
May’s message evaluates how we can make reasonable accommodations for the disabled, despite our being associated with a group of highly trained, “unionized” and physically able professionals of the LAFD.
About once a year, if I’m lucky, I visit my Abuelita (grandmother) on the Big Island of Hawaii. I’m usually here from 10 days to 2 weeks or more (in fact, I am here right now).
During the last several years, I have brought my daughter, and sometimes even my husband (if he is lucky) and it only takes a few days for us to switch gears from city life to what I call the Aloha Mode. I have been coming here to Kona since I was 11 years old.
It was about then, over 30 years ago in fact, that my grandmother purchased for $60,000 the parcel of land in Kona Heights on which her beautiful, ranch style home now sits. She lives here 6 months of the year, returning home to Silverlake (near Downtown Los Angeles) no doubt only because she misses her family.
This year, on my flight from the Mainland to Honolulu, I found myself in a unique position. Though I had booked the tickets and confirmed our seat assignments online, the helpful Hawaiian Airlines employee who was helping me check in my luggage in the terminal at LAX suggested alternate seating. “I can give you some better seats for you and your daughter at the front of the plane just behind first class. You will have more legroom there,” she said.
I gleefully agreed, blissfully unaware of what I was about to face.
The next 5 hours went pretty much without incident. The woman who helped me was right; there was a lot more room in the seats she chose for us. But what I soon discovered, was just across the isle in a three seat configuration was a couple with a severly disabled adult child.
The father in his native Aloha Shirt was one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. He looked like a light haired version of Tom Sellick. His wife, equally beautiful, was of Hawaiian decent and although she was clearly in her late fifties, she maintained a good portion of what must have been striking beauty in her younger years.
They were clearly and very noticeably an openly Christian Couple. As our plane taxied down the runway, this father and mother held their daughter’s hand and said a heartfelt prayer, thanking God for all of his blessings and asking for a safe flight.
And for the next 5 hours I sat on my seat, just across the row from theirs and did my best not to stare. I had so many questions. Was this their daughter? Or, were they just on some kind of Christian Outreach mission for the severely disabled? Could she understand anything at all that they were saying to her? I wanted so to ask questions, but social graces and my clear inability to look either of them square in the eye (much less speak to them) prohibited me from doing so.
They acted so normal toward her and so very comfortable with their plight.
I furtively and occasionally glanced in their direction, taking quick snapshots in my mind while I did my assessment and attempted to reconcile how 2 Beautiful People could possible have had a child with such severe physical disabilities.
During one of my moments of surveillance I noticed how their daughter, handicap aside, truly was the genetic equivalent of her two parents. I decided at that moment that she was indeed their daughter (and that they were on a Christian Outreach Mission, but it was more long term than I’d originally supposed).
Finally, the impact of what was before me struck. And it struck me at of course, one of the most unpredictable and inconvenient moments. While I was filling out the mandatory Hawaii Dept. of Agriculture survey form I glanced one more time at the couple next to me (they wouldn’t notice me staring again, after all, since they were busy filling out their forms).
Then I looked at my daughter. There was nothing wrong with her.
Suddenly and without warning my body betrayed me. I could not see the words on the form before me. Tears had welled-up in my eyes and in my refusal to let them flow freely I became blind. I felt guilty for having a healthy child, confused by why this couple was so cheerful despite their predicament, and shame that I was unable to openly ask them even the simplest of questions that they have had a lifetime to find answers to.
Eventually I pulled myself together enough to complete the form and prepare myself and my daughter for the landing.
And I am proud to say, when I was walking off the plane, my eyes finally met those of the father. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at me with compassionate and kind eyes. I looked him square in the eyes and smiled back.
I was finally comfortable with what I was looking at.
Because we are both volunteers and communications specialists within the LAFD, we are able to make reasonable accommodations for persons with handicaps. But we need to understand that this adds an extra “layer” of adjustment for our comrades, the sworn firefighters under whom we serve the City of Los Angeles.
What an adjustment it must be for them to work with us; after all they are Union and we are “unpaid” (a sacrilege of sorts within Union culture, no doubt). We are the “less able bodied” civilians, if you will, who never made it through The Academy (in fact, we didn’t even try to) – yet here we work side-by-side. Some of us are in wheel chairs, and some of us are fighting cancer instead of fires.
I can only hope that we do so with more understanding and less discomfort than I had during my flight to The Big Island.







