I am unabashedly crippled. I am not “disabled”, not “physically challenged”, not “differently-abled”. I have tried all of the politically correct euphemisms for disability to describe myself as a person with cerebral palsy and none of them seem to fit. The truth is there is nothing politically correct about my limp. I am crippled.

In 1981, at the age of six, I had my first “corrective” surgery. It included a lengthening of my Achilles’ tendons in both legs and a rotation of my hips. This surgery sounds relatively benign when described in medical terms, but it is to this day the most incredibly painful experience of my life. A second surgery followed in 1987 and it was almost as invasive and painful as the first.

These operations were in no way medically necessary. They were merely attempts by my doctors to “normalize” a poor disabled child by making me walk more like everyone else. Medicine has developed a plan to “rehabilitate” the disabled individual so that the individual can live a more “normal” life. I am not certain if the acceptable image is Michael Jordan or Joe Average, but it is clear that having a disability puts me and many others outside the acceptable range of options.

This dominant model for discourse about disability is referred to as the medical model. This model limits disability to a binary distinction. One is either disabled or able-bodied and if a person is disabled then his/her doctor needs to work to rehabilitate him/her. When we talk about disability using this model, then we equate disability with sickness, and the able-bodied become the standard by which everyone gets measured.

The shortsightedness of the current model comes into focus when we consider the alienation that many people with disabilities experience. I was a counselor for students with disabilities at the post-secondary level, and in my work I saw countless students who see their disabilities as sources of shame and alienation. Students who came to my office were often embarrassed even in this context — where staff members are allies and have students’ best interest in mind — to talk openly about their disabilities.

The dominant model for thinking about disability is one that espouses the need to “fix” whatever the “problem” or “dysfunction” is. This model is so deeply ingrained in our society that even those of us who live with disabilities often believe that we are less than whole. The temporarily able-bodied fear their own fragility and have “cast out” the people who are signs of the human condition itself by making disability a category that evokes pity or fear.

We must stop allowing the dominant culture to disable those of us who live with visual, hearing, and mobility impairments, learning disabilities, and many other conditions that make us different but not less valuable, not less able to live full lives. The social constructs of disability are the true impediments that we must overcome, not our physical or mental conditions themselves. We must embrace a model of disability and illness that dismantles the alienation experienced of people with disabilities so that all of us can have a new and fuller experience of what it means to be human and whole.

I propose a sociological approach to disability as a healthy alternative to the medical model. This model categorizes disability as a form of social diversity, like ethnicity, gender, and sexuality. Understanding and studying disability in this way allows us to critique the mind-set which has previously defined disability and leaves room for a growing awareness of the things that people with disabilities have to offer (as opposed to only dwelling on their deficiencies as defined by an able-bodied world).

If we adopt the sociological understanding of disability, issues of physical accessibility become just the tip of the iceberg. Beyond this basic consideration, communities and individuals must begin to consider language and attitude barriers, which prevent people with all kinds of differences from being full participants. Instead of questioning the need for civil rights for people with disabilities we must question a society in which these rights are not the norm. Rather than simply building a ramp we must question whether the people who can now enter will be confronted with metaphors in which blindness and deafness are equated with imperfection. We must think through the implications of genetic testing and engineering for those of us who would not be here if certain practices in this area were adopted.

Several years ago as I was walking the streets of liberal, enlightened Harvard Square in Boston with a friend, we noted together that some people crossed to the other side of the street when they saw me limping along the sidewalk. Though I have often experienced such treatment, my friend was shocked and offended. My friend knew me as a person and did not think of my disability as a deficiency or an unknown to be feared. Strangers often see people with obvious disabilities as people that are better avoided, pitied from a distance. Some assume that people whose disabilities are not physically obvious are stupid or lazy or unmotivated. Just the opposite is most likely true.

The most important thing we can do from here is value the voices of people with disabilities themselves. History is fraught with well-meaning individuals who truly desired to assist people with disabilities, but in their haste to help they neglected to empower these people to be their own advocates. We must allow people with disabilities to become the subjects rather than the objects of their own history.

This process is not an easy one, but it is crucial for far more people than just me. Each of us must continually question our own presumptions and attitudes. We must pay attention to the words, symbols, and actions that are part of our everyday lives. We must be willing to give people with disabilities their rightful place at the conversation table and then be willing to listen to their truth, no matter how uncomfortable the implications are. I myself have much to learn from the truth that other people with disabilities have to tell. May we all choose to hear?