a small child. Having learnt to walk on prosthetic legs she then started to run, and run and run, in fact she went on to become a record breaker in the 1996 Paralympics. She's since gone on to build a career as a model, actor, activist for women & sports and an advocate for advanced thinking about prosthetics.

Inspired to learn more, I did a quick internet search and came across a website which had a video of a talk by Aimee from February 2009 in which she talked about her 12 pairs of amazing legs. One of the first things she tells us about is going on a school visit and asking to be allowed to talk to the kids without adults present for a couple of minutes before the main event. I was thrilled to hear about how, in just a few minutes, without censorship of their natural curiosity they came to see Aimee not as "disabled" but as somebody with potential to do things that their bodies couldn't. Super-abled rather than dis-abled!

How did she get them to do this so quickly? She engaged their imaginations. I suggest you watch the video yourself for her explanation of this - it's excellent.

Another thing that stuck in my mind was her experience of being approached by people who would comment on how attractive she is and then add "you don't look disabled". So the question is raised, what is the nature of beauty? What does a beautiful woman look like? What is a sexy body? And furthermore, what does it mean to have a disability? If it's a question of prosthetics then are people who have had boob jobs and comestic surgery to be thought of as disabled?

Hold that thought and also consider another anecdote that she shares. One of her 12 pairs of legs elevates her height from 5'8" to a statuesque 6'1" and on their first outing together she met a girl friend who hadn't seen her for a few years. When she saw Aimee her jaw dropped and she exclaimed that it's "not fair", meaning that it wasn't fair that Aimee could change her height as and when she wanted to!

So society is changing is it? Are we now thinking about augmentation rather than overcoming deficiency. Are we now looking at potential rather than loss? I do hope so. Aimee's talk certainly made me feel like that's the case. So I'll end with a quote from Aimee and a strong recommendation that you take 10 minutes to watch this inspiring video.

"People that society once considered to be disabled can now become the architects of their own identities and indeed continue to change those identities by designing their bodies from a place of empowerment". Aimee Mullins

Tracy x

First day at school

Yesterday was my daughter's first day at big school. When I say big school, I mean nursery, the year before reception, which may not seem very big to you, but to my 3 year old it's enormous.

We did all of the usual stuff: taking loads of pictures of her in her uniform and sending them to all and sundry to ooh and aah over, tears (mine) as we left her, trying to peep through the window to see how she was getting on, sitting clock watching as the morning slowly crept by (yes, it was only a 2.5 hour session but it felt like a week!).

We had been doing lots of preparation for the big day on account of the fact that she'd been going to playgroup for 18 months and almost every day she still cried and said that she didn't want to go (even on the very last day when there was a lovely leaving party for them all!). We waited with baited breath to see how she would take to this. Things looked promising when I picked her up and she came out smiling clutching the drawing of a red hoover that she had done for Mummy & Daddy. "I enjoyed school" she said. Phew!

So we thought day two would be a breeze. Not quite so simple. Her first words this morning were "I don't want to go to school". Drat! But we glossed over that and by the time she got to school with her Daddy she was already saying "I can't wait to go to school". However, never underestimate the power of a zip.....

Daddy dropped her off in the school yard where they lined up to go in and then off they trotted with the lovely Miss Crumpton. But Daddy couldn't resist a little peep through the window - to his horror he saw her tiny little face start to crumple as she realised she couldn't undo the zip on her coat. As she started to panic she looked up and saw her Daddy looking through the window at which point she started to cry. Poor baby. Poor Daddy. Thankfully, the teachers, who must be very well practised in this sort of thing, stepped in and helped her out. Daddy left and Rhian continued with her day.

I'm not actually sure who was most upset, Rhian or Daddy for whom the memories of his first day at school had apparently come flooding back.

Now I'm sitting here, supposedly doing work, and it's the afternoon. No, I haven't forgotten her and left at school. She's doing a full day today courtesy of Incy Wincy's (nursery plus). And I'm hoping that she's having a lovely time, that she managed to put on her indoor shoes (yes, they have indoor and outdoor shoes), that she ate her lunch and managed to open her banana ok, that she asked to go to the toilet.... oh so many things are whizzing through my mind (and not so much work getting done).

So I decided to get a cup of tea and a biscuit and Google "first day at school" and I came across this poem by Roger McGough which I found amusing:

First Day at School by Roger McGough

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.

And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out the wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they are to stop us getting out
Runnning away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.

I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

Tracy x