by Tziri Frank

Status Symbols

“We’ve come a long way, baby!”

In the olden days, before cell phones and laptops, having to push a child, sibling, or parent in a wheelchair was a dreaded responsibility that the average individual avoided whenever possible. If there was any option to leave the wheelchair-bound family member hidden at home, then home is where they stayed. This was partly because the world was not equipped to accommodate the physically handicapped, and also because, in the days before OnlySimchas.com, being seen with a mentally or physically impaired individual was something to be embarrassed about. Society had unconsciously decreed that association with someone who was in any way handicapped was considered pitiful (a negative status symbol).

Fast-forward to Succos, 2006.

It was a beautiful, sunny Chol Hamoed morning and from all parts of the Northeast, men, women, and children converged at an amusement park in a quiet town in rural Pennsylvania. As early as 9:00 in the morning, large SUVs (symbols of ‘look at me!’), minivans (symbols of family), school/coach buses (symbols of paying someone else to organize your trip), and late-model sedans (symbols of ‘I don’t need to show my status’) began pulling into the massive parking lot and discharging passengers. The park-goers came in all ages, from varying frum backgrounds, and from assorted cities and states within a 200-mile radius. Most came well-prepared for the Day To Remember, armed with ice chests full of food (symbols of a good balabusta), digital cameras (symbols of having the latest gadget), and brand-new, trendy clothing (symbol of a successful shopping spree). Approximately 10,000 individuals all arrived with the same goals: to get on as many upside-down roller coasters as possible, to eat expensive kosher food in the huge park Succah, and in general, to enjoy a memorable Chol Hamoed experience.

And then came the Franks.

“Uh, I think we can get out of the car now,” I said, after we had been parked for close to ten minutes and were still sitting in the car, listening to tape #11 (out of 17 cassettes) of the fifth Harry Potter novel.

“Wait!” cried Atara, fixing the bump in her hair for the umpteenth time.

“Sh!!” exclaimed Yehudis, talking animatedly on the cell phone.

“Soon,” declared Ahuva, checking to see that her watch was split-second accurate.

“OK,” said Sonny amiably, climbing over people and food to get out.

“Uh-oh,” said Aliza, waving her apple juice bottle at me.

“Look at that,” interrupted my husband, “those people are setting up a portable Succah. I think I’ll go help!”

There was something very beautiful about seeing so many frum people gathered in the vast parking lot of what is traditionally a non-Jewish venue. Strangers instantly became friends as people cheerfully greeted newcomers who were still parking, and folks who had never set eyes on one another assisted wherever they could. I smiled at the sight of a well-dressed newlywed in high heels chasing after someone else’s wayward toddler, and readily lent my cell phone to a frantic woman who had locked her purse in the car. Eventually, we joined the throngs of people heading toward the park entrance. It was as we made the endless trek to the front gate that my attention was caught by a very loud voice.

“Now remember, children,” boomed a large woman as she prodded seven able-bodied youngsters along, “I know how to get on all the rides without ever waiting on line. But when we get into the park you must remember to be quiet and let me do all the talking.”

And that was the last I saw of her, until I was waiting on the interminable line for the bumper cars. At first, my gaze was drawn to the sight of a large crowd meandering in the direction of the nearby carousel, and then I spotted the woman who had loudly proclaimed that she knew how to avoid waiting on line for the rides. At first, I wasn’t sure it was the same person. For one thing, her seven children had now been joined by a motley assortment of additional youngsters and chaperones. And one of the seven original children was no longer walking with the crowd. She was languishing in a standard-issue, park-borrowed wheelchair, while her panting and sweating mother was pushing her around laboriously.

“Mommy, can we go on the bumper cars now,” cried two or three of the youngsters surrounding the wheelchair and the woman.

“Does everyone want to go on the bumper cars?” asked the woman rhetorically to the crowd as she came to a halt. She took the opportunity to mop her clammy brow (symbol of working too hard) and gulp at a bottle of Evian water (symbol of being able to afford the expensive stuff) perched precariously on the handle of the wheelchair.

Judging by the frantic waving of hands, the emphatic nodding of heads, and the loud chorus of yes’s, the plan was a good one. Without further ado, the entire group marched toward where I was standing.

And before my astonished eyes, they went to the EXIT gate and gazed at the attendant on duty imperiously.

“We’re ready!” declared a young lad of no more than five.

“We want to go on the ride,” chimed in a chorus of other voices.

The harried attendant looked up from buckling a youngster into a mechanical vehicle.

“One minute, I’ll be right there,” he said wearily.

But they didn’t bother to wait. Without so much as a glance at the rest of us waiting patiently on line, the girl in the wheelchair, who was now wearing a conspicuous Ace bandage (symbol of a serious boo-boo) around her leg, hopped out of her wheelchair. She joined five of her relatives/friends as they pushed open the EXIT (symbol of Do Not Enter) gate and entered the bumper cars area. Then they hopped into the waiting vehicles and buckled themselves in (symbolizing that they were ready to begin their ride).

“Excuse me,” said a polite young lady who was really next in line, “but I’m next in line.”

At this, the attendant looked suitably chagrined (symbol that he felt bad about the situation).

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but park rules state that if a guest in a wheelchair wants to ride the attraction, then they take priority and get the next available ride.”

And they did. While the rest of us waited on line, the entire group of no less than 11 individuals enjoyed themselves on the ride. When every last member of the party had an opportunity to careen and crash around the track, the attendant returned to the little girl at the head of the line.

“It’s your chance now,” he said to her gently.

“We want to go again!” interrupted the shrill voice of the little five-year old who caused the interruption in the first place.

The attendant ignored him.

“Ahem!” said the little boy’s mother authoritatively, “the children want to go again.”

The attendant looked at the group, and then looked at her.

“Let’s give some others a chance,” he suggested, gesturing to the little girl at the head of the line who was now in tears (symbol that she was very upset).

“But, but…” sputtered the woman, clearly shocked that she was not getting her way. “We have a wheelchair (symbol of ‘I am Special!’)!”

“Yes, I can see it,” said the park employee, who had clearly seen just about everything on this hectic Chol Hamoed day, “and I also see all these people who have been waiting patiently for their chance. So, if you want another ride, this time you wait – with the wheelchair!”

Apparently, they didn’t want to go on the ride badly enough to have to do what the rest of us were doing–namely, waiting. Grumbling and muttering to themselves about the anti-Semites who worked in the park, the group made their way out of the area.

Throughout the rest of that day, I noticed the group again and again, and they really did have the system figured out, because they never did wait on a line.

You probably think that I consider this a negative reflection on the handicapped population, or at least those that abuse it, but you would be wrong. I am actually quite impressed that society has so completely reversed its view of the special-needs population that the very symbol of shame and embarrassment (walking an individual in a wheelchair) has become the ultimate symbol for how to get ahead in life (me first!), or at least in an amusement park.

Incidentally, there were a large number of mentally and physically handicapped individuals in the amusement park that day. And it was beautiful to see that the impaired members of our society were welcomed and treated respectfully by amusement park staff and guests alike. Some were in wheelchairs, and some were not, but all were able to join the rest of the frum world in a Chol Hamoed to remember.

And all wore huge smiles on their faces (symbol of having a great time).

You may comment on this article at the discussion board at www.spiritmag.org.

back to top

Tziri Frank is a proud mother of five beautiful children. She uses her experience with her own special child to inspire others in a thought provoking and often entertaining way.