Winter Jam 2012

I still have a lot to write about our December/January adventures with our girl, but for today, I'm jumping forward to February 4th.  Our trip to Winter Jam in Greensboro:

Winter Jam is general admission, pay $10 at the door. Ten Christian bands, some of which play songs Olivia loves.  Since you aren't guaranteed a seat, you better get there early.  Because of that, and knowing that handicapped seating would be few and far between, I looked around the Winter Jam website and found an email address of someone you could contact if you needed handicap accessible seating.  So, back in early December, I emailed the lady, who responded and told me that we could enter the Coliseum early, when the VIPs were allowed in, so that we could get settled in handicap seating before the thousands of others entered.  Perfect!  I sent her my name and told her there would be four of us attending.

Fast forward a month and a half (and, you know, a near-death experience and a week in the hospital, and a PICC line, and Christmas and the New Year)...  As we got on the road to make the two-hour trip, I was already second-guessing our decision to take Olivia... She LOVES the music, but she was already banging her head in the car, and the idea of a 4-5 hour concert so far from home with an unpredictable, autistic child was... well, truthfully, starting to not sound like fun at all.

We got to the Coliseum at 4:00... along with thousands of other fans.  We finally figured out where to park and Brian went off in the drizzling rain to find Will Call.  He came back and helped us unload out of the car and we headed to get our "tickets".  Except that they didn't have our tickets.  Or a note to say to let us pay general admission fee, but to let us in early to get handicapped seating.  By now it's 4:30ish, and a few thousand more people are in line waiting to get in.  (And I'm. Kicking. Myself. for not printing the dang email from the nice lady.) They explain that we will have to go to Will Call on the other side of the building (via the rain).  We can see some of the doors opening and the crowd began filing in.  Some of the event workers were trying to help us, you could tell.  And Brian just kept peeking at my face and saying things like, "Donna, don't get upset."  Yeah, he knows me.

So, finally, we were able to pay our $40 and get in the doors.  They pointed us in the direction of the elevator, and we headed that way.  All the while, hundreds of people were filing in and quickly making their way to find good seats.  We get up to the 2nd floor, head through the doors, and look down to see that there is handicap seating on the ground level.  Hmm. Okay, then.  Ever tried walking out (with a wheelchair) while hundreds of others are walking in?  Yeah.  We finally made it back down the elevator to the main floor and headed up the ramp to the handicap seating.  It was just a set of risers, temporarily added to the front row on the sides of the auditorium.  Enough room for a dozen people or so, with some folding chairs set up.  There were only a few people there, so despite the delays, we made it in time to get a seat for our girl.

When we get up the ramp, the event worker who was in charge of that area said, "You can only have one companion seat with the wheelchair."

Sometimes, I can hold it together.  Not as often as I wish, but I've gotten better over the years, I think.  God made me to be an overly-emotional person.  (Friends and family, can I get an "amen" on that?)  This night, I didn't hold it together.  At. All.

The words hit me like a brick as soon as they left the man's mouth.  "You can only have one companion seat with the wheelchair."  I immediately walked closer to him so he could hear me and said, "No! I contacted someone a month and a half ago about needing four seats, including one for a wheelchair."

Funny thing.  When I'm sad, I cry.  When I'm happy, I cry. When I'm angry, I cry.  When I'm in any sort of confrontational situation, even if it's not a heated discussion, even if I hold it together "during," you can bet the tears will come eventually.  And, when I'm advocating for my family in any way, I cry.  So...

The tears came.  Hot tears that come with the involuntary frown.  Dang...  My poor husband.  I can hear his thoughts now.  Oh... yep, there she goes.

The conversation went like this:

Man: I'm sorry, but you can only have one companion seat. 
Me: No. We are a family and we should be able to sit together.
Man: Well, that's not fair to the other handicap people who come.
Me: We are a family of four and we should be able to be together.  I contacted someone a month and a half ago so that we could get four seats.
Man: Can she sit in a regular seat?
Me: No. That's why she's in a wheelchair.
Man: Well, you can't have more than one seat. That's not fair to the other handicap people who come.
Me: No! We are a family! And we should be allowed to sit together.

By now, the tears are streaming down my face.  I'm a mess.  The row of people behind us start telling us that we can have two of their seats so that Brian and Jacob can sit near me and Olivia.  I told them they didn't have to do that, and I started taking my coat off and getting settled, all the while crying and shaking because I was so mad and upset.

The man made sure to tell us that we would not be allowed to climb over the rail that separated the handicap risers from the first row.  By the time Brian helped us get settled, the group behind us had shifted seats and opened up the two seats directly behind me and Olivia.  I. Love. Compassionate. People.  I can't tell you how much it warmed my heart that strangers would do that for my family. 

In order for Brian and Jacob to get to their seats (the seats I could reach behind me and touch), they had to go down the handicap ramp, walk over to the stairs, go up the stairs, walk back behind the full row of seats on the second level, and come back down the stairs to the front row.

I'll come back to this issue in a moment.  First, let me explain what a blessing this concert was.

The music was amazing.  There were 20-30,000 people praising the Lord.  Olivia struggled some, pinching and head-banging, and Brian and I had to take turns wheeling her out of the auditorium a lot because she made it very clear she didn't want to be in there much.  But, she let us put some earplugs in her ears, which really helped calm her down, and she played on the iPad for a while and ate some snacks (including M&Ms).  And when they sang the few songs she knew, her face lit up.  We suddenly realized exactly why we work so hard to include her in things like this.  Because when you see her face light up and you know the music is touching her heart, you feel joy in your soul.  And it's all worth it.

And let me tell you about my boy.  He's a middle schooler now, so there wasn't as much freestyle dancing as he's been known to exhibit in the past, but he sure was fist-pumping to the beat when Skillet took the stage.  And he was just as excited as Brian and me when Olivia's songs began playing.  I love his kind heart so much.  He is the most compassionate, caring child.  He even offered some of his popcorn to everyone sitting around him.  :)  Oh, how I love my big kid.

Brian and Olivia headed out to the car once it was obvious that she was done.  I'm so thankful for my sweet husband, that he let me and Jacob stay for the last band, which was Jacob's favorite.  Skillet was just amazing.  I'm fairly certain I permanently left behind some of my hearing, but it was worth it to stand with my son and worship God together. 

So, all in all, it was a wonderful evening.  I wonder if Olivia thought it was worth the six hour marathon concert to hear a few of her songs.  I sure hope so.

Now, back to the seating issue...

I wholeheartedly get that everyone who needs handicap accessible seating should be able to have it.  I wasn't trying to deny anyone else of a seat.  That's not the point at all.  The point is, that having a wheelchair with one companion seat is not "accommodating."  My family, all four of us, should be able to attend a concert and sit together. Olivia's disabilities should not be a factor in whether or not we get four seats beside each other.  With Olivia's unpredictable behavior, her needs because of her autism and physical disabilities (and let's not forget that she has stopped breathing twice in the last four years), we really need to have two adults with her.  But, because of their rule, only one of us could be with her.  So, when Olivia was sitting beside me, Brian spent most of the time standing at the bottom of the ramp so he could help me quickly if I needed him.

Imagine if it was a special needs child who had medical equipment and needed multiple adults to monitor him. Or maybe a mother who came alone with a handicap child and another child.  They wouldn't be able to sit together?? 

It's not acceptable.  Period.  It's not easy to do things like this with Olivia.  But, we should be able to try.  And when we do get to spend time together outside of our home, we shouldn't have to spend our energy fighting for what's right.  So, I'll be writing to the Greensboro Coliseum management.  I pray for the right words so that their hearts are moved to make changes that truly accommodate those with special needs and their families.

I'm so thankful for the gift of the two seats behind us so that we could sit near each other and worship together as a family.  The Holy Spirit was there, taking away my anger and replacing it with praise for the One who designed our family of four.


The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.   -Matthew 25:40