“I’d be even faster if I typed Braille,” Caitlin said.
“Show off,” I said.
Caitlin was a champion braille competitor. In fact, so was Haben. They knew each other from the Braille Challenge, an annual event of the Braille Institute in Southern California.
Unfortunately, I didn’t grow up learning braille. I had poor eyesight and could read magnified prints in high school and in college and graduate school. I’m working hard on my braille these days, but I still have a long way to go.
“I’ve done this a few times,” Caitlin said, trying to make me feel better.
“And you don’t have to worry about spelling or punctuation,” Haben reminded me.
“Yes,” said Caitlin, “I make big mistakes!”
“I still feel stupid,” I said.
“That’s skilled!” said Caitlin, typing.
“Is the?” I asked.
“It denigrates people with intellectual disabilities,” Haben confirmed.
“Hm,” I said uncertainly. Dom comes from the Latin verb “stupere”: “bewildered, amazed, confused.” So the word has no root connection with handicap. That said, the sting of calling someone “stupid” is all about belittling those who are considered less intellectually capable.
Although I grew up in San Francisco, a key city in the birth of the disability rights movement—detailed recently in activist Judy Heumann’s memoir, “Being Heumann,” and in the Netflix documentary “Crip Camp”—I remembered at the time nothing of disability as a cultural phenomenon or a source of pride. I was 18 when the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1990 was passed – a major achievement that affirmed many of our rights and raised awareness across the country. Haben and Caitlin, while clearly both experienced prowess, never knew a pre-ADA world. They have come of age with Disability Pride among other pride movements.