As soon as her gaze lingered toward John—her lips caught somewhere between a downturned pout and a sympathetic smile—Stevie Morris assumed she was about to receive one of those all-too-familiar inspirational affirmations, the kind where a stranger leans in and whispers, "You’re an angel." Having already been closely adjacent to the disability experience through her son, Robert, Stevie thought she knew exactly what to expect from the public. But what was said next caught her completely off-guard, serving as yet another reminder of the unpredictable and often absurd landscape of everyday ableism.
To fully understand the moment, the setting requires some context. John and Stevie were on their second date, enjoying a quiet breakfast before heading out to spend the afternoon at the Knoxville Museum of Art. Their very first in-person date had taken place only the night before, but the connection between them was already well past the introductory stages. They shared a deep friendship and an ongoing long-distance relationship, relishing the rare excitement of uninterrupted quality time together.
Then, right in the middle of breakfast, a restaurant staff member interrupted them. She expressed her absolute amazement that John was capable of managing his own meal and—in a moment of theatrical gasp—getting his own juice from the serving station. "He doesn’t even have a whole body!" she exclaimed, cutting through the morning air with astonishing directness.
The remark was so pointed and so incredibly specific that Stevie found herself momentarily paralyzed, unable to formulate any words in response. Stifling a spreading grin that threatened to break her composure, she offered a curt head nod and briskly left the restaurant. She barely made it outside the front door before bursting into the first of many giggle-fits that John would come to witness throughout their relationship.
Finding humor in the absolute absurdity of people’s ignorance has become a standard coping mechanism for the couple. It is a shared dynamic that frequently elicits an eye-roll from Robert, though Stevie and John attribute this to normal teenage angst rather than genuine disapproval, knowing full well that Robert ultimately benefits from the resilience and levity they model as parents navigating everyday life.
Reflecting on that interaction long after it occurred, Stevie has often wondered if she would have reacted differently had she been with Robert at the time, or if she would have expected Robert to respond differently. Teaching a young person how to navigate and respond to ableism is a constant, deliberate mental task. It is a nuanced and complex process that frequently flies in the face of the social rules people unknowingly adopt just to function smoothly in society. Uncovering these hidden biases and equipping Robert with the tools to confront ableism has become one of the most recurring and vital conversations in their household.
Society teaches children that it is rude to ignore people, yet Stevie has taught Robert that he has every right to walk away when faced with intrusive, condescending, or infantilizing comments. Similarly, people are routinely conditioned to automatically submit to authority. However, John actively models and helps Robert practice prioritizing his own needs while critically questioning which claims to authority are actually valid.
This tension often surfaces during travel. When airline wheelchair assistance staff demand that John and Robert exit an airplane before their personal wheelchairs have been returned to the jetbridge—a frequent and frustrating occurrence—they rightly decline to comply, standing their ground against improper directives.
Public expectations also dictate that disabled individuals should offer detailed explanations whenever someone asks about mobility aids or accommodations. In response, Stevie and Robert maintain a set of practiced, ready-to-use boundaries, such as stating simply that they do not share personal medical information.
Furthermore, while society expects a grateful "thank you" whenever assistance is offered, Stevie has explicitly told Robert that he is entirely justified in pulling away without a backward glance if an overly eager stranger tries to grab his wheelchair without permission. This conditioning of disabled children to show excessive gratitude for basic equal access is a recurring theme in advocacy spaces, challenging the notion that disabled individuals owe the public endless thankfulness for mere accommodation.
Honesty is prized as one of the most foundational values in their home, with one notable exception: inventing wildly laughable, entirely false backstories about how John or Robert acquired their disabilities. When confronted with intrusive "What happened to you?" questions from curious strangers, John has occasionally resorted to deadpan explanations involving fictitious shark attacks, successfully shutting down inappropriate inquiries with absurdist humor.
Some critics might argue that it would be easier to maintain a single, uniform response strategy for Robert, or to strip away his agency in responding to avoid how he might be perceived by the public. But Stevie and John are acutely aware of the long-term cost. Making choices in the present requires looking toward the future. They could raise a teenager who quietly follows every unwritten social rule, fits neatly into an uncomfortably tight mold, and sacrifices a piece of his dignity in the process. Alternatively, they can raise a young person who ruffles feathers, challenges the status quo, and remains fiercely true to himself through self-advocacy. For Stevie and John, the choice regarding the greater good is glaringly obvious.
Even so, tackling such a heavy and seemingly lofty societal goal on a daily basis can feel overwhelming. Confronting systemic ableism through personal, day-to-day interactions is undeniably hard work. To maintain her focus without burning out, Stevie relies on specific mental shifts that have helped ground her perspective.
One of the most effective mental frameworks she has adopted is comparing the fight against ableism to doing the laundry. There is simply no point in time when the laundry will ever be fully, permanently finished, and accepting that reality is half the battle. A household is always cycling through some stage of the process—piling up dirty clothes, washing, drying, folding, and putting garments away. Sometimes, life gets busy, and the pile is avoided for an embarrassing amount of time. Other days, the energy is doubled down to power through multiple loads, taking an entire day to catch up. Yet, even when the laundry basket is completely empty, the clothes currently being worn will eventually need to be washed, and the cycle continues.
Recognizing this cyclical nature, rather than adhering to a rigid checkbox mentality, has afforded Stevie a much more balanced viewpoint. She no longer judges her success or accomplishment on the complete eradication of a systemic problem that will never truly be finished. Instead, they do a little bit here and a little bit there, learning and practicing one response before pivoting to a different approach when circumstances demand it. Sometimes, they take a necessary break simply because they are exhausted and lack the emotional bandwidth. That rest, too, is recognized as part of the full spectrum of the human experience.
Another crucial component of their approach is continuous discussion. If there is one primary takeaway for parents deciding how to teach their children to navigate ableism, it is the importance of consistently asking questions and examining responses together. Stevie is in a perpetual dialogue with Robert, asking questions like, "What can we learn from this?", "What worked and what didn’t?", and "I noticed a specific reaction—how did that make you feel?" Because Robert’s responses and emotional landscape naturally evolve with time and personal growth, his answers occasionally surprise her. The ultimate goal is never to find a single magic fix, but rather to engage in collaborative problem-solving.
Rehearsing potential scenarios is the final pillar of their strategy. Once a recurring problem is identified, the family actively practices their responses at home. They have used stuffed animals, acted out various awkward situations, and even collaborated on comic books detailing the specific strategies they want to employ.
For instance, boarding an airplane historically served as a constant source of stress, as assistance staff frequently made assumptions about Robert’s physical abilities, moving his wheelchair without permission or attempting to dictate how he should board the aircraft. By discussing the most effective approach beforehand and practicing at home—with Stevie playing the role of an overbearing assistant attempting to grab the chair without asking, and Robert responding clearly and respectfully—the family builds muscle memory. This repetition ensures that when high-stress situations arise in the real world, the appropriate response comes naturally.
While the family has accumulated a wide array of skills and strategies for addressing ableism, they still occasionally stumble, leaving them feeling as though they should have chosen a different approach in the heat of the moment. Constant self-examination of social interactions carries a heavy psychological weight. John and Stevie also recognize that what is deemed socially acceptable in response to ableism shifts depending on numerous intersecting factors, including age, race, gender, and the specific nature of a person’s disability, all of which trigger pre-existing societal assumptions.
By combining careful planning with a willingness to experiment with different approaches, Stevie and John have successfully fostered Robert’s confidence in standing up for himself. They share these experiences not as a rigid manual, but as a potential springboard for other families navigating the complex and often bumpy terrain of public life.
