Lately, I keep having the sudden urge to dip my hand in a bag of glitter… purple glitter to be exact. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been home in two and a half years, maybe it’s because I’m totally done being an adult, or maybe it’s because the universe is telling me to become a raver. The root of this impulse emerged when I was a kid, and my art teacher used to hide bags of glitter from me because mischievous little Glow used to parallel park next to the art table where the bag was placed and just plop her hand into it. Ironically my physical therapist used to tell me that people with my disability tend to have a sensitive tactile response. Which in general means they don’t like to touch shit, however, I loved finger painting, primarily though, not with shit. These are just some memories of when I was a kid. Moments that felt completely normal to me, however when I look back I laugh because, well, these memories are tinted by my disability and I never fucking noticed.
I was born into a big ass family, and for that, I am forever grateful. Due to the premise that as a toddler I was caught talking to walls, having siblings and other relatives around me was probably for the best. We loved playing hide-and-go-seek, unfortunately, we made poor choices when it came to timing and venue, since, by the time we recruited every single pipsqueak it was night time and there was always one SOB who wanted the outdoors to be fair game. Now that I'm reflecting back on those times I realize how absurd it was. You can just imagine me trying to find a place to hide. It was definitely not under the bed, or up in the treehouse. It was usually me trying to park strategically behind a palm tree, and when I realized that was never going to happen I would move behind a fence. I feel like once I got yelled at for locking my me and my cousin in the bathroom not because we were, clearly, cheating, but because we couldn't lock the doors in our household. Then again, we were never found, so it was totally worth it. Hiding was actually my favorite part of the game, because seeking just never came naturally, since, once again these little SOB’s decided to hide in places where I cannot look. Once again places like under the damn bed or in a closet with a door that cannot be easily opened, thus forcing me to push the bed with my chair leaving them completely exposed. Or resorting to slamming into the closet door until they freaked out and caved, which barely happened. Regardless of the struggles that occurred to me during the rigorous game of hide-and-go-seek, I was always one of the first munchkins on board.
Honestly, I think the reason for which I tortured myself during this game (I’m aware, that’s a stretch), was because I appreciated how much of an asshole my family members were when playing, they had no pity on me, then again, neither did I, I ran over a couple of kids. It was events like this that cover up the pitiful stigma that society places over kids with physical disabilities. I’m not going to lie, I was a mischievous, sneaky little kid, not devious, not evil, there’s a difference. The reason for which I was so, was because breaking the doorknob on the closet door and slowly moving away trying to not leave any trace of the event so I wouldn’t get in trouble, deep down, filled me with joy, because it’s the same thing my brother and sister did, it felt normal. Making my assistance clean my hands filled with glitter, just felt like a youthful thing to do, and the fact that I would be scratching glitter off my body for a month, again, totally worth it.
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