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This First Person column is written by Emma Tiede, who lives in Burlington, Ont. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.
I was 11 when my parents gave me a choice: I could quit figure skating or transfer to a new club that had a program for people with disabilities.
I was born with a condition called dyspraxia, a gross motor co-ordination disorder that made it hard for me to keep up with my peers at my figure skating club. Despite extra lessons, I wasn’t improving.
I wasn’t keen on either option.
I had been figure skating since age five and I loved it. I didn’t want to feel different by going to a specialized club. My parents had already decided to send me to a small private school for children with disabilities since Grade 1 because I had a severe speech delay even though I wanted to go to my older sister’s elementary school and hang out with neighbourhood friends. If I left my skating club, it would be yet another thing taken away from me. And that made me upset.
But in the end, I decided to transfer because I wanted to keep figure skating.
The Special Olympics had ice rink time at a club in Hamilton where I grew up. It’s a sporting organization for people with intellectual disabilities. However, individuals with physical disabilities like myself can also participate. My mom and I had a long talk about how other skaters might not act in a way I was used to people acting. She said they were allowed to be who they were, and I needed to be nice and respectful to them.
On my first day, I was welcomed by the coaches and teammates but I was angry at my transfer. Ignoring my mom’s advice, I told them I didn’t like them. But my coach continued to be nice to me. She was patient, kind and understood why I was unsure about the program. Under her specialized coaching, I became a better skater. I was happy when I learned I would get to skate solo for a competition — something I had never done before with my old club.
I also surprisingly made a friend despite my reservations about other kids with disabilities. Madison was another skater my age, and we both loved Hilary Duff and the Harry Potter book series. My new friend had agenesis of the corpus callosum (a birth defect in the brain). Our friendship made me think that perhaps my mom was right; that kindness and friendship mattered more than a person’s disability.
In my first competition with the Special Olympics program, I placed first in my skill division. I was proud and happy. However, I was hesitant to tell anyone about my win as I thought the competition I was in — where only people with disabilities competed — wasn’t as good as the ones my sister got to compete in.
But with my mom’s encouragement, I took my medal to my old skating club where my older sister still skated. My old coaches and teammates congratulated me and that made me feel good.
33 athletes from P.E.I. are getting ready for the Special Olympics Canada Winter Games this month, including the curling and bowling teams.
At school, the reaction was different. Once again, my teachers congratulated me but my classmates didn’t understand what the Special Olympics was and made fun of me. In an instant, I felt ashamed of myself again for having a disability. My teacher encouraged me to do a project on the Special Olympics to help my classmates understand what it was but I didn’t want to be bullied any more than I already was, so I refused.
In Grade 10, I transferred to a Catholic high school. I didn’t tell anyone at my new school I figured skated with the Special Olympics and told my neighbourhood friend who knew not to tell anyone. He shrugged his shoulders and said where I skated didn’t matter, but I knew that kids can be cruel to people with disabilities. I didn’t want my new classmates to think I was dumb or inferior. It’s a stereotype. Yes, I had a disability and I was taking university-stream classes and doing well in school. That’s why I kept competing in the Special Olympics a secret until Grade 11.
That year, my school was part of a boardwide program called Best Buddies, where selected students were paired up with students with disabilities from our school. The idea of the program was to make everyone more understanding and accepting of each other.
When my friends decided to sign up for the program, I decided to tell them about my skating club. To my surprise, they were all very happy for me. Having such supportive friends made me feel more relaxed at school and I felt like I could be myself more. For the first time, I was excited and proud to be a part of the Special Olympics.
I also signed up for the Best Buddies program at my high school. In my last year of high school, I asked the program co-ordinator if I could be assigned as a buddy to a girl from Grade 9 who I knew from my skating club. She was coming from a non-catchment school and was nervous, and I wanted to help with her transition. So, one day, I invited a neighbourhood friend to sit with me and my Best Buddy at lunch.
To my delight, more than 10 years later, my Best Buddy is still friends with that neighbourhood friend. I’ve realized that while some kids can be mean, others can be kind and don’t automatically look down on someone with disabilities.
As I look back at my time with the Special Olympics, I’m happy to be a part of the organization. It helped me understand and be more accepting of people with disabilities, but also, just as importantly, of myself. I learned to be proud of my accomplishments, to not compare myself to others and to love the things about me that make me unique.
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