From Puddles to PRIDE
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By: Janice Fialka
(For all those who marched at the Disability Pride Parade)
When they first gave me the news my child had a
disability and would forever have a label glued to his name
I discovered sounds in my throat I never knew existed:
howls
screeches
chokes
wails
hisses
snarls
groans
sobs
Even silent screams
erupted from my throat,
shattered the windows
in my once-called normal home.
After my body emptied
of all sounds
the tears came
madly,
streaming down my cheeks, my chest,
sliding down the arms that clutched my baby
down my belly,
over my faltering legs
raining over my heart.
into puddles,
Puddles all around me
Puddles everywhere
Puddles I thought I would drown in.
That was 19 years ago.
Today, July 18, 2004 on a balmy summer day
in the city of Chicago
I stand
on this street where there are no puddles.
On this street where there are feet
of every size, shape, age, and color marching, shuffling, rolling
in the first-ever Disability Pride Parade.
(Yes, I said: Disability Pride Parade!)
On this street there are wheels rolling
lovely legs limping
clenched fists raised high
in the cloud-studded blue sky,
beautiful bent smiles exploding with joy.
On this street there are blue, purple, and green banners blowing
in the Lake Michigan breeze
crying out: We will not be silent.”
On this street there are voices, mumbles, grunts, spit, hands moving in the air,
shouting out, signing out, singing out:
“What do we want?”
“Accessibility.”
“When do we want it?”
“Now.”
On this street are people who will
no longer be shunned, excluded,
no longer be overlooked, segregated,
no longer be avoided, pitied
no longer be tolerated only on holidays and at charity balls.
On this street there is Naomi with her flashing dark eyes
and her 60’s take-to-the-street attitude
hollering out,
“This is my community and we are getting on your agenda.”
On this street is Marlin, regal in his body and chair
singing James Brown with a twist:
“Say it LOUD, I’m Disabled and Proud”
Rallying all young disabled activists to say it, shout it, sign it
and Braille it . . .“in all caps” he adds.
On this street is Sarah who simply said,
“We need a parade!”
and one year later made it happen—on this street.”
On this street is my undaunted husband who in 1968
marched for justice on these same streets,
and who continues to march
on streets
all over this country.
On this street is our son, Micah
whose label is not a source of shame to him
Who says-in his own words—“I meet the best people in the world.”
On this street, I look around,
turn to another mother who knows about puddles
and say: “This is how life should look every day, on every street.”
On this street there are no puddles
no puddles of shame.
The glorious sunlight has dried them up.
On this street there are no puddles,
there are no puddles,
There is only Pride
There is only Pride.
There is only Pride.
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