When I was a kid I had a very complicated wheelchair with many tiny movable parts. So on our vacation to Disneyland, being that we would be riding in a friend's car, my parents decided to leave the marvel of engineering at home in favor of renting one of the Mouse's more standard models. Mom still gets emotional about what came next. Another tourist, lame Hawaiian shirt and all, mixed my party in with two little boys who were goofing off in the rental chairs.

"People like you," he said, pointing his finger and carrying on like the Lone Ranger, "make it had for people with Real Problems."(I don't remember this, though it was only the first time I've been accused of faking my disability in a public venue, so it is uncannily easy to see a scene that happened when I was a towheaded six year-old with eyes that are over thirty.)

My mom, already uncomfortable with the attention my presence got her in public, was instantly mortified. My Uncle Al, the pastor was there that day to work some Biblical smackdown on the guy, who backed down in shame.
But the first hit against my belief in magic had landed, despite the fact that I had asked Santa Claus for physical abilities that never arrived.

The next time I visited the Magic Kingdom, I was smack into my teenaged awkward phase, already agitated that I always went in to all the attractions through the Special room through the back. Not sure if that was an advocate's conscience being born, or just feeling awkward spending so many days with usually-remote Santa Dad and his hyper-appearance-conscious fiancee, who was already regarding me as a sort of Stepmother Reclamation project and making cheery lists of things to work on about me.

We had a decent evening, even stayed for the fireworks show, but I could already feel the loss of careless joy anyway.
The last time I was there, even being young and in love didn't erase my awareness that my getting into the rides was often a bigger spectator favorite than the attractions. One little girl even clapped as my then-honey's personal assistant helped me land in the little boat.

There are many hard things about disability. One of the hardest is how there isn't a day off, a homeland, or even a crip bar. My experience is always being the Other, even in a created monument to America's simplest and most innocent fantasies.

By Erkia J.