A contributed perspectives piece by Roger Barbee
Stuck! Not in snow while driving, or while trying to solve a math problem, or in understanding confusing directions or a complex argument. No, I was not stuck in any of the usual ways of that word; I was stuck in my wheelchair between a moderately steep, gravel parking lot and the concrete apron I needed to get to in order to go up the ramp and arrive on time for the meeting with my U. S. Representative. I had requested the meeting, and he had obliged, so I wanted to use our time, especially his, wisely.
The street had moderately heavy traffic and no sidewalk. After navigating up the gravel lot, I arrived at the concrete entrance that led to the building and its handicap ramp. But the gravel was loose here and about two inches below the concrete. However, I managed to get my left wheel and two casters on the concrete apron to the building and ramp . What I could not do was bump my right wheel up and over the two or so inches to “land” on the concrete apron. I could reverse myself to sit on the gravel but that was a useless move, so I sat at an angle next to Mason Street in Harrisonburg waiting as the sun more than warmed my back.
After some ten minutes of not too patiently being stuck, he arrived. I watched him park his small, rough looking, green sedan in a parking lot above me on the hill. Bouncing as he walked to me, he called out, “I saw you stuck.” I greeted him with, “I knew you would come. I knew you would come.” As he positioned himself behind my wheelchair, I began to tell him how to bump me over that irritating two or so inches, but he said, “I’m gonna’ let you do it. I’ll just help.” And then with a smooth bump my wheelchair and I sat on the apron, ready to go up the ramp for my meeting.
Shaking his hand, I felt the workman’s strength in it and his weathered, black face gathered into a bright smile as he said, “Take it easy,” before he quickly walked back to his green sedan.
A busy Friday afternoon in a university town on a street full of moving cars. Folks going home as they planned the coming weekend; some rushing to make one more call or sale before the week ended; others heading to a grocery to “stock up” for family or friends or both. All busy, too busy to notice a fellow sitting in a wheelchair in a gravel lot next to the busy street on which they all rushed.
But I don’t fault any of the people who passed without stopping. They each have their reasons or excuses. But I commend the one who, upon seeing another human being seemingly stuck, stopped and said, “ I’ll just help.”
The stranger’s act of kindness helped me shed my frustration with the gravel lot obstacle. In my twenty plus years using a wheelchair I’ve dealt with similar situations just like it did on this warm September afternoon, and I have often been helped by strangers. That is why I greeted him as I did-I knew someone would come.
Riding this warm feeling from a stranger’s understanding and kindness, I entered the elected official’s office for my meeting. Twenty minutes later as his assistant helped me navigate from concrete back to gravel, I marveled at the differences in the way we humans treat each other.
Crossing the gravel lot, I could only wish that I would always be like the stranger who stopped on a fall afternoon to help a stranger sitting in his wheelchair next to a busy street.
Barbee is a retired educator and is a T 5-6 paraplegic. He lives in Woodstock with his wife, 3 cats, and one beagle.
