Most people may not realize how rude they appear to those of us in wheelchairs. I was reminded just how rude people can be when I went to a local church festival in the town where I live. Other than my girlfriend, son and mother-in-law who came with me, I didn’t know a single soul at the festival. Still, I couldn’t help but notice how much these people like to stare!

In just one day, I had various individuals from one church festival commit all the major no-nos an able-bodied person can commit. Granted, these grievous acts weren’t all committed by the same person, but the fact that they were committed at all is just damn annoying. It’s a symbol to how little progress has been made in allowing the able-bodied community to understand those of us with disabilities.

I don’t look weird. I’m a chubby guy, with dark hair. I have decent control of my arms…Well, enough to drive my wheelchair around. I don’t appear to be falling out of my wheelchair or any of that fun stuff. I’m just your average guy who happens to sit all the time instead of standing. So, why is it that people not only have to give me “looks” or stare downs, but they have to give me dirty looks?

I can understand when little kids stare at me. I’m used to it and actually, I encourage it. This shows interest in my wheelchair and learning about it. Unfortunately, parents often say things in shushed whispers like “don’t stare at that handicapped person” (did I mention I hate the word handicapped?! – it’s way too outdated) or they yank them away from me like I’m a diseased parasite about to spread my infectious wheelchair-itis onto their precious little one.

This is the perfect opportunity for a lesson in compassion and understanding. If you have a child who is staring at someone in a wheelchair, ask the person in the wheelchair (politely) if your child can ask a question or two. More often than not, the person will say yes. Occasionally, you’ll get someone who is either in a hurry (hey, we have lives, too!) or who is just a jerk. Don’t chalk it up to the behavior of all of us. If I have the time, I’d gladly answer questions from an inquisitive kid instead of letting their parents assume why I’m in a wheelchair or letting a parent give them the wrong information about people in wheelchairs.

For those who wish to tell their children about people in wheelchairs themselves or for those who aren’t kids, but still like to stare, here is a guide of dos and don’ts in relation to how those of us in wheelchairs like to be treated.

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Today is a day of blogging for LGBT families all over the internet. For those living under a rock, LGBT stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered. I just happen to technically be considered transgendered. This means that my gender doesn’t match my birth sex. Essentially, I was born female, but grew up with the feelings and emotions of a male. Gender is different from sex because sex is biological and gender is perceived. In easier terms, sex is based on body parts and biological makeup, while gender is how you envision yourself.

Strangely enough, the cause for this might just be a biological one. One theory is that those of us who are transgendered are the way we are because in utero (while in the womb), we were exposed to different hormones than we should have been. A transgendered MTF (male to female) might have been exposed to more estrogen and/or androgen while an FTM (female to male) might have been exposed to more testosterone and/or androgen.

It is an interesting theory, especially considering the fact that the ob/gyn who spent her time examining me, in the womb for nine months, swore I was a boy. I was being carried like a boy. Everything appeared as though I were going to be born a boy. With as much experience as she had (having delivered hundreds of babies) she was seldom wrong and quite shocked when I came out a girl.

You see, I was born believing I had to act like a female because biologically I was one. I later realized that all of the feelings of discontent came from my being perceived as something I was not. To me, I was just one of the boys. Most of my close friends were other boys and I liked doing things most boys did. As an adult, I’ve taken the steps to become a man. This involves a lot of dedication. There is the legal aspect (name change and all that comes with it, change of gender on important documents), the physical aspect (dressing, cutting my hair, surgery and embodying the male persona) and the hormonal aspect (regular shots of testosterone). There is also the psychological aspect. I have to be deemed sane enough to be on hormones and have surgery. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have qualified.

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