“There is a special place inhell for people who abusehandicap parking.”

My mom is in a wheelchair .She had two heart attacks and a severestroke last summer all in the spanof one week, leaving the left side of herbody paralyzed.

Being paralyzed means a few thingsfor her: She can’t cook, she can’t take ashower by herself, she can’t get in andout of bed by herself, she can’t, shecan’t, she can’t… and, finally, she can’tdrive.

Having a paralyzed mother means afew things for me: I have to prepare hermeals, I have to help her shower, I haveto get her in and out of bed, I have to, Ihave to, I have to… and, finally, I haveto drive her around town.

I do not typically have pet peeves,but if I had to choose one, just one, Iwould probably choose, well let meput it to you plainly – there is a specialplace in hell for people who abusehandicap parking.

Yes, I’m talking to you (and manyare going to get upset by what I’mabout to say, so earmuffs for little babyears):

The just barely 55-year-old manwho was the first in line at the DMVon his birthday because “age is a givenright, and I deserve it”; the obesewoman who refuses to walk those extrafew steps at the grocery store; thosewho don’t even HAVE a placard anddecided “Hey, that’s a cute picture of awheelchair, maybe I’ll park there”; and,lastly, those who abuse their spouse’s,grandparent’s and parent’s disabilities.More specifically, the 22-year-old girl,yes girl, with five kids who stole hergrandmother’s blue tag.

Oh, I almost forgot about the middle-aged individuals who have no apparentdisability other than extremelaziness.

I have had to, more than once, parkon the opposite side of the parking lot,help my mother get out of the van andinto her wheelchair and push her to ourdestination. It doesn’t really bother me so much that I have to walk, but itmakes her sick after sitting in a bumpywheelchair for three minutes.

If my mother doesn’t have to getout of the car, I refuse to park in thehandicap parking space, even thoughthe vehicle I am driving has a legitimatedisabled parking placard becauseI know there is someone else who needsit far greater than I do. Sure, it might behot outside, and it might be a mile-longwalk to the sliding glass doors of Target,but if she’s not getting out of thecar, I’m not parking there.

I’m thinking about inventing somekind of transport machine where I canliterally zap your car to the parking lotof another building across town justso I can make my mother’s life a littleeasier. It’s hard enough having yourdaughter take care of you, but I cannotimagine being unable to use the oneluxury she has as a disabled person.

So when you get wherever you’re“going,” I’m sure someone will bethere to greet you with a placard ofyour own: “I’m a lazy, uncaring individual,and I deserve to (I guess I’llkeep it PG) walk until my feet fall off.”