First I need to own who I am.  I am a white woman, I am 62. I was born with cerebral palsy.  I have been remarkably high functioning until age began to do a toxic dance with the CP. At some point in the last decade I transitioned to pushing a rollator. 

My regular readers will know that life has gotten more complicated. I have been diagnosed with a genetic form of ALS.  This has combined with CP to contribute to a significant level of weakness.  As I have continued to move through space and commute to NYC as needed.

In the process I have noticed something that has reminded me strongly why I first got involved in antiracism work so many years ago.  As a disabled person I find a lot of common ground with other marginalized people. 

When I am in trouble, help arrives.  Arriving at the Chambers Street subway station and discovering the elevator is broken.  Riding a midday train and there is not a conductor in sight.  Walking up the ramp at 199 in a windstorm. I was almost knocked over by the wind. I screamed and help arrived.  

In each one of these occasions the kind hands that reached out to help were the hands of people of color.  The eyes that saw that I was in trouble were those of people of color.  

I cannot express my gratitude enough for each person who keeps me safe as I move through space.  

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