Archives For Hope

Nick Newell Is The Man

April 14, 2012 — 9 Comments

That was insane.

I just got back from a bar where I watched MMA up-and-comer Nick Newell win his fight to remain undefeated. 7-0, baby. And honestly, I don’t know how he did it. How he got out of the second round and managed to actually win the third is mind-boggling. The win was a true testament to Nick’s training, endurance, stamina, skill and determination. So proud of him.

Right after the win.

Let me tell you about watching the fight, too. It was hilarious. I was at a bar, just watching the fight by myself. Between me and the TV was a group of seven dudes playing darts and Golden Tee. None of them realized I had one arm. Finally, one of them noticed Nick and yelled, “That dude has one f***in’ arm!” They all started watching and making comments (“They prob’ly don’t let that dude wear a hook in the ring”), not knowing I was right behind them. Then one guy came over during the second round and was like, “Do you see this guy?? F***in’ amazing.” He still had no idea I had one arm. After the fight, he came back over and said how impressive Nick was and I told him I kind of know Nick. Then I gave him a LOH business card. He looked at the card, furrowed his brow, then looked back at me…and then it clicked. “Oh sh**, well now it makes sense. Awesome, man.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

What I noticed was that even though they were making comments about Nick’s arm (none of them really derogatory, just…uninformed?), none of them said anything to the effect of, “He’s really good for having one arm.” They were surprised at how good he was given his short arm, for sure, but he transcended his difference and got props simply for being a great fighter; not a great one-armed fighter. I know Nick will like that.

Great fight. Great night.

Congrats, Nick!

(Follow Nick on Twitter or “like” his Facebook page!)

In Hope
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I Faced My Fear And It Was Awesome

April 10, 2012 — 2 Comments

Last week our family went to Disney World.

It was awesome.

We rented a house with my wife’s family (10 adults, 7 kids) and hit four different parks.  The kids were amazing, the skies were sunny and the Kingdom was magical.  Besides seeing my wife weep with joy as she watched our daughters meet the real life princesses, my favorite moment came when my son overcame his fear of roller coasters.

Granted, I don’t know that Sam has ever even had an opportunity to ride a roller coaster, but when we suggested he go with us on Expedition Everest, that fear became real…real fast.  While the ride was still theoretical, Sam convinced himself he’d love it, so we walked toward the mountain with our Fast Passes.  As we neared, Sam pointed and said, “Dad, look at that mountain!”

 

"Oh, no."

“Yeah, man!  THAT is the roller coaster!” I said.

“Oh…no,” Sam whispered.  “I changed my mind.”

We got to the base and Sam read the sign.  I asked him what he was most afraid of and he started rattling off everything on the sign.  “Heights, far drops, speed, sudden turns…”

So, I started my convincing.

I told him roller coasters are made to scare you, so it’s ok to be scared, but that’s what’s fun!  I told him I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him and that I’d be right by his side the whole time…screaming like a girl.  I told him I knew he could do it and he needed to believe he could, too.  “Just keep telling yourself, ‘I can do it!’ over and over,” I said.  And with that, we started up the mountain to the coaster.

Right before we got on, Sam looks up at me and says, “Dad, you know what I’ve been saying over and over in my head all the way up here?  ‘I can do it.’  And I know I can!”  I smiled and we piled in.  Moments later we were hurtling through a mountain at breakneck speed, screaming all the way, hands high in the air!  At one point the tracks appeared torn apart by a Yeti, the coaster stopped and began going backwards.  As soon as we righted ourselves, it was time for the drop.  Down the mountain we shot, stomachs in our throats…and loving it!

After the ride, Sam and his two cousins hooted and hollered, “THAT WAS AWESOME!”  They loved it…thankfully.  As we walked away, Sam said, “I faced my fear, and it was awesome!”  I think he got that line from his cousin Noah, and I was so happy to hear him say it.  He really did face his fear and I was so proud of him for doing so.  And it paid off for him!

Sam

Facing our fears is difficult, but so often it leads to good things.  Full disclosure: I’m terrible at facing my fears.  Absolutely terrible.  I think that’s why I was so proud of Sam.  And inspired by him.  I kept thinking about how he can use this experience when he comes up against other fears and how valuable it’ll be.  Then I got to thinking, “Wait, how did I convince him to face his fears?”  In this case, it was because I had faced the exact same fear…20-some years ago.  I was terrified of roller coasters as a kid.  Then, in junior high, our class got to go to Great America and all my friends were going on the American Eagle coaster.  It was only the biggest, scariest, wood-iest of them all.  But, I couldn’t chicken out.  Ahh, peer pressure; the ultimate motivation to face your fears.  Well, I got on the ride and ended-up loving it.  From that day forward, I’d ride anything.  Even if it scared me.  I knew from experience that it’d be great.  That’s why I was able to speak so confidently and persuasively to Sam.

Now I just need to learn how to speak in such a way to myself.

What’s your roller coaster?

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People I Want To Meet In The Next Year

April 6, 2012 — 1 Comment

Originally posted on RyanHaack.com

A while ago Brad Lomenick posted a list of people he wants to meet in the next year.  I love the idea, so here’s mine (in no particular order):

1. Donald Miller (Going to meet 5/6/12!)

2. Abigail Thomas

3. Anne Lamott

4. Jim Abbott

5. Tony Memmel (Met 10/23/11)

6. Sara Groves (Met 3/9/12)

7. Sage Cohen

8. Brené Brown

Those are the ones I thought of right off the bat.  I feel like there’s a legitimate chance I can meet them all, too.  I’ve actually had personal correspondence with all of them, so that’s a start.

I know there are more that I’ll add to the list, but I figure I’ll keep it manageable for now.

And what’s the common thread here?  All of these people have inspired me in some way.  Whether by their writing, their lyrics, their voices or their skills, they’ve all shaped me somehow.

Take Jim Abbott, for instance.  I was born with one hand and grew-up loving sports.  In 1989, I was 12, and Jim Abbott, a one-handed pitcher, burst onto the scene.  I was a pitcher in Little League and admired him like no other player.  I followed him throughout his entire career, the ups and downs, and even his stint with my team, the Brewers!  Jim’s crowning achievement was throwing a no-hitter with the Yankees and to this day I occasionally go watch the end of that game on YouTube.

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The picture above is of some of my favorite baseball cards of Jim.  The owner of the card shop where I went every weekend to find a new card gave me that signed picture.  That was a good day.  I’d love to meet Jim one day and just thank him for his inspiration.  I’ve got a year, right?

Each of the people listed above deserves a little write-up, but I’ll save them until after we meet.

Who are the people you’d like to meet this year? 

In Hope
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Meeting Kyle Maynard

March 24, 2012 — 1 Comment

I’m a big fan of learning from experts.

So, when my friend Travis told me that Kyle Maynard was coming to Wisconsin this weekend, I got really excited.

I used my trick and emailed Kyle earlier this week and when he responded, I was over the moon!

After a rough start (car trouble), I made the two hour trek to Tomah from Madison and arrived just as Kyle’s book-signing session was starting.

Me and Kyle

After meeting Kyle briefly, I hungout with his best friend and manager, Joey, for the next hour and a half.  Joey is great.  It was a blast to connect with him and pick his brain about speaking and publishing.

The hosts of the event invited me to stay for dinner and afterwards we all headed over to the high school to watch Kyle’s presentation.  There were probably a thousand people there!  And Kyle’s talk was fantastic.  Poignant, hilarious at times, powerful…he has a gift for challenging and encouraging others.  If you haven’t read his book, No Excuses, you really should.  He wrote it when he was 19 and it’s perfect for kids and adults alike.  His “No Excuses” message is still prevalent, but as he said, “If you come across someone who’s positive 100% of the time…RUN.”  He realizes that we all have those days and even those periods in our life when excuses creep in, but how do we respond to those times?  Do we let them keep us down or do we get back up, dust ourselves off and move forward?  He challenged us to get rid of one excuse last night.  We can all handle that.  So, what’s one excuse that is keeping you from what you want to be doing?  From your dreams?

Get rid of that excuse.

He also spoke about finding your purpose, your “why.”  When we know our why, there’s no how we can’t overcome.

It was so fun to watch all the people talk to Kyle after.  Seeing their smiles and tears and hearing them laugh; clearly that’s what it’s all about for Kyle.  Hearing their stories.

Yesterday was an experience I won’t soon forget.  Kyle and Joey were both gracious and kind and I count myself lucky to have gotten the chance to get to know them.  And to top it all off, Kyle agreed to do a little interview for LOH!  “Joey, can I borrow you for a minute?” I asked, needing a camerman.  Yeah, I probably could have phrased that differently.  Oh, well.  Enjoy!

Make sure you go to Kyle’s website and checkout the videos of him being super famous.  You can also follow him on Twitter.  And the documentary about his quest to fight MMA, A Fighting Chance, is on Hulu (naughty language alert).

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We Need To Stop Comparing And Do This Instead

March 7, 2012 — 5 Comments

Apparently, if I’m ever going to write a memoir, I need to start skiing.

Not me.

I’m currently reading Emily Rapp’s Poster Child and it’s the third memoir in a row wherein the limb-different author was some sort of champion skier.  First it was Josh Sundquist, then Kevin Michael Connolly and now Emily Rapp.  Now, to be fair, they are all missing one or both legs, so I could probably get by without skiing.  But, still…

Reading these memoirs has made me try to remember all the things I did as I was growing-up.  And the fact of the matter is…I was pretty dang normal.  I never aspired to be a champion athlete, though I played every sport imaginable.  Except soccer, which is what everyone assumes I played.  “Because you don’t need hands, ya know?” they say.  I played little league baseball and was a pitcher like my hero, Jim Abbott, but I stopped before high school.  I ran track my freshman year, but then I focused on music starting my sophomore year.  I was in choir and wind ensemble and orchestra and jazz…whatever was offered, I did it.  I played trumpet, euphonium, and the valve trombone.  Junior year I went through my drama phase, gracing the stage for a musical and a play my senior year.

I’ve been to Europe and I’ve been to Haiti.  I got married and I have three kids.  I’ve been a youth pastor and I’m currently our church’s associate pastor.  I’ve held all sorts of jobs and have lived in a few different places.

Normal.

As my friend Desi said recently, “You’re just a normal guy.”

Here’s the thing I’m realizing, though: most of us are normal.  There’s a reason they’re making a movie of Kevin’s life and not mine.  He did something creative and unique!  His story should be told.  And that’s awesome.  But, I’ll admit, sometimes I get down on myself for not being more ambitious.  Like, why wasn’t I more determined to conquer everything when I was younger?  I believe I could have been a star athlete.  Or an actor.  Anything, really.  And I don’t mean for that to sound arrogant, I just really believe that when I put my mind to something I can accomplish it.  So, why didn’t I do that more when I was a kid?

I’ll tell you why I think it was.  It was because I didn’t have anything to prove.  At least I didn’t think I did.  That and I had a short attention span.  Honestly, though, you’d think I’d want to prove to everyone that I could not only do everything you two-handers could do, but I could do it better.  If I was going to Jump-Rope-For-Heart, I’d win it.  If you could win that.  I’d become a star baseball pitcher.  I’d become an actor who elicits howls of laughter or stifled sobs every time I took the stage.  Whatever it was, I’d be the best.

But it was never like that.  I did something I liked and then I moved on.  And I think that’s what most of us do.  We try things and if we like them, we keep doing them.  Most of us aren’t the best at whatever it is we like to do.  I mean, logically, only one person can be the best, so the rest of us aren’t.  And that’s fine.  We all have our own stories.  And your story is just as valid as mine or as Josh’s or as anybody’s.  Maybe our stories won’t ever be told within the pages of a book, but they will be told.  Your family, your friends, the people in your community…they’ll come to know your story.

I dare us to live a good one.

And then, to not be afraid to tell it.

In Hope, Humor , , , ,
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Double Take: A Memoir by Kevin Michael Connolly

March 3, 2012 — 6 Comments

If I ever meet Kevin Connolly, and I hope I do, I’ll probably stare at him.

Just being honest.

See, Kevin was born without legs.

Is that an amazing picture or what?

In his memoir, Double Take: A Memoir, one story Kevin shares is how he turned the tables on those who stared.  The idea was brilliant.  Kevin uses a skateboard to get around instead of a wheelchair or prosthetic legs, so his vantage point is unique to begin with.  At one point he became so frustrated with the staring, he decided to use his camera to stare back.  He’d skate around and, while looking the other way, he’d snap a picture of someone he could sense was staring.  The results were The Rolling Exhibition.

Double Take: A Memoir, is Kevin’s life story…even though he’s only 26 years old.  “Originally I didn’t want to write a memoir,” he says in the Epilogue.  “The genre felt too loaded for me; I whined and griped about how unqualified I was to write a retrospective on such a short life.”  I love his honesty.  And I’m glad he fought through the insecurities to write it anyway.

If you’re familiar with my blog, you know I also have experience with being stared at.  At some point or another, though, those of us with physical differences realize that our parents dealt with the staring way before we did.  This realization was powerful for Kevin.  As he showed his photos to his parents, his dad said, “We’ve been seeing that your whole life.” His dad also said it was “pretty tough to keep myself from smacking some of these folks over the years.”  A couple months ago I had a very similar conversation with my own dad.  Parents of children with obvious physical differences are a rare and inspiration breed.

Kevin also speaks to the reality of feeling “normal” only within our circle of friends.  Especially those of us with obvious physical differences.  “Unlike me, many people are able to hide their differences from the world.  Whether it’s not getting on the dance floor because you have wobbly knees or wearing turtlenecks to cover that scar on your collarbone, you can exercise some sort of control over how you are perceived by the outside world.  But the fact that I don’t have legs is pretty hard to hide.  Even if I wore prosthetics, I still couldn’t hide the fact that I’m missing these limbs.  Only when I’m inside my circle of family and friends is my disability so familiar that it’s normal,” Kevin writes.  Kevin is so right.  It stil amazes me when my family and friends say they don’t notice my arm is missing.  But, I believe them.  And I appreciate it.

Double Take: A Memoir, is a well-written, captivating story of one young man’s life so far.  Kevin’s stories about his family, his skiing experiences, his world-traveling, his love found and lost (and found and lost again), all from the unique perspective of having no legs, are powerful.  If you’re a parent or a friend of someone with a difference, you’ll love Kevin’s story.  And if you are a person with a difference, you’ll identify completely with his experience.

(Full disclosure: There’s some strong language in the book, so it really is for adults.  Pretty sure it’d be rated R if it was a movie.  Wait…can I buy the movie right to this??)

Here’s a fantastic interview with Kevin.  Also, Meredith hits on him.  Seemed more awkward than if she had just said he was an inspiration.  Anywho…

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I Have One Hand And I Worked At Starbucks

February 18, 2012 — 32 Comments

Perhaps you saw the recent story about Eli Pierre being denied a job at Starbucks because he has one arm.

Obviously, the situation caught my attention.

As I’ve written before, I’m pretty lenient when it comes to peoples’ reactions to me; including their stares.  But, I think it’s safe to say that I would have handled this situation, uh, considerably more undignified than Eli did.  Things would have been thrown.  Names would have been called.

I hesitate, though, to be angry with Starbucks as a whole.  It sounds like the onus here is smack dab on the hiring manager.  It amazes me that this thought process actually exists.  And I use the word “process” loosely.

I also have a deeper connection to the story because 11 years ago I was a barista at Starbucks.  This was before everything was automated, too.  I ground the beans and loaded the hoppers and tamped and pulled shots and pumped syrup…I did it all, baby.  And I was good at it.  My manager, the guy who hired me, was a big, bald, hilarious gay guy with a sun tattoo on his calf.  He did not discriminate against me, nor did Starbucks against him.  I enjoyed my co-workers and recall my time there fondly.

This is not me.

Remembering my stint at Starbucks got me thinking about the other jobs I’ve had over the years.  I had to laugh at the irony of some of them.  My first job was at ACE Hardware.  I carried bags of softener salt, cut keys and glass, bagged nuts and bolts and countless other manual tasks.  I also worked at Eddie Bauer in the Mall of America for a while where I had to fold clothes every shift.  Then there was the job I had processing donations for a non-profit.  I opened envelopes, sorted papers and entered data into a computer every day.  There was also the time I worked at a shoe store, carrying and stacking boxes and tying shoes for customers.  Oh, and I went to school for radio and then worked at a station for a while where I spliced tape, ran the board for various programs and performed on-air while producing.

As you can see, there was a lot of room in each of those jobs for me to feel like I couldn’t do things with only one hand.  And a lot of opportunity for other people to think I couldn’t.  Very rarely, though, was my arm ever brought-up.  In fact, the only times I can remember were when I worked at the hardware store and my concerned boss just wanted to make sure I was ok.  Other than that, it was smooth sailing.

That’s why Eli’s story boggles my mind.  As I’m sure it boggled his while it was happening.  The closest I came to something like this was when I was being helped by the Department of Vocational Rehabilitation and my counselor suggested I get a prosthetic arm, “just for aesthetic reasons. You know, to help in interviews and that sort of thing.”  I was furious.  I told him that if someone didn’t want to hire me because of my arm, besides being illegal, it was their loss.  And I wouldn’t want to work for them anyway.  He seemed satisfied with that answer.  Not like he had a choice.

And as bad as that was, it’s a far cry from what Eli experienced.

So, what do we learn from this?  We learn that ignorance, bigotry, and insensitivity are alive and well.  If you’re black, asian, short, tall, blind, deaf, wheelchair bound, limb-different, speak with a lisp…basically, if you’re different in any noticeable way, you are already familiar with this fact.

I do believe, though, that this is the exception and not the rule.  I believe whole-heartedly that most people desire to treat others with respect and dignity.  Even when they are unsure of how to react to someone who is different, I believe the majority are trying their best to do the right thing.  To look those who are different in the eye, to not stare, to ask questions respectfully, to accept.

And when those of us who are different encounter the person who hasn’t come around yet, like Eli did, we have a choice.  We can let it beat us and bruise us.  We can let it send us into a tailspin.  We can let it harden our heart.  We can allow it to shape our thinking about everyone.

Or, we can bring it to the light.  We can use it to educate and illuminate.  We can become stronger by pushing through it.  We can stand-up for those who are different and invite those who aren’t to do the same.

We can overcome.

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This One Time I Broke My Little Arm

February 2, 2012 — 10 Comments

In October of 2008, I broke my left arm.

In retrospect, it’s a good thing I broke that one.  At the time, though, I didn’t think it was such a good thing.

Over the next several posts I’d like to share what I remember about that night and what I learned from the experience.  This first one I wrote in the weeks after surgery, while recovering.  Basically a journal entry.  Oh, and be warned…the pictures are kind of gross.

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“F***!”  A pastor’s not supposed to say that, so I apologized to my friend Geoff who heard me.  “It’s cool, dude.”  But, it was not cool…dude.  Seconds before, my feet failed me and I fell down three slick steps onto the pavement.  As a result, I was doing that guy thing where you wander around, moaning and groaning and trying to make yourself think everything’s, well, cool.  While walking across the yard, I felt my left arm.  Apparently that’s what I landed on.  My elbow felt like mush and there was something sticking out where it normally wouldn’t.  “Geoff, you gotta take me to the hospital,” I said.  And he did.

I was so drugged-up, I’m surprised I thought of taking this picture with my phone.

After about two hours in the ER, I got the bad news.  “Ryan,” the doctor said, “You didn’t just break your arm.  You broke the HELL out of it!”  He actually seemed somewhat excited and started drawing on the whiteboard in the room, diagramming my shattered elbow and split humerus.

That doesn't go there.

That doesn’t go there.

The unique wrinkle in all of this is that my left arm, the broken arm, ends just past the elbow.  I was born that way.  I grew up that way.  And unless I experience a miraculous “healing,” I’ll live the rest of my life that way.  I have no problem with that.  But when he was describing the severity of my injuries, I got really scared.  When he told me he wanted me to meet with the orthopedic surgeon the next day to “discuss the options,” I immediately asked, “Do you mean…amputation?”  This coming from someone whose arm is already amputated (congenitally).  Thankfully, amputation was not in the cards, but everything would be different now.  Right?

The surgery was successful, but the next two and a half weeks were a drugged-up blur.  I felt like I wasn’t accomplishing anything, even though everybody said that recovery itself is accomplishing something.  It was hard to convince myself that that was true.  I had two weeks off of work!  I could have done anything!  At least that’s how I felt.  But every time I opened a book to read, my eyes would close.  Every single thing was exhausting.  I still struggle a little bit with those two weeks, wondering if I could have done more.

I warned you! You gotta admit, that’s pretty hardcore.

Another thing that’s been really hard about all this is that it’s made me even more fearful than I already was.  For example, during the first week of recovery Julie took the kids out to run some errands.  Normal.  At some point I called her and got her voicemail.  I tried again.  Voicemail.  Again…voicemail.  Panic.  Obviously something happened!  Something bad, just like what happened to me!  My heart was racing, as was my mind, but faster.  Were they in an accident?!  It only takes a split second!  I’m living proof of that!  I dialed again.  “Hello?”  “Are you ok??  Why didn’t you answer??”  “Relax,” she said, “We’re fine.  My phone was in my purse on vibrate.”  Then, nearly through tears, I explained how everything’s different.

I don’t like that.  What’s worse is that I know I have nothing to fear.  Let me rephrase: theoretically, I know I have nothing to fear.  Why is it so difficult to believe?  Why am I so afraid of money and being transparent and living with integrity and taking risks and failure and physical harm to me and my family and missing opportunities and being perceived incorrectly and not being liked and having too much to read and not being healthy enough and my job…it’s never ending.

I met with my friend Scott for coffee and he said, “I come from a family of worriers.  I try to look at my anxiety and fear as gauges of my belief.  If I’m that scared, do I really believe that God will be faithful in that situation?”  I think that’s a great way to look at it.  I also think I have a long way to go in trusting in God’s faithfulness to me.  I want to believe 2 Timothy 1:7, “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity (of cowardice, of craven and cringing and fawning fear), but [He has given us a spirit] of power and of love and of calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control. (Amplified)”

Sometimes I feel like I’m making too much out of all this.  Lots of people have accidents and surgeries.  Am I being too dramatic?  How can I know?  And how do I know if I’m processing this all correctly?  See?  Stupid fear creeping in again.

I also feel like I should be more motivated; more excited about life.  I should be taking it by the neck and swinging it around like a rag doll.  I should be setting goals and breaking down the barriers to victory.  I should be doing all the things I know I should be doing…but I’m not.  My actions have basically stayed the same.  In fact, if anything it seems that I want to stay in these doldrums.  Today a friend asked me, “How ya doin’” as she nodded toward my arm.  My response?  “Ehhh…ok, I guess.”  Shouldn’t I say, “Every day things are getting better.  I can’t believe how blessed I am to have been able to have surgery to repair my arm and to have incredible friends and family that loved and cared for me through all this.  Sure, my arm will never be the same as it was, but I’m looking forward to the challenge of learning to thrive with it!”

Even writing that is embarrassing.  It’s not me.  Yet.  I’m still scared and angry and sad sometimes.  How will I play piano now?  How will I carry boxes?  Is everything healing correctly?  Should I be doing anything more or less to help?  Just how different will it all be?

Seven screws and a piece of metal. Thanks, doc!

To be honest, given time, it might all go back to normal.  Who knows.

In the meantime, I’m learning.  Learning how to recover, how to cope, how to hope, how to trust, how to process, how to move forward…I need to.  I have to.

I will.

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So…it’s been over three years since the accident.  In my next post I’ll look back and tell more of the post-recovery story and share what I learned from it all.

In Help, Hope
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How To Survive Being Stared At

January 28, 2012 — 56 Comments

I originally posted this piece on RyanHaack.com in June 2011. 

The other day some kids stared at me.  My son’s class was meeting at the park to perform their year-end songs and I decided to surprise Sam by coming.  Earlier I told him I had to work, so when his friends saw me walking toward the park they started shouting, “Sam!  Your dad’s here!  I thought you said he was for sure not coming?!”  Sam ran to me, smiling sheepishly, and wrapped his arms around my neck.  Then his friends came over.  There they stood.  All lined-up, their little 7-year old fingers pointed at me like an adorable firing squad.  “What happened to his arm?” some of them quietly asked.  “Hey, boys,” I said.  I mean, I’m used to this.

I was born missing my left arm just below the elbow.  People have been staring at me my whole life.  Heck, I stare at me when I walk by a store front or when I see myself in a video.  I’m different; it’s a fact of life.  So, those situations at the park are not altogether uncommon.  Kids are curious.  They also have no sense of decorum.  And that’s totally cool, but honestly, it’s still hard sometimes.  It’s hard to be stared at, even when it’s been happening to you for 33 years.

n532525602 3058789 279 300x286 How To Survive Being Stared At

So, how do I deal with it?  It helps me to remember a few things.

Kids don’t know any better. I’m not saying kids aren’t smart or anything, I’m just saying they’ve (probably) never seen somebody like me and their brains are still in that stage where they’re like, “HOLY CRAP. THAT DUDE IS MISSING HIS ARM. I MUST KNOW WHY. I WILL ASK HIM IMMEDIATELY.”  I think my favorite reaction is when I tell them that I was born without it and they say, “No you weren’t.  Where is it really?”  They’re convinced I’m somehow hiding it.  It’s awesome.  So, yes, it can still be somewhat awkward when kids stare, but I can’t fault them.  They’re curious; and for good reason.

Parents usually don’t know any better, either. Honestly, parents are harder to deal with.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad at them.  I kind of pity them, actually.  Most of the time they have no idea how to react when their child gets vocal about my arm.  And I can’t blame ‘em.  I mean, that’s not one of those things you practice with your child.  ”Ok, so if we happen to see someone with one arm today, let’s make sure we politely say hello and walk by them without staring.  If you must ask them what happened, please do so with dignity and tact.”  Right.  Usually the kid blurts out, “HE’S GOT A BROKE ARM!” and the mom’s face contorts in terror while she tries not to stare at me and then yells at her kid to be quiet.  Awkward.  So, for all you parents, take the opportunity to teach your kid that it’s ok to be curious and then help them ask the questions they’re wondering about.  Everybody wins when that happens.

We are all infatuated with differences. Did you ever have that little, thick Guinness Book of World Records when you were a kid?  The one with those humongous twins on tiny motorcycles?  And that super tall guy?  And the dude with the fingernails that curled and curled because they were so long?  Only now do I recognize the irony in my obsession with the abnormal.  The fact is, differences catch our attention.  And that’s not bad, it just…is.  I notice people stealing glances at my arm during conversations and it doesn’t bother me a bit.  I know they can’t help it.  They’re not trying to be rude.  It’s like looking at a white sheet of paper and trying not to stare at the bright yellow blotch in the corner.  Impossible.  I understand that.

And while these ideas help me to some extent, the reality is that sometimes it still hurts to be stared at.  Maybe you feel the same way.  Maybe you’re tall.  Or short.  Or overweight.  Or you have red hair.  Or no hair.  Or you limp.  Or you use a wheelchair.  Or you’re blind.  Or you’re a different color than all your friends.  It could be anything.  I want to tell you that it’s ok to not enjoy being stared at.  I also want to tell you to accept that it is a fact of life.  Most people don’t mean to be rude.  Most people don’t even want to stare, they just can’t help it.

I challenge you to believe that you were made just right. I had an atheist college professor named Dr. Goodpaster (delicious, right?) who once asked me, “Since you believe in God, shouldn’t you be mad at him for making you that way?”  Despite being horribly offensive, his question does make sense.  Well, if you believe the only people worth anything are perfectly shaped.  I told him that, no, I don’t believe I should be mad at God.  He made me this way for a reason.  And I believe He made Dr. Goodpaster the way He did for a reason.

And I believe He made you the way He did for a reason.

I believe each of us are “wonderfully made.”

And when we believe that, it’s makes surviving the stares a little bit easier.

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I Wear My Wedding Ring On My Right Hand

January 19, 2012 — 13 Comments

I threw my first wedding ring (the one I had worn for nearly nine years) into the Caribbean Sea.

Accidentally.

My wife had inscribed, “You amaze me” in that one.

We thought long and hard about what to have inscribed in my second ring.

“You amaze me…still.”

I like it.

Ring, The Second

I never thought about the whole wedding ring situation when I was young.  I mean, I was a boy, so there’s that.  It just never occurred to me that I’d have to wear mine on the “wrong hand.”  It’s not like I had a choice, anyway.  My future wife would just have to deal with it.

And deal with it she has.

I don’t remember ever talking with her about the fact that I’d be wearing my wedding ring on my right hand.  It was never an issue.  I do remember, however, deciding that we would save money by getting me a simple, silver ring.  We got it online for $15.  And it lasted me nearly ten years.

I love what wedding rings represent; unending love between spouses.  So romantical.  We all look forward to sliding that ring onto the finger of the one we love.  For those of us in the limb-different community, though, we need to get creative.  Like Nick Vujicic.  You’ve probably seen him.  He doesn’t have arms or legs.  He just got engaged and I’m curious about what he’s going to do.  And my new friend George is missing both arms.  He’s an incredible musician, so he’ll have no trouble finding a lady friend.  I’m excited to see what he does one day when he’s standing at the altar ready to get married.

I’d love to hear your stories!  If you’re limb-different, how did you get creative with your wedding ring?  And if you’re a parent or relative of an LD child, don’t worry.  Just like everything else, they’ll figure it out.

If worse comes to worse, you could always move to a country where the right hand is the right hand for the wedding ring.

On second thought…don’t do that.

Here’s how I put on and take off my wedding ring:

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