When I stole a handicapped parking spot

Tue, 14 Jun 2011 19:01:00 +0000

I admit it, I can get kind of righteous. I have confronted smokers who flick their cigarettes to the ground by picking up the butt and haughtily returning it to them, declaring, "I think you dropped something." I have raised a modest ruckus or two when someone cuts in front of another in a checkout line. I will return junk mail with a "Refused -- return to sender" scribbled on it, and though I know it does little good, I just don't want to be the one to throw it in a landfill.

I mean, if I don't straighten out the world, who will?

It happened that I lived with my parents for a few months during a transition in my adult life. At the time, mother had arthritic knees and knee replacement surgery was imminent. For years I'd watched as the pain in her legs grew worse and downright debilitating. It got to the point that even the most minor outing turned into an expedition that required judicious planning.

She finally broke down and got a handicapped parking card. Even a few yards made a lot of difference when she was trying to get somewhere, and being able to rely on convenient parking gave her a greater sense of independence and control of her life.

Salon.com > Mary Jo Pehl

When I stole a handicapped parking spot