I get George Costanza Syndrome when I use a wallet.
I usually just cram everything in my pocket. Right now, for instance, I have random receipts, some Chapstick, my business card case, my debit card, five pieces of folded-up paper with lists on them and a few other things in there.
But, whether I have a wallet or my pocket full o’ crap, the checkout line at any retailer is one place I get flustered consistently.
It’s just one of those places where my difference is spot-lighted. Spot-lit? Whatever. I’m standing there, the cashier tells me how much it is, and then I have to pay them. If I have cash in my wallet, I tuck it between my short arm and chest and fumble around to remove the bills. If my method of payment is in my pocket full o’ crap, I either have to dig around in there or pull everything out and put it on the counter to sift through.
I’m sure nobody else even cares, but for some reason I put a lot of pressure on myself in that situation. Especially if there’s a line behind me. Everybody is waiting for the one-handed guy to finish his transaction and God forbid if I should drop something…how embarrassing!
The truth is, I know there are some easy fixes to this. I could always keep my debit card in my back pocket. Problem solved. The only thing is, I’ll never remember to do that. Never. I could also just relax. Nobody cares how nimble I am at paying for my goods…except me!
Where’s the fun in that, though?
The truth is, we all get flustered from time to time, right? It’s a part of life. If anything, it builds character. It keeps us humble. It teaches us about vulnerability. We learn from it.
So, the next time you get flustered, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and smile.
A recent article about a limb-different boy in Texas winning his events at a swim-meet has people talking about the mis-use of the term “one-armed.” Ben Ramirez clearly has two arms, but is missing part of one; like me.
The Man, The Myth, The Legend – Ben Ramirez
So, what’s the deal? Why does the media default to “one-armed” when there’s any kind of arm limb-difference? Jim Abbott even spoke to the phenomenon in his book, Imperfect. Jim has nearly two full arms, but a malformed left hand, and still he was referred to as a “one-armed pitcher.”
“One-Armed” Olympic Champion Pitcher, Jim Abbott
In fact, I very deliberately chose the domain LivingOneHanded.com because, well…it’s accurate. I didn’t choose OneArmedAndLovingEht.com or IWishIHadAnotherArmWhichWouldActuallyGiveMeTwoAndAHalfArms.ThatSeemsGreedy.Org because my arm is not really the issue. Plus, that last one is really long.
And as obvious as it may seem to us that “one-armed” is the wrong term to use, I’m going to be honest with you here and say…I understand it. I understand it because I’m still getting used to all the terms myself. Eight months ago I had never heard the term “limb-different.” Never. In my whole life. When I started visiting message boards and different online groups, it was like learning a foreign language. LBE? RBK? I’ve learned that those mean Left Below Elbow and Right Below Knee (amputees). (I bet somebody has a super sweet grid of all these terms somewhere. I want it.) Just today, in fact, I got an email from someone who used AK in his note and I had to think hard about what it meant. Ahh, Above Knee! And I’m still a novice at all the other terms like Symbrachydactyly. I just googled that and had to look at it seven times to make sure I spelled it correctly.
It’s a whole different world, this limb-different community. It’s fun and exciting for me, but there are times I feel lost. And ignorant. I am limb-different and can probably tell you less about the science and terms and lifestyle than a ton of the moms around here! But, I suppose that makes sense. I grew-up this way and never thought of myself as different, so why would I take the time to learn about it? My mom, on the other hand (so to speak), probably knows more about it than I do, too.
So, I’m thinking two things. The first is that we need to be patient. We need to understand that differences are always a challenge and people generally do their best to treat them with respect and dignity. That said, it’s also an opportunity for us to teach! To teach those who are different than we or our kids are how to approach our differences accurately and with respect. You wouldn’t describe someone with blonde hair as “black-haired” and think it was good enough. “I mean, hair is hair, right?” you might think. And you’d be wrong. And someone would correct you.
I don’t view this as a fight at all. It’s an opportunity. Let’s seize the opportunity and learn together.
Also, please don’t buy the domain OneFistOfFury.com. I’m saving-up for it.
For the longest time I resisted it as “that stupid thing that’s just a Facebook status and nothing else.” It took me forever to buy-in and even after I did, it took even longer to embrace. It just seemed trite and useless. And really, the way a lot of people use it, it is.
But then stuff like this happens.
NAME-DROPPER ALERT.
First, I quipped about the profile picture of the male half of The Civil Wars. Matthew Mayfield and I had differing opinions of who it actually looks like. John then replied, which makes me famous, I’m pretty sure.
I noticed a little back-and-forth between super-humans Chris Brogan and Chris Guillebeau. They were giving the business to a certain unlikeable Canadian band. I decided to chime in, because, well…that’s what I do.
@chrisguillebeau@chrisbrogan You guys are jerks! They have more talent their PINKY FINGERS than…BAAAAAHAHAHA. Couldn't make it through.
— Chris Brogan/Chief of Staff (@chrisbrogan) July 17, 2012
At first I thought he was ridiculing me for forgetting to type “in” before “their PINKY FINGERS.” But then…say WHAAAAAAAT??!! Did Chris Brogan just make a ONE-HANDED joke out of my original laugher?
@LivingOneHanded – of course I did. If you're going to just set me up like that, mister man. 🙂 can't wait to read your blog.
— Chris Brogan/Chief of Staff (@chrisbrogan) July 18, 2012
3. Interacting with famous people on the Twitter is super fun.
4. Twitter is awesome.
These are just funny examples, but Twitter really has enabled me to connect with many of my heroes (resisting…urge…to name drop) and introduced me to even more new friends who share similar passions.
And, for better or for worse, it’s allowed me to share innumerable dumb jokes.
LONG LIVE TWITTER.
Who have you interacted with on Twitter that you never would have been able to otherwise?
You know what’s great about being a dad with one hand?
I still get to tell stories about my kids.
Tonight I was waiting with my daughters, Anna and Claire, while my son Sam had swimming lessons. All of a sudden my youngest (Claire) runs up to me, just sobbing. I was sitting on one side of a little picnic table, so she plopped herself down on the other. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked.
With tears streaming down her face, she looked at me and said, “Anna says we can’t be bros anymore,” and then she let out a cry and burrowed her head into her crossed arms.
Trying not to laugh, I asked, “What does that mean, honey?”
“I don’t knooooooowwwwwww,” she bellowed.
“It makes you sad, though, huh?”
She nodded her head and then I asked her to come sit in my lap. We talked some more about it and it turns out Grace is Anna’s bro, not Claire. I told Claire that she and Anna will always be sisters and that, actually, bros is short for “brothers.” She BURST out laughing and covered her mouth. She thought that was so funny. “You two will always be sisses, though!” I said. She loved that.
I brought Anna over and Claire explained the meaning of “bros” to her. She smiled shyly and then apologized. “We can always be sisses, though!” Claire said. Anna smiled and nodded and then the two of them ran off to get cookies together.
Literally. They did.
Bros.
These are the moments that fathers live for.
She came to me with a problem, I stayed calm, I talked her through it, those tears turned to smiles and we laughed together. It was like the freakin’ Cosby Show.
It doesn’t always go that way, as any parent knows. But, it’s important to appreciate the times when it does.
It’s also important to appreciate your bros.
Because, who knows when you’re not gonna be bros anymore.
I asked my kids what to write about and they all, in unison, shouted, “DRAW SOMETHING!”
“Draw what?” I asked.
“A guy with one arm!” Claire suggested.
“Yeah…YOU!” said Anna.
Sam kept playing the Wii.
So, they gathered around and watched as I drew what you see below. They also suggested I include them. And Captain America (the Wii game Sam was playing), but, “not mom.” Also, Batman because “he’s way easier to draw than Iron Man.” Probably true.
I also had to sharpen a pencil, which was a feat in and of itself. We have one of those old-timey crank sharpeners. I’ll tape it sometime.
I will sell this to you for $1,000. Or, like, $5.
I’d love any ideas you have for me to write about! What would be helpful for you? Otherwise I’ll just keep drawing pictures of myself. And my kids. And super heroes.
This is one in a series of posts I wrote about my second trip to Jacmel, Haiti, where I spent a week at Faith Orphanage. You can read more posts about my trip to Haiti here. I started to edit this piece, but decided to leave it as is. It’s interesting to see where my head was at just twelve months ago. What a difference a year makes!
The airport in Port au Prince is hilarious. You get off the plane and are greeted at the bottom of an escalator by a welcoming band, then you’re whisked away to the baggage area on a bus, then you go through customs (sounds official; it’s not), then you try to find your luggage in what is essentially a giant warehouse with sometimes-working conveyor belts. It’s one of the least organized experiences you’ll ever be a part of.
On my recent trip to Haiti, this wasn’t even the funniest part.
Having miraculously secured all of our luggage, we got in line to head out of the airport. While in line, a portly Haitian security guard wouldn’t stop staring at me. I politely smiled. Then, he pointed at his arm and moved it up and down, then pointed at my left arm, missing from the elbow down. I smiled again and nodded. Then he did the most awesome thing ever: he raised his eyebrows, made a frown and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Ah well…sh** happens.” I started laughing. Hard. I’m not sure if that was the most appropriate response, but I can’t remember experiencing such an honest reaction from an adult before.
If I’m not cracking jokes about it myself, the fact that I have one arm never really comes up. I’ve been thinking about it a bit more than usual this year, though. In fact, in January (2011) I had a piece published on RelevantMagazine.com about it (read it here). So, on this trip, as opposed to the last one I took, I noticed it a lot more. For one, the kids were a lot more interested (read: fascinated) with my arm this time. They’d randomly come up to me and put their little faces close to the end of my arm and they’d grab it and poke at it and play with it. The fact that I allowed them to do this surprised them, I think, and gave them the freedom to explore. I already wrote about Jameley’s adorable reaction to all that. It got me thinking about the reality that they’ve probably never seen anyone with only one arm. In fact, I don’t remember seeing any one-armed Haitians on my last trip. (But, this time…oh, this time! I saw TWO! Two one-armed Haitians! I felt like Captain Ahab finding Moby Dick. Except, ya know, without all the revenge stuff.)
What’s weird is that, in reality, I rarely see any one-armers in America either. The fact that I was in an unfamiliar place that was so completely different from my normal daily reality, I believe, heightened my awareness of it. I mean, being white in a place where everyone else is really dark is one thing. But, being white and having one arm where everyone else is really dark and fully appendaged is quite another. I never really wonder what people are thinking about my arm in America, but when I was in Haiti, I was really conscious of it. And I think that’s good. It’s ok, at least.
Me and Jameley, our sponsor child.
In retrospect…how do I say this…the experience of bringing my one-armedness to the kids in Haiti was supremely rewarding. I’m proud of the fact that I was able to expose them to a physical difference they most likely have never seen before and helped them to understand that people with physical differences should be embraced and learned from, not shunned or ridiculed. It was refreshing to see their curiosity satisfied. It was also powerful to experience their acceptance and love. Impacting the kids’ lives in this way is something
I’ll never forget.
I’ll also never forget that security guard’s reaction. Classic.
Share something you’ve learned from someone who has physical limitations.
Here’s the thing: Volleyball has never been my strong-suit.
Maybe I just wasn't playing with the right people.
I like to play it and I’ve played it a lot…I’m just not very good. I was going to say that I’m not very reliable, but that’s not really true. You can rely on me to serve and spike well, and to struggle when it comes to bumping and setting. Bumping is the hardest. You have to hit the ball just right around your wrist or forearm to have any control and most of the time that hurts like the dickens. And what’s that mean, anyway? The dickens?
One thing I’m really good at, though, is trash-talking. You can hear my friend Jessica giving me the business at the end of the video below, but that’s only after I dropped this on her:
“How’s your throat, Jess?”
“Fine, why?”
“Because it’s about to be sore from me SPIKING THE BALL DOWN IT.”
Apparently my daughter, Claire, calls my short arm my “baby arm.”
I’ve never heard her say that before, but tonight she confirmed it.
“Because it looks like a baby!” she said.
“Really?” I asked.
“No,” she answered.
And that was it.
Me and Claire. And a kitteh.
The funny thing is, we hardly ever talk about my arm. None of my three kids ever bring it up and honestly, I feel weird when I do with them. They’ve never known me any other way, so it’s natural to them. I wonder if that will change as they get older? When their friends start asking about it, will they be embarrassed? Or think it’s weird? I wonder.
For now, though, I like that it doesn’t make a difference to them. In fact, they love coming-up with new ideas for videos. The blog has actually made them more aware, I think. Every once in a while I’ll watch Claire run to her brother’s room and hear her say excitedly, “Sam! Daddy just buttoned my shirt with one hand! Isn’t that cool??” It’s fantastic.
A couple years ago I wrote a poem about my daughter Anna. She was four and just started noticing that I had one hand. She was fascinated by what I could do. She never said anything, but I’d catch her watching every now and then. It was super cute.
The poem ended-up being published and the timing was perfect. Anna got hit by a bicyclist the summer I wrote it and we found ourselves staying with her in the UW Children’s Hospital. Scariest couple days of my life. So, after a long night of making sure Anna was okay, it made my heart so happy to get the email saying, “Your poem is up today!” Hopefully you can see why.
During our department meeting at work today, I was afforded an opportunity I couldn’t resist.
I work in health insurance and one of the presenters was talking about the different levels of urgency for authorization requests. “Medical urgency is the highest level and is given the most attention. These are usually life or limb situations. For instance, if this patient doesn’t receive care immediately, his heart could stop or his arm could fall off,” she said.
I put that line in my back-pocket.
When it was my turn to present, I stood in front of the crowd and said, “Listen, I’m living proof why it’s important that doctors submit authorization requests correctly. Mine didn’t and my arm fell right off.”
Who am I to turn down an opportunity for a joke about my arm?
I realize, though, it probably gets old.
It’s funny because I never used to make jokes about my arm; at least not as often. As I’ve become more comfortable with it, though, the joking and self-deprecation has increased. Sometimes successfully and sometimes not.
For instance, when I moved departments at work I went from having a huge monitor to a small one. I noticed there was a big one next to my cube, so I took it. My boss saw my huge monitor and asked where I got it from. I explained what happened and she proceeded to rattle-off a number of reasons why I couldn’t keep it. I begged. I pleaded. And finally, I very seriously dropped this on her, “Michelle…listen…I don’t ask for much. But, you have to understand…I only have one hand.”
“Good Lord…keep the monitor!” she said.
Success!
I’m noticing more and more, though, that I’m pushing it a bit. Not often, but occasionally I’ll think, “Eh…that wasn’t worth it.” I need to pick and choose my spots more carefully now. I need to be more intentional. I need to use my powers for good and not for evil. The last thing I want is for people to moan their disapproval because I’ve used the, “Sorry, can’t help…I only have one hand” joke too many times. It needs to catch them off-guard and that can’t happen if it’s overused.
Oh, the challenges of a one-handed man who deals with his insecurities through the use of humor.
That said, I will NEVER stop saying, “Hey, champ. What has one thumb and doesn’t give a crap? Ryan Haack. How ya doin’?”
What To Tell Your Kid When They Realize They Only Have One Hand | Living One-HandedWhat To Tell Your Kid When They Realize They Only Have One Hand - Living One-Handed
