Maturity

At the time when the cerebral fibers in the frontal lobe of my brain began to mature, I became aware of my mortality and my desire to make plans for the future. It’s intriguing to me that bodily changes so profoundly influence states of mind and spirit. Some time in our late teen years or early adulthood most humans, but not all, experience a physiological change in their brain that allows for better impulse control, improved long-term memory and therefore a stronger ability for judging when and where to take risks.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I began to fully grasp what my parents meant when they said, “be careful crossing the street.” I had, except for rare occasions, taken care crossing the street as a child, but not because I understood what would happen to me if I was hit by an oncoming car. When I was a teenager, I began to comprehend that my life would end one day. And, it could end sooner, if I was not careful or did not think ahead.

With this enhanced understanding that my brain could now handle, I began making plans. I had as a child noticed how my father had longed for a higher education. My parents had set aside money into a college fund for me and it had been clearly part of their planning for many years. Yet, when I reached high school the barriers to bringing this plan into reality became apparent.

The High School that I attended was a granite structure with steep exterior and interior staircases. During those years of my life, I experienced repeated injuries to joints, particularly my ankles that made climbing stairs dangerous and even impossible. The only accommodation for my education was a home tutor.

Nonetheless, I graduated from high school with sufficient grades and test scores to show that I could be accepted to a college. The first three colleges I applied to returned my applications with the explanation that their campus was not accessible. When I sent my application off to a University listed as having accessible classroom and dormitory facilities, I chose not to provide any information that would indicate my “special needs.” The University accepted my application, much to my joy and requested an intake interview. At the interview, the admissions staff person could not keep her eyes off the rather bulky orthopedic shoes I was wearing or the aluminum brace that extended up to my knee. It wasn’t long into our conversation when the admissions person released a heavy sigh and said, “Well, you can come to this school, but I doubt we will find anyone who wants to be your roommate.”

As I left the building, I chose to make my statement by skipping, like a small child, down Commonwealth Avenue. As I shook off the stinging words, I could feel the joy bubbling in my heart. I was in whether they wanted me or not. And, it made me smile to see heads turn as the “cripple with the leg brace” danced down the city street in defiance.