I'd Rather Get Hit By a Car Than Wear A Wheelchair Flag.

Another Mark Smith blog entry, "Dude, Get a Flag," rang true to me today.

I grew up in a smallish town of about 10,000 people. There were no city buses or subways, and unfortunately, my parents had to give up our full-time driver after the recession in the 80s. This meant that for kids, getting around town meant biking, walking, or if one was lucky enough to have older siblings, begging for a ride. I never figured out how to make a bike work for me, and I am blessed to be the oldest in my family, so that left walking. Luckily, "downtown," which consisted of my three favorite destinations, Albertson's grocery store, King's Corner (the dollar store), and my school (I was such a nerd), was a mere twenty-minute stroll away from my house, and most of my friends also lived within that vicinity.

So many summer days and holidays when my parents were at work and I wanted to go somewhere, I could be seen riding down the street. Many of the sidewalks did not have curb cuts, but I knew my routes, and when necessary, I would ride certain stretches on the side of the street.

I am by no means a daredevil. When I see or hear a car, I graciously get the heck out of the way. I make eye contact before crossing in front of a car. I am cautious. Nonetheless, one day, my mom told me something that made me reconsider the value of my life.

"Nora, the Sheriff called me today, and he said he saw you riding down the street this afternoon," she said. Not to worry, in our small town, the Sheriff might call just to wish you a happy birthday. So far, no big deal. "He said that it was difficult to see you, and if you are going to be riding around in town, we need to get a flag for your chair."

"You mean like one of those big orange flags that stick up off the top of those old people's scooters? No way! I'm not putting that on my chair!"

"Well, we'll see. The Sheriff said you had to if you're going to ride your chair in town," she insisted.

I spent the next two weeks planning out what I would do if the Sheriff showed up and forced a flag upon me. I would refuse! I thought. If he tacked it onto my chair, I would wait til he left, then rip it off and throw it in an unmarked dumpster--or I'd make my little brother do that for me.

Fortunately, the town police must have gotten busy with other matters--perhaps a cat got stuck in a tree--because nobody ever further pursued my safety wheelchair flag.

In all honesty, can you imagine being asked to wear a tall orange flag outside? How undignified! It's like, let's think of a way to make wheelchair users look as foolish as possible..hmmm...we could make them sport five-foot tall orange flags. Then nobody would take them seriously!

As a full-time pedestrian, knowing that I am far less visible than most, I take extra care when crossing the street. I make sure that I see the whites of the drivers' eyes before I cross in front of them.

If that's not enough, I'm fairly certain I'd rather get hit by a car than wear a flag. I know it sounds harsh but think about it. What would you choose?