Leaving Treadmarkz Across the Universe

by Treadmarkz

A co-worker today was talking with me, getting to know a little more about my disability, when he asked me “Do you feel that you are discriminated against?” While this is a valid question, I can’t say I’ve thought about it much. The only time in my life I can think of when I was discriminated against was on the day I was born when the doctor told my parents “His life will not be worth living.” Anyone who has ever been discriminated against knows that this kind of talk can often make you stronger, more self-assured. I don’t think I have ever been discriminated against in a job interview because I know that as an applicant it is my job to show what I CAN do. If I ever did not get a job it was probably because of something stupid I said in the interview. And I don’t feel like I have to try twice as hard, or be twice as good, to get the job instead of a “normal” person. So, no I am not “discriminated” against in the popular sense of the word because of my disability. I am speaking for myself, as I know what others have endured from a largely uneducated population, on the subject of disabilities. If anything my disability causes people to lend me a hand more than they might otherwise. And we can talk all we want about how we don’t like it when people insist on helping us, but really a little common courtesy is nice every once in a while. I don’t mind.

But the disabled are the only minority group that I can think of that are discriminated against through something close to pity rather than hate. And why should this be, when apart from those who have become disabled at some point during their lives, every minority group I can think of is discriminated against because of the way they were born: skin color, gender, sexual orientation, ability. Now, I am not suggesting that someone should run out and form an anti-disabled Vertical Supremacist group to remedy this situation, nor am I suggesting that other minorities should be pitied. But it’s just another paradox involved in “what it is to be disabled” and it is very telling. We should be recognizing what it is that makes all of us human, not pondering “to hate or to pity, that is the question.”

by Treadmarkz

When I was a kid, I loved that song “St. Elmo’s Fire” by John Parr. Not only did it have a great rhythm to it, but I always loved it when Parr sang “Gonna be your man in motion/All I need is a pair of wheels.” Eventhough I was very young (about 5 probably) these lyrics put the image in my mind of being the hero to a girl, any girl I had a schoolyard crush on. I had no idea that the song, and that line in particular, was written in honor of Rick Hansen, a Paralympian, now a spinal chord injuries activist. But it got me thinking about the idea of a man in a wheelchair being more than just a man in a wheelchair. Then, a few years later, someone, I forget who, gave me a comic book called “Man in Motion” where the superhero was disabled. His Batmobile was a wheelchair! Could this be???
I didn’t know that one day the man who played Superman, Christopher Reeve would have his physical abilities taken away in an accident. I had not been a fan of Superman (I always read Batman comics) so the accident didn’t touch me in the same way it did for others. Don’t get me wrong, I have never been able to walk so whenever I hear about someone who has walked all their lives losing that ability, it hurts me to think of it, and I can’t imagine what it would feel like inside. But I just didn’t make the same emotional association with him as people who had watched him and loved him on-screen. While Reeves became a real hero to millions after his accident, I still didn’t understand why. What had changed? He was the same guy. I did not know much about his contributions to “disabled issues” at the time. I just figured that there were people who always were active for disabled rights who deserved kudos. That was my mindset. I think I just had the attitude that I wanted to believe in myself, and not put all my hopes on a disabled Idol.

I will never ever forget the night he died. I had lost my job months before and was desperately trying to regain my confidence, and make a financial contribution to my then 5-month old marriage. I wanted to be my wife’s Man in Motion, her knight, all that. I was up that night on the Internet looking through job postings, flipping through the Yellow Pages. A point came where I just couldnt handle it anymore. It was well-past midnight and I just chucked the phone book down, and pounded my fist and swore a bit but eventually turned on the TV. When I went to bed after hearing the news, my wife woke up hearing me noisily come into the room. She knows when something is wrong. When she asked me, I began to rant about not finding a job. “And to top it off,” I said “Christopher Reeve is dead.” I had never really shared with her how I felt about Christopher Reeve but she must have known I felt something deep within me. She just put her arms around me, saying “It’s okay if you feel like crying.” I already was, but at the same time I was in disbelief that I was. It was around that time that I had this notion floating around in my head that heroes did not exist; that it was all in the mind. Then I decided if there were heroes, you don’t find them in movies, and I was right. I found out there is such a thing as a hero which is much more powerful than I had ever imagined.

by Treadmarkz

Carrying on in the same vein as my last posting, a friend of mine (also a paraplegic) and I had a discussion a while back about wheelchair sports. It was his feeling that wheelchair athletes tend to be so focused on wheelchair sports that it gives the impression that people in wheelchairs were one-dimentional. I am sure this could be especially troubling for those in wheelchairs who are more intellectual types than sporty. But the way I see it, whether you are in a wheelchair or not, if you love something, if you are honestly and truly passionate about something, then it is natural to show it. Especially if you plan to make it a big part of your life and succeed in it. It is likely the same with guys like Terrell Owens, a football player whom I consider to be passionate about his NFL career. Though I’m sure he’s fairly intelligent, I would guess he’d rather talk about how to get to the Super Bowl than how to reform Social Security. It doesn’t have to mean there is nothing else going on in the athlete’s head. People in wheelchairs took the court in the first place because they wanted the world to know that they could do it just as well as anyone. If we no longer had these passionate men and women, there would be nobody to mentor the younger people for whom sports is also a passion, and we might end up back where we started with the general assumption being that a person in a wheelchair can only take a desk job.