Days 18-20: Remove the Cloak

POTOMAC, MD —

April 11-13, 2024

Days 18-20:

The camera rolled at 9:30 A.M. Friday morning. Fox5DC’s way-cooler-than-me TV anchor talent Steve Chenevey held a mic in front of my face and guided my textbook introverted self through a series of questions pertaining to the particularities of my journey, my friendship with Greg, how to donate to our cause on our website, and the potential of me writing a book. The man was so good at his job I almost felt like a natural myself by interview’s end.

The last three days have centered around this interview in some form or fashion, and now that it’s finished, I am back on the road full-time with more people following the trek, and consequently, more donations coming in.

Before leaving D.C., my aunt took me to see a few of the national memorials/monuments: Vietnam War, WWII, Washington, Lincoln, and, most significant to this walk and its purposes, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who in 1929 contracted polio at 39 years of age, resulting in paralysis from the waist down.

The first installment of the FDR monument featured a cloak draped over the 32nd president’s legs to mask his disability, which was faithful to reality, as he often covered himself to appear more formidable to the public eye.

In 1997, thanks in large part to advocates for those with disabilities, a new installment to the FDR monument was incorporated, depicting him with crystal clarity in his wheelchair as a way to both acknowledge the reality of his condition and its role in his life in addition to fighting against any stigma suggesting disabilities are to be confined out of shame, to be covered up so as to not appear weak.

When we think of FDR, particularly of his leadership during the Great Depression, WWII, and his ground-breaking approach to uplift those in the workforce, we think of an exemplary man, hence the enormous labyrinth-like monument erected in his honor.

We think, too, of his many memorable, powerful quotes. One that stood out to me while sauntering through his monument:

“I am a symbol of what can happen when people with disabilities are strongly supported.”

This causes me to reflect on the harm, the wasted potential of life, caused by discrimination not merely as it applies to the paralysis demographic, but also to the world at large. I, again, contemplate the fear pulling by scruff of neck the young fool who spat at my feet. In what ways do I myself spit at the feet of others, even with the best intentions? In spite of this, how might I course correct and be more supportive?

I now lie inside my tent beside the river song of the Potomac, recalling as I drift into tomorrow perhaps FDR’s most notable words:

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

How many more symbols, truly worthy of being called 'patriot' or perhaps an even more honorable term, would we have if universal support rather than fear were the idea that had us?