Playing in the snow was not as exciting for me as it was other kids.  Snow and disabled people don’t make a great combination.  Still to this day I’m still puzzled how R2D2, the galactic cripple,  moved with such ease around the planet Hoth. My mom would spend an hour bundling me up in a snow suit and put mittens on my hands to go outside to play.  You have all seen my hands, putting mittens on me is as challenging as solving a Rubik’s Cube.

Let me take a moment to list the many ways that I could play in the snow:

1. Make snow angels

That’s it. 1 hour to dress. 2 hours of play.  A lot of dumb ass snow angles in the front yard.

When I was young I attended a school with just disabled people.  Like regular schools, they too would have an annual Christmas show.  The major difference was that most of the cast was non-verbal.  It was difficult to tell whether they were singing jingle bells, frosty the snowman, or silent night…it all sounded the same!  Being that I was in the front my back was soaked from their spit.  Their Christmas play was more like an nativity set with Joseph wearing a hockey helmet, given that no one could actually move around on stage.

I remember one time that my mom brought me to sit on Santa’s knee so I could tell him what I wanted for Christmas.  Sitting on his knee, Santa asks, “David, Do you want Santa to bring you a new pair of legs for Christmas?”

First off, why is Santa talking in 3rd person?

Second, isn’t Santa supposed to listen to what I want instead of drawing attention to me being disabled?

Third, why do I smell Scotch?

I replied, “The Millennium Falcon, page 345 in the Christmas wish book, with batteries!”

Christmas Eve always brought great excitement…Santa was coming to bring presents!  Would I get the Millennium Falcon or the ‘Race ‘n Chase’ race track?   I remember trying to pretend to be sleeping one Christmas Eve as ‘Santa’ was attempting to put together (what I would come to find out) a race track.  The cusses of “God D***t, Stupid piece of sh!t,” filled the air.  I remember thinking to myself, “Santa has quite a potty mouth for a jolly man”.

We all have special childhood memories of Christmas.  As adults we get to relive the magic of Christmas through little ones.  Instead of receiving – we give.  We give memories for the next generation.

Have a great Christmas everyone!

Until next time…

My dad passed away over 13 years ago. I cannot go a single day without thinking of him. He was a great man. I regret that I have more appreciation for him now than when he was still with us. Maybe this is because I have grown into a replica of him.

I wish he could have seen first how all of the sacrifices that he and my mom endured paid off to make their son a man.  I wish he could have witnessed me falling in love to become the husband I’m proud to be.  I wish he could have seen the boy that everyone labeled a ‘cripple’ evolve into an adult that strives to excel in his profession.  I wish he could see me living a full and independent life.  I wish we could talk.  I wish he could see my eyes water up as I type this.  I wish I could hug him.

We had our struggles and our differences over the years.  It’s only now that I know why he was so hard on me.  Society considered me an underdog but he believed in me.  My father could be considered underdog himself growing up.  With a grade 8 education and callus hands from long hours of  hard labour, he became a part owner of a company that employed over 100 employees.

When a loved one dies it forces us to stop and take inventory of our lives.  To measure who we are and what we have become.  I don’t have those answers for myself but I know who my dad was.  My dad was a strong leader that lead without having to say a word.  He was a man with a huge heart…that it ended up quitting on him from caring and loving so much through his life.  A man that loved stirring the pot and playing countless practical jokes.  A man that worked hard to give me the opportunities I have now.  A man that gave unconditionally in silence.

After my father died I heard stories of his giving nature.  I heard that my father would deliver groceries to his employee that was off work on disability and was struggling to feed his family.  Three weeks after his funeral I received a letter from a church that explained how my father worked on their their furnace many times through the years even though they could never afford to pay for the repairs.   There were many more stories that were told.  My dad never talked about any of these things…that was the type of man he was.

How will I be remembered?  I’m dying to find out.

Until next time…

The most common question people have about someone with a disability is if they can have sex.  Let’s put it this way, I didn’t go through my vasectomy for a good time.  However, this question was always in the back of the mind of  everyone I dated.  Over time I wanted to have my opening line be, “Hi, I’m Dave…and I can do it”.  I can disappoint a lady just as well as my walking peeps can.

I didn’t start dating until later in high school.  I had to wait until girls got their driver’s license.  I realize that dating a disabled guy might not be considered cool, but having my mom drive would have made it worse.  My mom’s singing along to her 8-track of Glen Campbell singing ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’ would not have set the right mood for the date.

Caveman used clubs to begin their courtship.  Our generation used mixed tapes.  I know I’m going to get heckled about admitting this…but I’m sure I wasn’t alone in doing this in high school.  When looks are not your selling point, nothing sealed the deal like spending hours making a mixed tape that included  ’In your Eyes’ and ‘Somebody’ for that special lady.  If you were smart, you used your dual tape deck to make multiple copies of this love potion in case that week’s attempt didn’t workout.

When preparing for a date I would think ahead to what I might say.  Obviously she isn’t going to be interested with my boring self…so I have to portray what I would be like if I was interesting.   I guess telling her that I scored 4 touchdowns in the high school championship would be a stretch…

In addition to this I would have to manage how much I drank during the day.  No,  not ‘liquid courage’ but ANY fluid.  I would quit drinking anything at 2pm for a 6pm date.  I didn’t want to take the chance that the restaurant washroom wasn’t accessible, and asking her to help me might be considered a perverted request.  Gigity!  Alternatively, wetting my pants would not likely lead to a second date (unless I was lucky enough to connect with her freshly after a really bad relationship).

I did not use my wheelchair on dates too often.  Since I’m able to walk with assistance, I would have my date walk me.  Something I discovered while dating, and verified over my 5 years of marriage,  that women do not wear practical shoes out.  Walking me is usually easy…unless you are wearing 4 inch heels.   It was like being walked  along a tight rope.  Having my date walk me assured that at least we would hold hands during our date.  Who’s got game?  Davey’s got game. Plus, I got to make sure she didn’t have ‘man hands’.

In an attempt to be independent I would always order chicken fingers so I would not have to ask her to cut my meat up.  Chicken fingers is one of the last socially acceptable thing to pick up and eat with your fingers.  The fact that chicken fingers were on the menu tells you the type of places I would bring my dates too.  Shut up, I’m frugal.

We have all been exposed to being on a date where the other person will talk your ear off over the most uninteresting things imaginable.  When this happened to me, she would say, “You are such a great listener”.  Not really…I just can’t walk away.  Falling out of the booth and crawling away might have given her the hint.

Even though dating was excruciating, I would not change anything  After a long time playing this game, I finally won my soul mate.

Until next time…

My parents dedicated their lives to make sure that I have the life I have.

I was born in 1971.  At this time a lot of parents were advised to have their disabled child checked in an institution so they can get the ‘care’ they need.   Parents were told to not have high hopes as their was not much hope in the world for a disabled person. They  chose the path that no one dared to travel.  They were committed for me to have a life.  A life with highs and lows.  A life of love and heartbreaks.  A life of laughing and crying. A life of success and mistakes.  A life to the fullest.  A life I can call my own.

I’m grateful for your numerous battles with school boards who were not ready to accept me.

I’m grateful for you being a hard ass by making me work all hours of the night to one finger type my assignments.

I’m grateful that you didn’t make excuses for me.

I’m grateful that you helped me build an armor shield that I would need to depend on when you weren’t around.

I’m grateful for the many hours you spent with me in the hospital rooms telling me the pain would not be forever.

I’m grateful for all the sacrifices you made to buy the special equipment I needed.

I’m grateful for everything I have now.

You did an amazing job in raising someone who is a husband, who is a brother, who is an uncle, who is a son-inlaw, brother-in-law, uncle, and co-worker.  You did an awesome job raising Dave.

We had stairs in our house while growing.  Stairs that were a huge obstacle for me.  Despite asking my dad many times to build a ramp he never did.  For the longest time I thought it was because he couldn’t be bothered.  A week before he died he told me that the reason why he never built the ramp was because he would not always be around to build ramps for me in this world…so I needed to be prepared to climb for myself.

For those of you that have children or are about to have a child, remember it’s not the material things you give them, it’s not about knowing all the right things to do, it’s about giving them the opportunity to experience a full life.

I think I’m going to call my mom right now.

Until next time…