Last year I booked tickets to the tennis for my nephew’s birthday without thinking too hard about how accessible it would be. I didn’t factor in wheelchairs or seating or how my body might cope. I just booked them like anyone else would.
It wasn’t until later that the reality crept in that I’d need to be in a wheelchair for the entire day. It wasn’t myself i was worried about. I was more focused on how it would effect my nephews experience. Would it embarrass him? Would it change the day needing to push me around everywhere?
I sat with these feelings for a while before telling him. When I did build up the courage to inform him how his day would be changed, his reaction surprised me completely. He was thrilled.
He didn’t see it as a burden at all, but rather an amazing opportunity to have better seats, closer to the action. He only saw it as a huge upgrade.
On the day, I was in the wheelchair and he pushed me around proudly. At the accessibility cloakroom, a staff member was incredibly kind and organised. She even gave us free tickets to see Kid Laroi at John Cain Arena. And not just any seas; accessible seats, incredible view, and wildly expensive tickets we never could’ve afforded.
My nephew was in his absolute element.
It was physically taxing for me; there’s no pretending otherwise. But the only reason the day was possible at all was because I used the wheelchair. And what I realised was that it didn’t make me more of a burden but it reduced the load on everyone.
I was worried earlier in the week that the wheelchair would mean sitting back whilst others had to help and wait on me. That I would be just a passive element in others experience of the day. In fact ,it was the total opposite. Because the event was so accessible, I could participant and move through spaces with ease. I stayed longer than I thought I’d be able to and enjoyed it so much.
The part that has stayed with me is that accessibility didn’t take something away from the experience. Instead, it gave something back. It turned a day I almost talked myself out of, into a memory my nephew and I will have forever.
Sometimes the thing we resist the most is the thing that makes life possible.