Rolling Traveler

I am tall. Standing 6′2″ (188 cm) barefoot, I was a good couple of inches taller than most of my class-mates in school: not tall enough to tower over anyone, or to bang my head on low doorways, but tall enough to stand out. I got used to being one of the tallest people in whatever group I was with, and to being able to see and reach everything I needed to easily. When I started using a wheelchair, I didn’t think that I would overnight become shorter by quite a lot.

 Sitting in the wheelchair, I’m 4′1″ (124 cm), so my eye-line and vertical reach are 2 feet (61 cm) lower than they used to be. Initially, I was naive enough to think this wouldn’t matter, but it really does. Seeing over counters in stores, banks and offices; having conversations with people who are standing or walking alongside; browsing bookstores and libraries; and crossing the street: lots of everyday things are tricky or strange when you’re much shorter than average.

 For example, today I had to drop in to the local police station to let the duty officer know about a potential problem in the neighborhood. When I got in, I saw that the counter was just above my eye-line. I felt like a kid standing in front of it. That the duty officer is around 6′4″ didn’t help. I made my statement, getting a crick in my neck from looking up the whole time. If there’d been a low part of the counter, or he’d stood back a little farther, it would’ve made a big difference. Honestly, it felt a little intimidating.

 This kind of height situation is one I encounter often: buying bread in the morning, lodging money into my bank account, looking at paintings and sculpture in art galleries. My physically changed perspective gave me a new point of view from which I can better understand the problems not just of wheelchair users but of many people of under average height. The examples I’ve mentioned here are minor, but as you’ll see tomorrow, sometimes this being short can be a real problem.

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