Being disabled is not something to wish for. But if you happen to be in this situation and you manage to come to terms with it - which is no easy feat, but honestly, what other options are there? - you can learn a lot about human relations in general, and not only about the disabled lot.

My personal predicament is that I have difficulty walking. I use crutches and sometimes an electric scooter when navigating city streets. It has happened, luckily not too often, that we - I and my scooter - have executed, unintentionally, a spectacular fall. When this occurs, many bystanders rush to me, all of them trying simultaneously to help me up, each one pulling a leg or an arm in a different direction. Had I been knocked unconscious during any of these incidents, I would not have been able to write about them. As I am usually and luckily unhurt, I remember that what I really want of other people in such circumstances is first to let me get my bearings and then to allow me to try and get myself up, with their assistance, cognizant of my particular needs.

Once I am up and away again, I turn the incident over in my mind. On occasion I am reminded of the story of the four boy scouts who were late for a meeting, and came up with the lame excuse that they were helping an old lady cross the street. "That's not a job for a foursome," says their troop leader. "Well, it was" - came the answer - "because she didn't want to cross the street at all."

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I do need and want help at such moments, but ... What makes me wonder each time is the readiness with which people offer their assistance. This has to do, of course, with the natural human instinct to help a fellow man in need. But is this truly an altruistic impulse, or a response to a need, deep inside us, to measure up to certain standards of "humanity"? In other words, I wonder, are they really only helping me or are they also trying to help themselves by trying to appear to be more than just (possibly-not-too-innocent) "bystanders"?

Over-eager ushers

Similarly, whenever I am at the theater, hobbling on my crutches to my seat, usually forced to negotiate stairs, I am often asked by eager ushers, "Do you need any help?" Usually I answer that I could do with a loan, if they can arrange one for me. Once an usherette said that she didn't think that this was within the range of her abilities, but during the interval came to me and said she had spoken to her banker, and something could be arranged!

I'm not being ungrateful or snotty to ushers. I'm just trying to point out the absurdity of the situation, and ergo the question. The only help I could possibly need would be for them to carry me on their back to my seat. Since that is impossible, and not only because of my girth and weight, I have no other idea what they could actually do to help me.

As with love, hate, forgiveness and the tango - it takes two to experience this kind of situation: It is never easy to ask for help as it implies being in need, being unable to support oneself, being weak in some way. Furthermore, there is an intrinsic intricacy in the "supportive" relationship. A "supporter" offers assistance for his or her own reasons, which do not always have anything to do with the actual needs of the "supportee." And the latter does not always know what kind of help is required. But even more to the point: Receiving assistance is usually not the end of the story; indeed, it can be the beginning of a relationship, in which the helping hand wants to shape the result, and the "begging" hand hates being reminded repeatedly of its needy status.

In this supportive relationship, then, both sides are imperfect, if not really disabled, in some way. Each acts first and foremost for reasons of its own, to address its own needs and deeds, but each should be well aware of the other's predicament.

Help, I need somebody. No, not just anybody. And it is neither easy to need help nor to provide it. That can't be helped. Or can it?