 (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Beth’s excitement grew with speaking engagements in Toledo and Tiffin plus interviews for two newspapers. She started a Road to Athens journal with her top three goals for the Greece Paralympics. “First, swim my best and feel good about races. Second, swim in finals one night. Third, have fun with the U.S. team.” The newspaper articles about Beth focused on inspiration, a label she disliked. In her mind, she lived her life the only way she could. In my mind, the word “inspiration” meant different things, some good and some not-so-good. At its best, inspiration motivates in positive ways. At its worst, it insults and exploits. What label would reporters choose if more people with disabilities had a fighting chance, with better support, education, and opportunities? With the Paralympics approaching in September, school schedules would keep the rest of my family home. I researched expensive overseas flights to Greece, as well as hotels. The last hectic month of high school barreled by. For prom, Beth wore a blue chiffon dress that fell below her knees. She sat in her wheelchair with the ends of long ribbons tucked under to avoid a tangle in the wheels. Maria styled her sister’s hair into a fancy "do" with small, shiny barrettes. Beth, Ellen, and Lizzy pretended to be ultra-serious models as they posed for silly pictures before the dance. High school ended in an anti-climactic way, with more important things ahead. At graduation, Beth wheeled up a ramp to the stage at the stadium and spoke to the crowd as one of four valedictorians in the class of 226 students. Ellen, also a valedictorian, gave a speech about how others change our lives. It reminded me of Beth and the song For Good, my favorite from the musical Wicked. On a whim, I bought tickets to see Wicked on Broadway later in the summer with my girls, and planned a road trip to New York City. None of us had ever been to The Big Apple. Another first—one that would establish a new favorite destination. Next: Graduation Celebrations!
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(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) The morning after Beth’s exciting Greece news, we arrived at the Minneapolis airport early. John couldn’t miss more school, so he flew home to Ohio. Beth and I landed in Boston for Harvard’s weekend for admitted students. We found our way to information sessions, welcoming with every detail. Enclosed within a tall wrought iron fence, Harvard Yard housed freshmen dorms, classroom buildings, libraries, grand offices, and the John Harvard statue, all brimming with historical significance. Under a canopy of ancient trees, tourists speaking many languages flocked to the statue, rubbing a buckled shoe for luck. Over in Harvard Square, to the south and east of the Yard, street musicians performed amid shops and restaurants. People had gathered there since 1630. We bought chocolate treats at Finale. We browsed at Mint Julep, a boutique destined to become Beth's favorite dress shop. The Square embodied interesting contrasts: a tattooed teenager with many piercings, a veiled tourist with only her eyes showing, an elderly Asian gentleman playing a simple string instrument, a man dressed for a yacht ride, a homeless woman with long dreadlocks, and a rich woman in diamonds and furs. Beth and I were a world away from our small Ohio town. We met with Harvard‘s director of disability services. She offered Beth accessible housing in a freshman dorm with a two-bedroom unit, the second one for a personal care assistant. Beth agreed to the plan for her first year and would return to Cambridge in the summer to interview prospects for the assistant position. Ohio Rehabilitation Services wouldn’t help with Beth’s tuition for an out-of-state college. However, Harvard unveiled a new financial aid initiative to cover all college costs for students from low-income families. John and I both worked full-time and he had additional income from summer school, all reported on our tax forms, so the fact that we qualified surprised us. Our combined salaries met their criteria for low-income families. As a result, our money worries about Beth’s college expenses ended unexpectedly. We felt incredibly thankful and fortunate—despite being poor by Harvard’s standards. Next: Overseas Travel Plans!  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) We loved the familiar Minneapolis pool complex, a short walk/wheel across the hotel parking lot in brisk April weather. We arrived early on the first competition day for Beth’s first U.S. Paralympic Trials meet. Through warm-ups in a packed pool, driving beats of loud music accented the nervous tension. Beth, wired and ready for her first race, entered the pool from a side corner and dunked under the plastic dividers to get to her lane. Peggy lay flat on her stomach next to the starting block with her shoulders and her head over the pool, reaching down to grab slippery, wet legs. Wearing a Toledo swim cap, Beth floated parallel to the lane lines, her feet touching the wall. Patient practice had resulted in her ability to be still for many long seconds before the official start of the race. the timing crucial. Peggy could only release her ankles—no pushing or helping. About 5’8” tall, Beth erased about a second off each lap of the backstroke, freestyle, and breaststroke with the assisted foot start. Vital seconds. I held my breath as Beth reset her previous American Records in the backstroke for the 100 and 200 free. A great swim! Unfortunately, new records were not sure tickets onto the Paralympics team for an S3 swimmer. The 50 free long course, the hardest S3 record to beat, remained far out of reach as her forward freestyle improved incrementally. Team USA would be in Greece for almost all of September. Peggy requested a meeting to find out if the Athens Paralympics might be possible for Beth. We learned she could be in Greece for the first part of September and return to the U.S. as college classes started. Though missing freshman orientation at Harvard would be necessary. If she made the team. The only S3 female at the meet, again, Beth collected 5 national medals. Our flights east would leave before the team announcement ceremony Sunday morning. After finals on Saturday, the manager called Beth to invite us to her hotel room. I hurried to keep up as she wheeled down a long hall and knocked on a door hesitantly. The smile that greeted us confirmed good news. Beth earned a spot on the team! She could compete in 3 races in Greece, her first trip overseas, before leaving mid-September to start classes at Harvard. Back in the hallway, Beth called her swim coaches while I shared the news with John. Peggy suggested ice cream to celebrate. She officially initiated the longstanding tradition we observed in cities near and far after every swim meet. Over swirls of chocolate, Beth’s enthusiasm flowed with the promise of adventure as an official Paralympian. Next: Flight to Boston!  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) The Paralympic Trials meet in Minneapolis created anxious uncertainty. Would Beth make the U.S. team going to Greece? If she did, could she leave Athens early to start her freshman year at Harvard? Additional stress: Beth would attend Trials as a member of the Toledo team, yet she had decided to switch to her hometown team. ...And continued to put off telling GTAC. Coaches from both teams would be at Trials. Previous times and records faded to irrelevancy. The only races that counted at Trials would take place in the three days of the meet. This fact put the few swimmers with quadriplegia at a disadvantage, since they had a higher likelihood of health issues that impacted performance. The first year Beth swam competitively, her times varied widely. Three years later, she was stronger with fewer health issues. As a result, her races usually fell into a more consistent range. I updated my list of Beth’s best times and official records. I hoped to add to my list at Trials. However, for an S3 swimmer, new American Records were no guarantee for a spot on the U.S. Paralympic team going to Greece. John, Beth, and I flew to Minneapolis with the help of a Challenged Athletes grant. Airport security glanced in our direction and waved Beth through. She put up with a cumbersome process to help her to an aisle seat in the plane. John and I climbed over her to get to the middle and window seats. At the hotel, Beth twisted nail polish bottles open with her teeth for her pre-meet ritual. Her fingernails shined in red, white, and blue, fitting choices for Trials. She didn’t care about her painted nails looking less than perfect. Beth trusted that more practice would yield better results—like so many other things. Next: A Teenager's First Trip Overseas?  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) Our family calendar looked like a work of art with many notes in different colors. Beth’s last few months of high school filled up with senior events. She kept up with swim training and National Team paperwork. Her scholarship applications paid off with presentations in three cities. Sadly, we would have to miss the spring wheelchair games in Michigan and Ohio. Beth trained a junior to take over the school newspaper and prepared the final issues. She studied for AP exams, though Harvard gave no college credits for AP scores. We shopped for a prom dress. She picked out a strapless style in light blue chiffon that fell between her knees and ankles—so it wouldn’t get caught in the small front wheels. Online, I showed her what looked like the perfect jeans, made especially for wheelchair users with a higher back and a lower front. She wasn’t interested. Predictably. Ready to be done with high school, Beth had a classic case of senioritis. My job as a group home manager taxed my time, always on my mind. Some aspects of the job seemed easier with repetition, like complicated medications. The overwhelming responsibility never changed. I anticipated problems, but many could not be diffused. I barreled through my twenty-four shifts with a nagging headache I did my best to ignore. On my days off, I fielded numerous phone calls from my staff. With the group home basement and every closet jammed full of stuff, I received permission to have a garage sale. I cleared out more than a few mice nests along with tons of junk. The residents helped enthusiastically to earn their own personal money for the possessions they chose to get rid of. A big success, the sale fell on a beautiful spring day. With the income from the home’s extra stuff, I planned a very rare vacation for the residents. The trip to Niagara Falls with two of my staff wouldn’t have been possible without the sale. The April day when I found another nest of baby mice at the group home, I gladly gave the agency my three-month notice and started the countdown to our Harvard adventure. Next: Minneapolis Trials!  |
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