My Wheelchair Takes The Stairs

Even drinking and driving in a wheelchair is a bad idea...

  I was excited to start college and to live on campus, away from home for the first time. I quickly made friends with two girls in my dorm and the night before classes started we had a little first day of school party in one of their rooms. I pitched in some money and we all walked to the store, which was located down the street. My electric wheelchair was great for the trip, but I had to go into the middle of the road, because the sidewalk was unfinished in one spot and the rest of the street was full of muddy potholes. Inside the store, we made our way to the liquor isle.

"What are we getting?" I asked. I rarely bought alcohol, not really one to drink on my own so I left it up to my new friends to make the selection.

"I was thinking some strawberry daiquiris and a couple of margaritas," one girl suggested. 

  We strolled down the isle and I came across a big bottle of strawberry champagne. It was the same price, but the quantity was greater.

"What about this?" I showed them the bottle. 

"Classy," the girls agreed and we bought it, along with two six packs of lime margarita coolers.

  I grabbed a bag of chocolate chip cookies. We paid for our items and headed back to the dorm. I had three cups of champagne and we each had four margaritas. I was pretty drunk by the time I made it back to my room at three in the morning.

  My first class of the day, Spanish 1, was at 8am. I was hungover with a bad headache. I popped a couple of tylenol and downed a bottle of water as I drove my electric wheelchair to class. It was all I could do to pay attention during the hour and a half lecture. As soon as class was over, I decided to go to the cafeteria for coffee. I had a fifteen minute break before Geology.

  The morning before classes started I took a tour of the campus to locate the buildings my courses would be in. I also took note of the library and cafeteria since they would be my most visited spots. If I left the Spanish building the way I'd come in, it would have taken me about nine minutes just to make it all the way around and cross the second building to the cafeteria. Fortunately there was a short cut just through the doors by my classroom.

  Feeling a little lethargic, I exited the double doors quickly, without looking and was jarred fully awake when my chair violently shook twice and came to an abrupt halt. I looked behind me and saw that I'd driven off of two concrete steps. My battery lay on the sidewalk and I was shaking from the fall. Lucky for me a student saw what happened.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I was pretty tired, but I'm awake now," I said with a laugh. "Can you help me put the battery on?"

"Sure," she helped me lift the battery and I showed her how to set it in place.

"Thank you," I said, "to be honest I am a bit hung over."

"Ah, maybe I should give you a DUI," she smiled.

"Nah, I think I've learned my lesson," I chuckled. "Thanks again for your help."

"No problem. Stay safe and don't drink and drive!" She warned.

  I can't say I never did, but only in my manual wheelchair and NOT around stairs. 

The Little Wheelchair That Could

Going downhill is fun. Going up is not.

  I'm used to having people push me up ramps or having my electric wheelchair, but one day I was not so lucky. My best friend/sister from high school started working retail at the mall after she graduated. A year older, I got my first car and was really excited at the chance to pick her up from work. I drove around the lot for five minutes looking for a handicapped parking spot. However, it was Saturday afternoon and summertime so naturally the mall was packed with shoppers and kids meeting up at the connected movie theater.

  Soon, I lost patience with waiting for a spot to open up and resorted to finding a parking spot in the regular lot. However, I couldn't find a place that would allow me enough space to get my wheelchair out and realized that I would have to park at the back of the lot. I parked the van and pulled out my cellphone to text my friend:

U R gonna have to meet me outside. Lot is full, couldn't find a spot up front.

  A few minutes later she called me.

"Hey, I gotta get my paycheck. Can you meet me inside? I wanted to get some shopping done while I'm here."

"Sure sis." I said and hung up.

  I scanned the parking lot. It still looked pretty full and I doubted any handicapped spots were open yet. It wasn't the distance that had me weary of getting out of the van. If it had been a straight cruise to the front doors, I'd have wheeled out there twenty minutes earlier. The store where my friend worked was located on the second floor of the mall. The parking lot was on a steep hill. A concrete sidewalk sloped down from the double door entrance and ended near my parking spot. It was the steepest ramp I'd ever used and I was going to have to push myself up it!

  For a moment, I thought about calling my friend and asking her to come help me (she would have in a heartbeat), but as I looked at that hill I felt a familiar urge to prove that I could overcome this new challenge. Anytime there is an obstacle in my way, I am always reminded of something my dad said to me anytime I thought I couldn't do something as a kid: You are an Elliott, you are strong. And you are a child of God. You can do all things because he gives you strength. These words have always resonated in me, every time I've faced something that seemed beyond my capabilities.

  I got my wheelchair out and made my way to the sidewalk. Slowly, I began pushing myself upward. As I pushed myself inch by inch up the hill, I rotated my thoughts between the bible quote, "I can do all things..." and my altered version of the little engine's, "I think I can (I know I can)..." About halfway up I had to stop and take a few breathes. That is when someone approached me.

"Would you like me to push you?" The stranger kindly offered.

  Now, given that it was ninety degrees outside and I was aching in my arms and back, the smart thing to do would be to accept this awesome person's kindness, but pride got the better of me.

"No thank you. This is how I get my exercise." I tried to smile convincingly.

  The person didn't insist. Sometimes, people are afraid to offer me help, because they think it will offend me. I have been told I give off a vibe of strong independence and I am glad I do, but sometimes I don't know when to ask for help. This was one of those times.

  After the person left, I continued to push myself upward. However, my hands had become really sweaty and it is hard to grip the wheel rims with wet palms. As I began to lose grasp, I could feel gravity play tug of war with the wheelchair, and gravity was wining. I started to roll backward! I quickly took control of the situation, by grasping one wheel tightly and spinning myself around, so that I could cruise down the hill forward, instead of back.

  I managed to stop the chair before it went down, and that is when a weird idea struck. My feet were able to touch the ground, so instead of going downward I used my feet to assist me in pushing myself backwards the rest of the way up the hill. It was not the most conventional way of going up a ramp, but it was a hell of a lot easier than relying solely on my fragile arms and sweaty palms. Finally, I made it to the top! I stared down the hill in triumph. When I told my friend about what I'd done, she looked at me in shock,

"You could have just parked on the other side."

  Of course. There are no hills on the other side.

Building A Wheelchair Raft

  Wheelchairs don't float.

  My siblings and I were all born in June, so one year my parents decided to throw us a pool party at the local motel. We rented a room and the next day, with the blessing and help of some of the staff, my parents set up a ton of balloons, pool toys and floating devices for us kids. I was turning seven, my brother six and our sister three. 

  Our parents invited our cousins and the children of the people around us to come celebrate and have cake. One great thing about my siblings and I was that we were easily entertained and satisfied by whatever our parents did for us. Rarely were we brats (I say that from my own memory. My parents will probably roll their eyes at this). 

  The downside was all three of us were extremely hyper and curious to the point where I don't recall us going one day without causing some kind of mischief. So with M&M cookies in our tummies and kool-aid adrenaline coursing through our veins, it was time to mark our new year with the first of many new shenanigans. 

"Don't run around the pool!" My mom hollered at me for probably the fifth time that day. 

  I slowed down while everyone hurried on ahead. They weren't really running, but I had to if I wanted to keep up. The dangers of slipping meant more for someone with brittle bones and even though I knew it, at the moment I was willing to take the risk in order to participate in a water-balloon fight. 

"Come sit down for a bit, you need to drink some water," my mom tried not sound scolding, but I knew it was a time out.

"I wanna play water-balloons!" I whined, but made my way over to my wheelchair. I climbed in and my mom handed me a bottle of water. I guzzled some of it down. "Okay, now can I go back?" 

"Just give it a few," my mom said. 

  A couple of minutes later, my brother came over to the tables to get some water. 

"I saved you a water-balloon," he said, handing it to me, "go ahead and throw it at me." He stood back. 

  I threw it as hard as I could, but my toss was weak. The balloon hit my brother in the stomach and fell to the ground, but still didn't break. He let me throw it again, this time I threw it hard at the ground. I was delighted with the plopping splat the balloon made upon impact as water splashed on the cement. 

"Daddy, can I go play?" I asked, grateful my mom went inside to get the candles. 

"Sure kiddo, but don't run," my dad said. 

"I can push you in your wheelchair," my brother offered and started moving me toward the other side of the pool. 

"Stay away from the edge," my dad warned. 

"Got it daddy," we both yelled. 

  My brother parked my Wheelchair by the lounge chairs where some of our new friends were. My older cousin had our little sister in the pool with her arm floaties. 

"I wanna build a raft for all of us to fit on, but we need to test it with something heavy, so I was thinking we could use your wheelchair," my brother laid out his idea. 

"What are you going to make a raft with?" I asked. 

  My brother gestured to a stack of six pool lounge body floats and produced a roll of scotch tape our parents used to tape balloons everywhere. 

My seven year old logic told him, "This is the best idea ever!" 

  We decided only two floats were needed to test the wheelchair and set to work taping the floats together as best we could. When we were done, my brother and a friend carefully placed the raft in the pool with the tapped side up (so water wouldn't loosen the sticky part). Then my brother got in and held the raft steady while our friend tried to roll the wheelchair onto it. 

  Immediately the raft began to come apart and the wheelchair started to sink. My brother got under and tried to push it back up on the ledge, while our friend struggled to pull it out of the water, but he was losing grip fast.

"Daddy!" I screamed. 

  Faster than I could blink, our dad was there pulling the half sunk wheelchair out of the pool and onto the curb. After making sure we were all okay, our dad announced pool time was over and we made our way to the table for birthday cake and presents. 

"My seat is wet," I complained. I hopped up so my dad could place a folded towel for me to sit on. 

"Now you know you're wheelchair isn't a boat," he said. 

"No, it was trying to be a raft," I corrected, satisfied with learning something new. 

How A Wheelchair Slide Works

  Slides are not like wheelchair ramps.

  Summer was almost over and I just had my cast removed. To celebrate, my mom took us to the park so I could release the built up energy and get some much needed exercise. We took my wheelchair to the park, because it was a long walk from the parking lot to the playground. I was often too exhausted to make the trek back to the car after a long day of playing and since my three year old sister also needed to be carried, pushing her in my wheelchair and carrying me, because I was smaller made it easier for my mom to manage both of us.

"Be careful with your leg," she warned as my brother helped me up the slide.

"I got her mom," my brother reassured.

  As I climbed cautiously up the ladder, he followed behind. My brother waited till I was situated at the top.

"Okay, wait for me," he said, and jumped down.

"Use the ladder!" our mom scolded. Sometimes it was hard for her to remember that he was not fragile. 

  My brother ran to the front of the slide, ignoring her rebuke.

"OK, sis, go!," he shouted, and I let my self slide down the long tin slide. The summer sun heated the slide, and I had to bend my knees to keep the hot tin from burning the back of my legs. My brother caught me at the bottom. We did this two more times, taking turns with our little sister.

"Let's go on the merry-go-round," I suggested.

  I hopped in my wheelchair and my brother pushed me over to it. The merry-go-round was a large circular platform with multiple crisscrossing bars for children to hold on to. During the early hours the park was full of children, and the merry-go-round often exceeded it's maximum capacity for youngsters. They would spin each other as fast as possible until some of the children fell off or jumped. Then others would take their place. I was not allowed (nor did I have the desire) to play such a dangerous game.

  At the moment however, the merry-go-round belonged only to three children. My sister and I sat with our feet facing outwards, holding on to the closest bars, my arm around her waist, while our brother worked up the fastest spin he could by pushing the merry-go-round in multiple 360 degree rotations. When he was satisfied with the momentum, he hopped on to enjoy the spinning, until it slowed to an inevitable stop.

As he sat on the platform resting before his next spin, my brother focused on my wheelchair in front of him.

"I wonder if we could take your wheelchair down the slide," he said, "We should test stuff with your chair so that next time you break your leg, you don't have to stay home."

  He got up and brought my wheelchair over to the merry-go-round. Our mother was a good distance away at the picnic tables, making our lunch and talking to one of her friends. My brother got the wheelchair on the platform.

"Do you want me to sit in it?" I asked.

"No, you're too brittle," my brother said. "Better let me test it and see if it's safe. Y'all push me and see if it spins." he instructed.

  My sister and I gave it our best effort, but we weren't very good at getting the merry-go-round to move halfway through a rotation without feeling tired or falling down. My brother got out of the chair and made us stand back while he pushed the platform all the way around. He forgot to set the brakes and my wheelchair rolled off and fell into the gravel. Fortunately our mom only heard what happened when she looked in our direction.

"Why is her chair tipped over? Stop playing with it, it's not a toy," she scolded and went back to her conversation.

"Well that's not safe," my brother declared, lifting the wheelchair upright. We made our way over to the swings and as we passed the see-saw I looked at my brother hopefully, but only shook his head, "Bad idea sis," and we laughed at the idea of me catapulting someone across the park.

My brother tried to wrap the chains of two swings around the wheelchair's handlebars, but with no success.

"I'm gonna have to bring some rope next time and make you a new wheelchair swing," he promised. "Okay, time to test the slide." We took the wheelchair over to the tallest tin slide on the playground.

  The slide was barely wide enough for my wheelchair to fit on. My brother put it on the bottom of the slide, facing forward.

"This is just like a wheelchair ramp, so it should work." He assumed.

"How would I get on?" I asked.

"You would be in it here, then I would push you up backwards and set the brake. Then soon as I slide down you can take the brake off and just let yourself roll down and I'll catch you," he explained. "I'm gonna show you," and he started pushing the chair up the slide backward.

  As soon as the wheelchair was at the top, my brother locked the brakes, then carefully turned around and attempted to sit in the seat. The wheelchair tipped forward and began to slide. The tires pressed hard against the sides of the slide and about halfway down the chair tilted sideways. My brother jumped and he and the wheelchair crashed to the ground.

"Well, that's not gonna work," my brother said, dusting himself off and putting my wheelchair upright. "Sorry sis, but you're just gonna have to stop breaking bones if you want to play at the park."

A Wheelchair In The Woods

  My siblings and I never had a little red wagon. We had a wheelchair.
When I was seven we lived in a house that had 136 acres of woods behind it. We loved to play in the woods, but my brother would have lived in them had he been allowed. He was always going off and building forts and traps. My parents only allowed him to go as far from the house as he could hear our dad yell. Fortunately for him that was quite a ways, because my brother has always had excellent hearing - almost bionic. My sister and I were not allowed to go as far, because she was only three and I had brittle bones. One day my brother came in after an hour out in the woods.

"I have a surprise for you guys, but we need to get your wheelchair, cause it's kinda far," my brother told me.

  Even though I could walk, my legs were short and I would tire easily. The wheelchair was in the kitchen. My brother went into his room and a few minutes later, he came back with a folded blanket and an box with a few items. He sat them on the wheelchair.

"We need some supplies for our fort," my brother said, giving away his surprise.

"You made us a fort?" I squealed.

"Uh no, I meant . . . it's a secret, you can't tell mom, she'll say, 'no you can't go there,'" he insisted, knowing full well that where he was taking us was not allowed.

  Our mother came out of the laundry room just as my brother and I were getting into the pantry.

"What's going on?" She asked, seeing the box and blanket sitting in my wheelchair.

"We wanna have a picnic," I lied, "mommy will you make us some pbj's?"

  Soon, our mother had whipped up a nice picnic of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sliced apples and cheese, pink frosted animal crackers and three juice boxes.

"Want me to set up a pallet outside?" she asked.

"No thanks, we got it," my brother insisted and we pushed our box of goods (my brother managed to sneak a lighter and a kitchen knife into his pockets) outside.

  We knew our mom was in her room folding laundry, so she wouldn't see us make our way into the woods. I don't remember how long we walked. A couple of times, I had to help my brother get the wheelchair unstuck from a mud hole, pick up fallen items or use the kitchen knife to cut thorny branches away from the wheelchair's tires.

"I should have brought the bug sprayer," I said, when my little sister kept fussing over her 'itchies.'

"Are we lost?" I asked, when my brother stopped and looked around for a moment.

"No, wait here," my brother said, and ran ahead, down a slope and out of view.

Immediately our little sister began to panic. She started to cry. I called out to our brother,

"You need to come back, sissy is scared."

"Found it!" my brother's voice called, "I'm coming."

  A few moments later, my brother led us to a steep dirt slope. We worked together to get the chair down the decline, with our sister dragging the supplies box on a blanket along the ground. When we reached the bottom my brother directed us to the side of the hill. There was a hole just big enough for the three of us to fit in if we all sat cross-legged with our knees touching. My brother had lined the walls and ceiling with sheets of rusted tin, "to keep it from collapsing."

  We unloaded the supplies: our picnic, a playskool color-changing flashlight, a couple of G.I. Joe's (for intimidation purposes), a dog whistle to call a dog to come fight off bad guys or other dangerous animals, a knife and a lighter just in case we had to stay the night, we'd have a campfire.

"This is the coolest fort ever!" I said, as we enjoyed our snacks.

  My brother sat in the doorway of the fort to give my sister and I more room.

"Yeah, I'm not done," he boasted, "I'm gonna build a tree house in that tree," he pointed to one directly across from us. It had many thick branches.

  We started making plans then about how we were all going to improve the forts and I was excited to be taking on this project with my brother. After a while my brother perked up and listened carefully.

"Uh-oh, mom is calling," he announced.

"I'm too tired to push the wheelchair up the hill," I whined.

"Yeah, me too," my brother agreed. "Let's just leave it here. We can get it tomorrow when we bring more stuff for the fort."

  Not giving it another thought, my brother put our sister on his shoulders and we hurried home as quickly as we could. When we got in the house our mother greeted us with an anxious rebuke.

"Where in the world were you three?" She asked examining the scratches, dirt and bug bites we were covered in.

"In the woods," I admitted.

"Where's the blanket and Tupperware I put your snacks in -- and where is your wheelchair?" she asked, though I think she already knew the answer.

"We were gonna get it tomorrow," my brother explained.

"No, we are gonna get it now," our mother insisted. "Stay with your sister and you girls get in the tub, your brother and I will be right back."

  I watched out of the window as my brother led our mother into the woods to retrieve my wheelchair. After they were out of sight, I got my little sister and myself into the bath. A little while later, my mother returned.

"I cannot believe you left your wheelchair in the woods," my mother laughed in disbelief.

  I giggled too, hoping the she really did find it funny. She did not.

"I'm not laughing because what you did was a joke, I am just beyond understanding why?"

"You went to the fort?" I asked.

"Yes, and you girls are not going out there again, that hill is dangerously steep."

"I know, that's why I left my wheelchair."

  To which my mother had no reply.

Wheelchair Ramp Fail

  I almost got a ticket for reckless driving -- in my wheelchair.

  When I went away to college I took my manual wheelchair and power chair with me. The town my dorms resided in was small. Lucky for us campus kids, there was a grocery store on the corner of one side of the street, and a plaza with a Chinese restaurant and dollar mart at the other end on our side. On the weekends my friends and I would walk together to the store to stock up on necessities.

  The road to get across the street was riddled with potholes and there was no wheelchair accessible sidewalk at the parking light corner, which meant that I had to 'jay-walk' through the street to get into the parking lot of the grocery store. I never made the journey alone, afraid of being struck by a car. One of my friends would always push me in my manual chair, because we didn't want to get my power chair stuck in one of the holes.

  One day, a friend announced that a new sidewalk had been built with a path leading through the side of the parking lot, to the main entrance.

"About freaking time," I said. "Now I can take my power chair! Anyone up for supplies shopping?"

  A few minutes later a friend and I were at the corner waiting to cross. As soon as the walk sign appeared we made our way to the other side, only to find out that the sidewalk was not wheelchair accessible.

"Wow, what assholes," my friend said flabbergasted, "isn't this illegal or something?"

"Probably, but who really cares?" I said. Admittedly, I wasn't familiar with the purpose of the ADA at the time.

  I got out of my chair and attempted to help her lift it up onto the sidewalk, but the curb was too high and the wheelchair too heavy. I looked down the length of the side walk and saw there was a section of the ground that came up high enough for me to drive my power chair up on it, but it was on the side of the road.

"Go stand over there on the sidewalk," I instructed my friend, "I'm gonna drive down there, it's almost level enough that we can get the chair up it."

  My friend walked to where I directed and after checking to make sure no cars were coming, I pulled out into the street, driving as close to the side as possible and headed toward her. That's when I heard the 'woop-woop' of sirens and a police car pulled up in the parking lot beside me. An officer got out, crossed the sidewalk and walked toward me.

"Excuse me ma'am, but jay-walking is illegal, even if you are in a wheelchair. Why aren't you using the sidewalk?" She asked me pointedly.

  I was extremely frustrated that the city failed to build a handicap accessible ramp and now I was being scolded because of it. It wasn't the officer's fault, but the hostility in her tone only made me angrier.

"If the stupid city knew how to build a ramp, I would!" I exclaimed, loudly.

  The officer flinched as though I'd struck her. My friend stood, covering her mouth to keep her huge smile from being seen. After recovering from shock, the officer said,

"I'm sure there is a ramp, you probably just missed it. I'll help you find it," she motioned for me to follow.

  I bit my lip to keep from saying, I'm in a wheelchair, not blind, you moron. I wasn't looking to lose what little sympathy points I might have. We got to the corner and the officer looked for almost a minute, as though staring might make a ramp materialize in front of her.

"Well that's just idiotic," she said after a moment. "These things are supposed to have ramps. Maybe they haven't finished working on it. I'll look into it." she assured. "Alright, just follow me into the parking lot," she said, and held up traffic so I could get around the cars into the entrance.

"Thank you," I told her.

"No problem. Thought I was gonna have to write you a ticket." She laughed, then got back in her car.

  I went over to where my friend was waiting. We went into the store. When we came out, the officer was gone. I was hoping she'd stick around to help me again. My friend and I crossed the sidewalk and headed down the street to the corner. As we waited for the signal to cross, I looked up at my friend and said,

"I sure hope she tells her cop buddies about this, so they know the situation. I do not want to get a ticket because of my freaking wheelchair."

Grand Theft Wheelchair

  One day during recess, I lost my wheelchair.

  My third grade teacher was the most lenient of elementary teachers I'd had so far. She let me out of my chair during recess as long as I promised not to climb on anything. I was permitted on the swings, but only if I didn't attempt to swing over the bar as my classmates constantly attempted to do. For the most part I obeyed her terms, however there were moments I forgot my promises in a sugar rush of M&Ms and Jelly Beans, and I'd race up the jungle gym or allow one of my friends to push me as high as they could on the swings. Then my teacher would revoke my playing privileges and I would spend the rest of recess sitting beside her in my chair. 

  I was sitting in time out for diving down the slide face first despite being told not to -- twice. While my teacher was occupied with scolding some of my other classmates, I slowly backed away from her until I was just out of her peripheral vision. I sat quietly for a moment, pretending to be interested in a book every time she looked back at me. 

  Eventually, she had to go deal with a dispute two students were having and left me unattended just long enough for me to make my escape. Quickly, I hopped out of my wheelchair and pushed it toward the school. I hid my chair on the side of the building and dashed toward a large tree that stood between the building and the playground. While she made her way back to the picnic table, I ran to the playground. I watched from under the tower of slide platforms as she noticed my absence and began looking for me. 

"Please don't tell the teacher I'm hiding here," I begged my friends who were playing on the platform. 

"Okay, but can I play in your wheelchair?" One of them asked. 

"Yeah, I hid it on the side of the school," I said.

  I watched my friend run over to the building and disappear around it. A few minutes later she emerged, but my wheelchair was not with her. She ran back to the tower. I had climbed up the platform and was hiding in one of the tunnels. 

"Your chair is gone," She said.

  At that moment, my teacher's voice called out to me, "Come out of there this instant. You are in serious trouble. Where is your wheelchair?" 

I slid down the slide.

"I lost it," I confessed. 

"What do you mean, 'lost,' where did you put it?" my teacher asked.

"I hid it on the side of the school, but it's not there anymore."

  My teacher and I walked to the place my wheelchair was supposed to be hiding and sure enough it was gone. We scoured the playground, but it was nowhere to be seen. 

"How in the world do you lose a wheelchair?" My teacher asked in disbelief, "We'll have to call your parents," she said.

  I started to panic. My ability to lose things was not uncommon in our household. Not wanting to go to the principal's office, I tried to think of a stalling tactic. 

"I have to use the bathroom," I announced. 

"Alright," said my teacher, "but then we are going to the office." 

  I ran to the outside entrance of the girl's bathroom while my teacher gathered up the class to end recess early. I knew my classmates would be upset, but not as much as my parents were going to be when they found out I'd lost my wheelchair. I was about to go in the bathroom when I heard something banging against the inside of the door. A girl was in the bathroom and she was hollering for help. I rushed back to my teacher. 

"Someone needs help in the girl's bathroom!" I said, urgently. 

  My teacher hurried over to the bathroom and tried to open the door. It opened a little way, but not far enough for her to get in. I looked inside the door and saw the girl was stuck inside with my wheelchair. She was crying. 

"I can't get out, because the chair is too big and the door won't open!" she wailed.

"Let me help," I said to my teacher, "I know how to fold the wheelchair." 

  The teacher managed to get the door open wide enough for me to slip in. The girl was sitting in my wheelchair. 

"Get up and stand by the sink, I can get you out," I told the girl and she obeyed. 

  I pulled the seat up. It took a few tries, but finally the chair folded enough for the teacher to get the door open. It was like a game of Tetris trying to work the awkwardly folded wheelchair around the door, but after a few tries my teacher was able to free the chair and us from the small bathroom.

"Why did you take her wheelchair?" the teacher asked the girl once we were outside, "you know better than to play in it."

"I found it. I was gonna give it back," the girl said. 

"And you," the teacher turned on me, "I'm sending a note home. Get back in your wheelchair," the teacher said to me, "It's time to go inside."

  I just stood there and tears began rolling down my face. "I don't want this stupid wheelchair. All it does it get me in trouble." 

  My teacher's expression softened, "Tell you what, I'll let it slide today, but you need to listen to me. I give you a lot of freedom and it could get me in trouble if something happened to you. But I know you are capable of doing more than you're given credit for, you just need to learn to listen." 

  I apologized and got back in my wheelchair. Even though I still felt the injustice of having to use a wheelchair, I began to understand the importance behind the decision. I really liked my teacher and if me getting hurt would get her into trouble, then I'd do my best to be more cautious in the future -- and I did . . . for the most part.