Fourteen years, 89 days

By Maddie Ray

Fourteen years and 89 days I've lived with a disabled mother. At age 37, she birthed a happy, healthy baby weighing in at 8.7 pounds. She had been diagnosed with a nonfatal variant of multiple sclerosis when she turned 30. She turned 40 and life became a spiral of crutches, ace bandages, and compression socks, leading to a wheelchair. Any hope of walking again was lost by age 49.

My whole life I’ve never seen my mother as different. I’ve always had to explain that my father would be picking me up, not my mother. I don’t notice the odd looks from strangers. I don’t think of her as less. But every day I am reminded of how blessed I am to be able-bodied. I see how much more work simple things I take for granted are for her. I am grateful to have been raised to see those that are different as equals. I am grateful to have been raised to open the door for those who can’t.  I am grateful to see disabled people the same as an abled person.

Recently, I met a girl on the street who was in a wheelchair. She needed help opening a door, so I opened it. We both happened to be going to the same place, so we went around the store together. I could see she had bruises on the back of her arms, so I offered to push her. We talk for hours shopping and having a great time. A worker at the store had come up to us and told us the store was closing. Shocked, we paid for our items and left. I asked her if she wanted me to go with her and push her home. By the time we reached her house we didn't want to stop talking. We exchanged numbers and she told me that I made her day. I realized how much simple things like holding the door can change a person's day. Had I just walked past her struggling, I wouldn't have made a new friend.

I believe that the able-bodied should be more grateful for their lives. I see people on the street stare and mock others for things they can’t control. I see people shove past and hurt those who are undeserving. I see able people walk past those who need their help without blinking an eye. The things I see are things most people wouldn’t  think as rude or disrespectful, but from my experiences with my mother, I know what they do is wrong. Most people don’t realize how hard life is for the disabled.

You never know what that disabled stranger on the street dealt with that day. A simple “Hello,” or opening the door for them can make their day a bit brighter. Shoving them and staring at them won’t benefit anyone. I hope that people will realize that the disabled are just as valid as those who are not. I believe that people can change and can benefit from helping others.

Try to Focus: A story about ADHD

By Jade Rickman

As a nine-year-old, the only thing I understood was that the problem was inside of me.

I remember sitting at the kitchen counter staring at the math homework I had started two hours ago and still wasn’t any closer to finishing. This is how it was every single day. I would come home sit and stare. I would find myself daydreaming for hours, creating stories in my mind. I would daydream about superheros, royalty, and all kinds of things. My imagination was endless. But I had work to do. Why couldn’t I focus? What was going on? I had no idea what a twisted road I had ahead of me.

I knew there was something wrong, but I only started worrying in third grade. I would be sitting in class trying to work on a paper to the best of my ability, but I couldn’t. The room was quiet. I was sitting in the back of the classroom, what could be wrong? Even though there was no noise everything seemed so loud, so distracting; time was moving faster than I could even write a single sentence. As a nine-year-old the only thing I understood was that the problem was inside of me. I didn’t know what the problem was or how to solve it, but at least I knew it was there.

I remember my mom taking me to a huge sparkling building in the middle of Baltimore, Maryland. I knew this was where my mom worked but I didn’t know why I was here. She walked me through the silver skyscraper taking me to a plain simple white room. A woman with a tired smile told me that we were going to take some tests and that they would help her understand me better. The tests took all day long and I couldn’t focus on any of them. By the end of the day I was frustrated and tired. I just wanted to know what was wrong with me.

When the woman came back, she had a serious look on her face; her smile was gone. She spoke to my mom like I wasn’t there, using words I couldn’t understand. I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I knew it was serious.

Finally, I got my answer: I had ADHD. I really didn’t understand what that meant until I got older, yet I was happy to know what was wrong with me. As I got older, the doctor suggested that I take medication to help me focus better. The medicine does help a lot, at least when I remember to take it. I am slowly learning how to cope with my ADHD, though it is a struggle. I sometimes find myself getting distracted and end up frustrated. But I know not to worry, because even though ADHD can’t be cured, as I get older, I am able to control it better.

I was going to continue with a closing statement, but of course, I got distracted. So this is where the story ends, for now.