The Empty Road

Glommy

I got the weirdest feeling today, not really weird, but I don’t know anyone else that can relate to it. The only person I know who can relate to it now lives 1,650 miles away from me. But I do not think he would be able to connect to this particular feeling.

This morning when I work up it was a gloomy day outside. While I was eating I was watching Catfish on MTV and they were driving in the rain. I didn’t think it effected me that much until my girlfriend and I went to go to Walmart.

I opened the garage door so we could both head out to my car, as I was staring at my car in the driveway I said, “I had an intense feeling it was raining today.” But it was not raining, I’m in Nebraska, not Washington.

The last time I saw it rain was in September 2013, it is now March 2014. I’m used to seeing it rain everyday with maybe a day without rain maybe once every other week. In an odd way I miss rain, I’d rather have rain than snow.

I miss Washington State, a lot.

My girlfriend wanted to go to the store this morning, so we did. As I was driving to the store I got this weird feeling like I wanted to get on I-80 and drive west until I was in a small town.

Not like finding a small town is a hard thing to do in Nebraska, but I just wanted to drive a straight path for no particular reason.

I have an iPod connection to my car stereo and that iPod has a massive amount of music on it. This morning I was listening to Schoolboy Q. It oddly reminded me of Washington State. However I didn’t have that album until a few weeks ago or whatnot.

I know people, all of us that live in Nebraska still ride around in covered wagons that are pulled by horses and we are never exposed to anything other than country music.

I just felt like driving west and deciding to turn around at some point. Driving is very therapeutic for me. If the same friend I mentioned above still lived in Colorado I would just drive for 8 hours to go visit him. But he doesn’t, so….

Maybe I’ll drive over to Hastings, Nebraska and drink some Kool-Aid just to turn around and go back home.

Did you know that Kool-Aid was invented by a guy named Edwin Perkins who lived in Hastings, Nebraska during the early 1900’s?

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A Horse With No Name

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Remember being a kid? Wasn’t it annoying when your parents told you not to do something?

“Because I said so,” I always hated that excuse, it never explained anything to me, or anyone else.

My dad had been saying a certain motto ever since I was a kid, and it is one the most important things I have ever learned from my father.

If you care to follow me I will take you on a personal trip of how the following words have effected my life.

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink.” 

This idea came to me one night when I saw one of those “shared quotes” on Facebook, I can’t remember word for word what it said, but it had something to do with how it was hard to watch your friends making mistakes.

Two of my friends made big mistakes, and I really could not do anything about it. I’m going to change their name to protect the guilty.

You might be able to figure out who they are if you care to dive into my blog and read some of my other shit, but in this case we are going to call them Cheech and Chong.

Often when parents tell you, “because I said so,” it is because they have insight that you can’t or don’t want to see.

If you stop them from running into a wall they will do it again. When my kids mom broke up with me I’d like to think that she thought me a lot about people.

I knew Cheech for a long time, we were best friends for a long time. When I moved to another town with my kids mom he didn’t really continue to talk to me, I was told that it was all due to the fact that I lived further away from him.

Apparently while I was being a father, he was dating this girl named Christi who lived 20 miles from his house, further away from my house by the way.

While I was busy changing dirty diapers and getting thrown up on he was dabbling with cocaine.

One morning as I was about to drop my kid off at daycare he called me and said, “hey man, I really need to come over, are you doing anything.”

I more or less skipped school that day to hear what he needed to say, even though he was “too busy” to hang out with me he was still my friend, one of my strongest strengths is loyalty. I did not know about the cocaine until this point, I also came to find out Christie and him had an on and off relationship.

This was like the third time they broke up, but he was convinced that she was the best thing that has ever happened to him. Even if it was, he was convinced it could not get any better.

Fast forward to a few years later, I’m back at my parents house because the mother of my kid and I have broken up. I was now closer to Cheech’s house and we had more fun in the past few years we ever had.

He stopped doing cocaine, I never did or even cared to. At this point Christie broke up with him for the ninth time and has moved to Colorado for some type of high paying job.

It has been a long time since the two of them talked, but they started talking again. She had him hooked, he had tunnel vision again. He never took her number out of his phone, this was a good two years after she moved to Colorado.

Anyhow…she had him convinced, not like it was a hard thing to do anyways, that he should move to Colorado and live with her.

What?

That’s what I was saying to.

One night I was over at his house and he asked what I thought about him moving. I already told him a few times about her in the past. He didn’t want to listen to me then, why would he do it now.

He had tunnel vision and will not figure it out until he fucks up. I thought nine times would have been enough, apparently not.

I looked at him and said, “yea man, if this will make you happy then go for it”. 

About a year after he got there she broke up with him, I can’t say I didn’t see that coming.

He tried to make it work in Colorado, but eventually moved back to Washington State. Chong also lived in Washington State and made the biggest mistake of his life in the same state.

around 2007 I moved into an apartment to get out of my parents again. Overtime I came to figure out that the girl who I lived with had a felony for the possession of crack cocaine.

To top that off while she was a “crackhead” she became a prostitute to support her habit, she liked to call herself a former escort, but same thing. Not my best decision ever, but a decision I made nonetheless.

Overtime I came to figure out that she still had the same set of mind, using people for things, it wasn’t drugs, but she was still using her body to get what she wanted.

You might be saying to yourself, “girls do that anyway.” Not really, some girls do it, some girls don’t do it intentionally. This girl however had experience with this, and she did it to whoever gave her the opportunity.

One night Chong came over to my house to hang out and drink beer. Later that night Chong told me that he thought that Heather was hot. I called him dumb.

“I mean I can see that, but you do not want to mixed up with this girl.”

Chong was not the sharpest tool in the shed. He is better now, but back in his day he was the one friend that we all have that was stoned all day, every day.

While I really do not believe marijuana makes you dumb, when your stoned all week-long for months at a time, it does have an effect on your short-term memory.

However Chong is one of my best friends and has always been there when I needed a friend.

One day Chong was driving us to a bar so we could play pool, I think that’s what we were doing. All of a sudden Chong told me that he had a “fuck buddy” and that I would have never guessed who it was.

I spent the next five minutes trying to guess who this was, I went as far to guess my sister. I never guessed or ever thought of it being Heather. She kicked herself out of my apartment about a year prior to this, so I assumed that he no longer had any contact with her.

Heather was so far from my mind that when he said, “It’s Heather”. I was quick to say in extremely shocked manner, “My kids mom”? 

“No bro, not her, the girl who used to live with you.” After a few seconds of me being so shocked that I didn’t know what to say, I looked at him and said, “are you fucking stupid man, she will use you for everything she can, she does not love you, she will just make you think she does.”

He then popped into say, “we are not going out, and we won’t.” I chuckled and said, “just wait, you will be before you even see it coming”.

He more or less had his mind made up and was not going to listen to anything I had to say because he was under the assumption that he was happy and I didn’t know what I was talking about. I still talked to him from time to time, but I had stepped back to watch him run into a brink wall.

The only problem with him is that once he runs into the brick wall, he will get out of his car and continue to run, on foot, into this wall. This whole time he will wonder why that wall is still there as he runs into it over and over.

A few years later I’m at home hanging out by myself, my roommate Marcus was in Seattle with his girlfriend. I got a call from Chong, “Hey dawg, do you mind if I come over with some beer and weed.” I was not expecting a call from him but replied be saying, “yea man you’re welcome at my house anytime”. 

We were now outside on my back patio drinking beer, passing the pipe, and smoking cigarettes. He starts the conversation by saying, “you were right”. 

I came to find out that not only did he break up with Heather, they were going though a fifth of vodka every night, which Heather was not supposed to drink anyways. She was driving one of his two cars so she could get to and back from work. “Dude, what the fuck?” He was quick to say, “She works at Fred Meyer bro and does not have a car.” 

Chong is a lot like me, too nice for his own good, so he more or less wanted her to have that car. “Okay man, if you say so, but you need to go take your name off of that car.” He wanted to know why and I had to tell him that she was going to fuck up at some point and I don’t think you want to get it trouble for it.

She was being just as stupid, he could have reported the car stolen and have her thrown in jail for Grand Theft Auto.

He also bought her a full size bed for $999.99. Had a very good job at the time making about $37.00 an hour, so he was able to afford it. “She will pay me back.” I put my beer down and said, “No she won’t, you mine as well accept it as a loss.”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink.”

My whole point of this is….. as much as it sucks, you need to let people fuck up from time to time. Rather you’re a parent or not, the same rule applies.

If someone really wants to do something, nothing you say or do will change that. People need to learn from their mistakes, and if you stop them from making that mistake they will not know why, and in the end they will not know any differently.

You can’t blame people for what they don’t know. If you try to tell them why, they’re just going to think you’re talking out off your ass.

You can only do so much.

The Rock

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This is a story that I think everyone can relate to, we all have moms.

Some of them are just crazier than others.

“Don’t go outside, you’re going to die.” That is what it is like to live with a mother and/or a father that is way too over protective.

I love my mom, but some of the shit that she worries about is just so beyond my comprehension that I can’t even fathom how she got to that idea in the first place.

Some of you that follow my blog might know that I was born with a rare disability known as Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia.

To sum it up into a few words, I can’t really walk and spend the majority of my time in a manual wheelchair. I used to be able to run but that has deteriorated over time, to the point that I can barely walk. I walk around the house, but when I do so it is very carefully planned out. As if I were trying to navigate a minefield in my own house.

I have to plan out where to fall so I can grab unto the next piece of furniture without actually falling. My walking has turned into a disorganized pattern of falling into something and catching myself before I lose control.

When I’m in a new environment such as a friends house or a house party I usually stop and stand there for a few seconds as I carefully scan my surroundings to figure out what I can or can not hold onto, the people I can or can not trust if I grab their shoulder, and how hard or easy it would be to complete the puzzle.

People are not granted to stay in one place forever, so by the time I get up they might have moved to another location. All this planning is done just so I can go to the bathroom.

I can understand why my mother is so worried about me walking to my car, because I might fall; and she is justified to worry about that, in all reality it might happen.

I have carefully figured that out too, and I go out of the garage every time all because there are things for me to hold onto unlike the sidewalk that is out in the open.

In all reality I might get stuck by lightning too. She worries about the dumbest shit ever, and they all might happen, but some of them are like going into a tattoo shop and getting tattooed by someone who does not have any tattoos.

Every time that I tell my mom I’m driving somewhere I get that classic, “be careful, there are a lot of drivers out there and you don’t want to get into an accident”. You’re right, I don’t want to get into an accident, but I don’t want to be afraid of the world either.

Did she forget that we lived in one of the most populated areas in the United States? Where do we live now? The middle of fucking nowhere, where everyone thinks we still drive covered wagons and all we do is watch corn grow as we drink tea.

According to the US Census of 2012 the city of Lincoln, Nebraska had a population of 75,000 more people than that of Tacoma, Washington. Yes, but Tacoma runs into a bunch of other towns that all run into other towns, so you have way more than 275,000 people in said area.

My point is that I’m no longer driving 56 miles to and from Seattle and taking 3 hours just to get home on I-5. I’m now driving on a road with fewer people.

Stop and go traffic in Nebraska simply does not exist. If you ask people from here they would say otherwise, that’s all they know.

But until you’re on a freeway and everyone stops for a few seconds and then does not travel more than 100 feet before they have to stop again, you just don’t understand rush hour traffic.

It was like that the whole drive home, minus that of side streets in town that I always took to avoid Meridian. But everyone took the same back roads, so it was only marginally better.

You might have guessed by now that my mom is one of those types that is afraid to drive anywhere that she doesn’t need to. She is also one of those that watches the news… all day long, that is all well and good, but when you start to let the news scare you of life outside of the house, you have to really think about your life.

Then she believes everything she sees on the news, the news station is a business, businesses need to make profit, they make money based off of how many viewers they have. That being said they can and do say anything they want to get more people to watch.

You can take any statistic and make it appear as good or bad as you want it to, that’s what advertisers and politicians do all the time.

Nothing really happens in Nebraska, well at least not on the same level as Western Washington. The news in Washington State did not cover everything, because they only had so much time to cover important news.

In Nebraska the news will tell you about the guy that robbed 7-11 at gunpoint.

Because of that and the fact that she never really gets out of the house, the news leads her to believe that Snake Plissken is going to break into the house to save her from all the evil people.

What do you mean you can take any statistic and make it look different?

A statistic is a statistic, but most people do not give you all the information needed, in an advertisers case, he or she is hoping that you take it at face value just so you go spend more money on their product or products.

For example, 5 million Americans die every year from tobacco.

That’s scary right?

Did you know that 317,558,000 people live in the United States.

That being said, less than 1.58% of Americans die every year from tobacco use, that’s only 1.58% people.

That’s still a bad statistic, however people are naturally inclined to think that a low number is not as significant as it’s larger counterpart. Sources are here and there.

All that information goes into what I’m about to say.

When I park my car in the driveway I can open my door and step onto a bed of rocks. Refer to the picture up top.

In that bed of rocks is a larger rock. She is terrified that if I go to my car I’m going to fall and hit my head on that rock. I might fall, I might even fall onto that rock, but I might fall inside of the house too. I might even fall onto my car and catch myself.

There are multiple places I can fall, falling down is a crappy experience; but no, “this rock has to be moved so my son doesn’t become a retard.”

Sorry to all of you for not using politically correct terms. My dad is not going to move that rock, unless he gets tired of her bitching about it, my dad is awesome; he fucking treats me like a person, not a delicate baby that can’t defend himself from gravity.

I fell before, a ton of times. I know how to fall. When I fall I get zoned into that slow motion action, kind of like when you’re in a car accident.

I know what to look for, falling sucks and there really are not any graceful ways to do it. But I do know one thing, if I happen to fall in the direction of that rock I’m not going to stand there like a stiff board and let gravity smack my forehead right into the rock below me.

My point is, don’t treat your kids like kids when they are not kids, they might learn to resent you for it, I know I do.

People, all people, learn from making mistakes, and if you stop them for making that mistake they will grow up to be more rebellious than you want them to be.

If my kid asked me five times if he can touch the hot stove top, of course I’m going to say no, because I don’t want him to burn himself; but if he wont listen to me I’ll let him touch it, he’ll learn pretty fucking fast not to do it again.

If I fall on that rock, you were a good mom by letting me do so. If you’re that worried about a damn rock then just take everything away from me so I can become a depressed individual.

Oh, my mom called me an alcoholic tonight because I had two beers, two. Come on people, two…..two, what the fuck is my mom smoking?

Handicapped People Do Not Wear Clothes!

Goodwill

Well that was a bad excuse, people should know by now that we go shopping too. I guess she thinks that handicapped people need to stay home and have a depressed life without any enjoyment.

Well that’s what my mom thinks at least, which is funny as hell to me, because she too is physically disabled. You can, if you have not, find out in previous posts that she developed her disability later in life unlike me who was born showing symptoms.

It is said that those who lose any ability later in life have a harder time coping with their circumstances versus those who have known it their whole life.

That being said, my mom annoys the hell out of me, every single time I go anywhere outside of the house, she comes up with a thousand possibilities of how I might get hurt.

While I understand her concern, I’m no longer 10 years old.

There is a stat out there that says there is more danger in your home than outside of it. This is not about my mom though, just a side note that my brain went towards. Let’s just say that I’m surprised my mom has not told me that I’m not allowed to use electronic devises because they give off a tiny amount of radiation, because we all know that I might die from that.

You know what, I might, but you’re going to enjoy your life more if you fucking live it.

Last night I was laying in bed playing around with my mobile device, oh my god, I might die! Anyways, I stumbled onto a blog called A Different Sort of Solitude. While I do not have autism, I was able to connect with it, it has captured my interest.

I think one of the things that captured my interest the most was that fact that I too was called a retard. Different reasons of course, but something I could relate to nonetheless.

While reading one of their articles about some asshole blocking a handicapped ramp with his truck, which I too have experienced, it got me to thinking about something that I want to tell you about.

First of all, if you have a car and park in front or block a handicapped ramp in any way, I’m fucking running into your car with my wheelchair, I have before, and I will again. You’re not supposed to be there for what I assume would be a pretty fucking obvious reason, but apparently you think we all have super powers and can fly over your car.

Okay so may I start off by telling you that I still listen to one of my favorite radio stations out of Seattle. Ever since I started e-mailing this show and telling them my name “Dan the Handicapped Man,” more people who are disabled seem to be e-mailing into the show, I could totally be wrong, it might just be another disabled guy e-mailing the show.

Anyhow his name was Bruce and he sent them an e-mail, that was read on the air. He was saying that “able-bodied individuals” should not use the handicapped stall in the public bathroom.

While part of me agrees with him, in some cases The Americans With Disability Act of 1990 has ended up doing things that may not be needed at that particular moment in time.

Let’s take 99.9 KISW for example, they work on the 16th floor of a tall building in downtown Seattle. According to Steve the Thrill Hill, there are not any handicapped people who work on the 16th floor. That being said, use the handicapped stall all you want, if some person in a wheelchair comes into that bathroom they will just have to wait, like other people.

On one hand, people have to wait to use the bathroom whether you’re disabled or not; on the other hand if you, a person in a wheelchair, goes into a bathroom and 4 of 5 stalls are empty and the only one being used, by a normal person, is the disabled stall, they are just going to end up looking like an asshole.

I feel like I had to mention the handicapped stalls to bring up The Disability Act of 1990, which plays into what I’m about to tell you.

The store I’m about to talk about has been under reconstruction when my girlfriend and I left for the state of Nebraska, so it might have been fixed by now.

I’m sure you have heard the song Thrift Shop by Macklemore, and only reason I bring this up is because it fits into this story.

The song itself has been over played, and I guess that is a good thing for Macklemore, but it is now the one song on the album that I listen to the least.

As you may know Macklemore is from Seattle, thrift shop shopping is totally different in the Pacific Northwest. All the towns around Seattle all run into one another, outside of downtown Seattle, the area is more of less the same.

Thrift shopping in Seattle is more or less the same as doing it 50 miles south in the city of Tacoma.

I realize I can only compare what I know, that being eastern Nebraska and western Washington.

My girlfriend and I went thrift shopping out here in Lincoln and they didn’t have anything worth caring about and everything was over priced. They wanted $6.99 for a 5×3 inch picture of The Rock  that had a magnet on the back of it, in Washington I could of got that for $0.10.

This is mainly because of the population size and that everyone has a garage sale before they donate it. Washington on the other hand actually had a good amount of stuff, a wide verity to.

A month or so before we left the state of Washington we went to a Goodwill in Spanaway. I needed some jeans, my girlfriend was just bored of staying at home.

The picture at top of this story was the only handicapped accessible changing room, other then that they had four others, that I was barely able to get my wheelchair into. It was like trying to fit a six-foot bong into a closet that was only 5 feet high.

I had to back into the changing room and do a sixty point turn just to fit into the room so I could get out of my wheelchair on the right side just so I could stand up in the remaining foot of space. I could have got out of my wheelchair to gimp into the stall, but that is not what handicapped accessible means!

Most people in a wheelchair can not do as much as I can, and some of them can do more than I can, but that is not the point either.

I really do not like to try on clothes at any store, that is mainly because I’m a guy. However that is not the point either.

The law says that you, as a public place, need to provide ways for those of us in wheelchairs the ability to go places that you can.

After doing another 60 point turn just to squeeze out of the dressing room. I ended up back at the clothes section with my girlfriend. My girlfriend said to me, “do you want to try these on to.” I made a point to talk loud so that employees were able to hear me.

“I don’t care baby, but I’m changing out here in the middle of the store, I don’t care if they call the police, they are breaking the law, not me, I’m just doing what I have to.” Needless to say she didn’t have me try on any more clothes, I just took them home.

As we were at the cashier counter we asked the cashier why the handicapped accessible stall was filled with boxes and a vacuum cleaner. She said “we don’t have anywhere else to put it.” I looked back at her as if she just told me that cars did not need engines to run and I said.

“So what am I supposed to do?” She than goes onto say, “I don’t know, we never get people in wheelchairs, so we don’t need to worry about it.”

My girlfriend who worked in special education and/or home care for those with special needs then jumped in the conversation by asking for her and her bosses name.

That night when we got home she wrote a lengthy letter to the Goodwill corporation. I strongly feel as if that is the primary reason that they were remodeling the store right before we left the state of Washington.

At least the 16th floor has a handicapped accessible bathroom stall, no one, who is disabled, might ever use it, but when and if it happens, it’s there under said law. Yes Goodwill also had one, but they blocked it off, so it could not be used anyways.

There are countless handicapped accessible issues in this country, that is just one of them that I was involved in.

The Tattoo

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A few years back I used to go to parties in a house that was not too far from mine in Puyallup.

That is where I met this guy named Josh, but they all called him Wheels. At 21 years of age he had brown hair that was always spiked along with brown eyes. I do not know how tall he was, he never stood up.

We had an automatic connection to one another and it did not take very long for us two to start talking to each other.

Josh tried to show me his tattoo, but with everything that was going on at the time I didn’t pay too much attention to it. A few weeks later I was over there again, this time when he showed me his tattoo I said, “that’s fucking badass dude.”

Josh was a kid with Spina Bifida who was one of the coolest guys I have known and gave me the best idea for a tattoo, that looks different than his.

I’ve been sitting here thinking that I didn’t know what to write about, I did not have a goal behind my blog and I needed one.

My life is not that interesting, what do I got to offer.

Then it hit me like the sidewalk, I’ll white about what I write about, I won’t really change anything. The only thing I will do differently from this point on is always use the 3 tags in my posts: disabled, handicapped, and wheelchair; or likewise words.

If I can connect with anyone, it would be other handicapped people. I know that I like to see what y’all got to say, because I assume it will contain more relatable content.

My whole goal is not to only share my life with others who happen to be disabled, but not just you guys, everyone else to. As a kid I was always telling myself that my goal in life is to give my friends and their friends a whole new perspective of those people who happen to be disabled.

We are all people, people; we need to treat each other as such. Whether you be black, white, gay, disabled, republican, democrat, or anything else I failed to mention, we are all photo 1people.

Some of us can disagree on an issue, but that is another story, the point being that all of us deserve the acceptance of another.

Time to put that into blog format. If you do not know or have not figured it out, I myself am disabled.

If you follow my blog you will come to learn about the guy who is me. My brain is all over the place so what you hear on one post may be totally different from another.

My main goal is to show you another life that is not yours, maybe I’ll even end up inspiring some people; I doubt it, but here’s to hoping.

If you choose to follow my blog may I say, “welcome to my life.”

The Other Piece of The Puzzle

Hart Tattoos 11

It takes a special kind of person to love another person who is disabled. In my particular case, I am physically disabled.

I love my girlfriend for that, and a few other things we share similar opinions on, I really do love her and do not feel like I can or even want to try to do any better.

Given my current situation, she reminds me everyday of how special she is to me.

I did not have many girlfriends in high school, as a matter of fact I only had 2, and one of them was at the very end of my senior year.

Most girls will not date me based off of nature or science or even selfishness; call it whatever you want to. Based off of what I have heard throughout life, girls want a guy that can work, a guy who is cute, and a guy that can protect her or her family.

As far as the work thing goes, I’m trying. I don’t want to sit at home and take a small portion of everyone taxes. I want a job, I want to feel like I’m doing something with my life other than sitting on my ass playing video games.

The simple fact of it is that very few people will hire me because I can’t run, jump or skip. Then I have to find those jobs, and then getting employed by said job is difficult as is.

I talk slow, in my head I talk normal speed, but in all reality I talk slow. Slow speech along with being nervous can and often makes an employer think I’m mentally challenged. It doesn’t really matter if I can or can not do the job, if you have me and some other guy who can run around a football field, they are going to hire him. Can I find a job, yes; but it is very hard to do, even with my education.

Girls want a guy that is cute for one reason really, to insure that their son and/or daughter has good DNA. The majority of girls would just look at me and say, “nope, I’m not having a kid with this guy.”

I’m fairly cute, most girls have even told me so, but they do not want a disabled child, and neither do I really; then you get into the extra cost of having said child.

I’m glad my girlfriend is an Atheist like me who supports pro-choice. We want to test an egg to see if it has my gene, that one that causes my disability. If it does then the egg will be discarded and the scientists will try again.

That not only costs more money but also increases our chance of having twins or triplets. To put it simple women just don’t want to deal with that, and while it scientifically makes sense, it does make me feel like I’m not good enough. Many girls have shoved me into the friend zone just for that reason.

Then you get into the area of protection. I’m sorry, but I can’t physically defend you if some other guy was to assault you. Once again the topic of kids come up. I can’t physically protect them either. You’ll just have to get use to it, as much as I wish I could, I can’t.

On a side note, I did one of the hardest things a single father has do to. I have a kid who is now 10 years old. When my kid was about 2 and a half, his mom and I split up.

She then got married to some other guy some time later. He was in the military and has taken my son with them to Alaska, Texas, and Florida. It took me a long time to get over my own issues about the relationship that I had with his mother, in the process of this he was calling his step father dad.

No single father wants their kid to be calling anyone else dad. I got over my own issues and I talk to my kid often, he remembers me, and calls me dad. However he still calls his step father dad.

I think he knows the difference between us, but calls both us of dad. I even have talked to his step father, without fighting with him. I can now talk to his mother as if we never dated in the first place. Her friends often become jealous because the two of us can talk without fighting.

To put it simple, he can give my son a better life than I can. He is more financially secure than I am. I remember being a kid and I think I would have had a worse childhood if my parents lived from paycheck to paycheck.

To put it simply I wrote a letter to my kids mother thanking both of them for providing my kid with a better life than I can.

Back to my original point.

All of this has come up because as I lay in bed at night with my girlfriend she tells me that she is mad at people, because they all ask the same questions multiple times.

Not only can these questions be considered rude but she has to explain it, again, to somebody who already asked.

Yes, I know I’m 30 and both of us live at my parents, it really sucks. She doesn’t like it either. It’s even starting to make us feel like we’re not our own couple anymore.

Neither one of us are happy about it, but to have people tell her to break up with me because of that is just super rude. I could fathom the idea if I was just a lazy ass 30-year-old that just stayed home all day.

You break your leg and come to me saying it’s easy to find a job. Everyone has their own struggles in life, this just happens to be mine.

Then my girlfriend gets other questions such as can he even have sex, how do you two have sex, how many sex positions can he do, do you want a child with him, and the classic is your child going to be disabled. Is she not supposed to be upset by this line of questioning?

Oh that’s right, she should just break up with me because I’m not normal. What is your definition of normal anyways? These are all things my girlfriend and I need to talk about, you’re not dating me and therefore have very minimal, if any, saying in what she does in our relationship.

That’s why I love my girlfriend, who is soon to be my wife. We talked about it before hand, she didn’t move to Nebraska with me just for shits and giggles.

I’m really sorry that we live at my parents house all because I can’t easily find a job. I love her, I really do; she reminds me everyday of how lucky I am to have her.

Other then the fact that we hardly ever fight and she talks to me if there ever is a fight, we both communicate with one another and because of that are rarely mad at each other. She is a special woman, that I’m very lucky to have found.

A Loss of Traction

American Lake

This story will take us back to…..some point in time. Must have been some time between 2007 and  2010.

Eric was with me once again, he is likely to end up in a few stories. If you go back and read almost every other personal story from me you will end up hearing Eric’s name a few times.

This story talks about me and my wheelchair combined with over confidence.

Eric woke up at my house from another night of drinking. He had a hangover, and I’m lucky because I never got them. We quickly decided that we were bored, so we decided to go to American Lake in Lakewood, Washington so we could fishing off of the dock.

At this time Eric drove a dark green Chevy truck made in the late 90’s and he didn’t keep it very clean either. He was the type of dude that would roll around listening to 2pac, but listened to country next day.

After getting food at Jack in the Box. He threw my wheelchair in the bed of his truck and headed out towards the lake on another one of our days surrounded by dark clouds, rain, and wet pavement.

We pull up into a parking spot, not too far from one of those wooden signs with yellow paint that welcomed you to the park, the ones that always let you know that they close at dusk. Eric gave me one of his raincoats, on a side note people in Western Washington do not rear raincoats unless they are sitting in one spot for more than 30 minutes to an hour.

Eric gets out of the truck to lift my wheelchair from the bed of the truck back onto the pavement, the wheelchair was definitely wet, but I didn’t really care. I took my “asspad” off of my chair and put it into the cab of the truck so I didn’t have to sit on a soaked cushion.

After I sat down Eric went to the other door to grab the tackle box and both fishing poles. He starts to walk as I follow him in my wheelchair, both of us wearing dark green raincoats and baseball caps. My hat was red with a white ‘N’ on it, Eric’s hat was some color; I do not remember but he had a fish-hook on the corner of the bill.

We get to the top of a hill, Eric is standing there and I can tell he was thinking, “how do I get this asshole down the hill.” 

“I got this bro,” after staring at the hill for a few seconds, I continue by saying “yea man, I’m good, I can make this bitch.” This hill was about no more than a 20 foot drop that also had a run on of about 50 feet.

Doing some fancy trigonometry I can tell you that the hill, if I’m correct, ran at an angle of about 21 degrees. The hill was not all that steep, I’ve done steeper hills thousand of times before, but this hill was different.

The paved path that went down the hill had two curbs on each side, which was kind of weird to see on a sidewalk. Now picture a letter S but put it upside down and skew is so the three paths are longer than the corners.

There I am starting at this upside down letter S slapped onto a hill. “Man, this is going to be the shit,” I said with a loud voice trying to pump myself up. Eric was unsure and said “you sure dude.” I push forward and let the wind take me.

At first everything appeared to be fine, just another handicapped dude going down a hill, you know the type of shit you see everyday.

My tires on the wheelchair didn’t have any tread left on them, and really; what is the point of having tread on a tire when you don’t go that fast? It was raining by the way. I picked up so much speed in this straight of way that I no longer had enough traction, or even power, to slow down to any noticeable amount.

If I grabbed both wheels and held them in a stopped position I was barely slowing down, however if I only grabbed onto one wheel and let the other one spin freely I was able to turn while slowing down at a faster pace. I had to turn anyways, so I was trying to turn to my left.

I was barely able to turn, I was going faster than I could turn. The curb is now rushing towards me in slow motion and I think to myself, “fuck this dude, just try to stop,” I continue to think, “wheels can’t roll sideways.”

I was thinking that if I was able to turn I would come to a stop, I was not even trying to make it to the bottom of this hill anymore.

At some point I must have grabbed a tiny section of traction on the wet pavement, I turned left really fast; too fast, I still had the momentum behind me. That momentum thought it would be a fantastic idea to grab both tires and tip the whole wheelchair onto its side.

I’m tipped over and I’m now on my right wheel sliding down this hill as I’m sitting sideways like Paul Wall. My right tire eventually hits the curb and proceeds to bring me to a stop.

My left tire up in the air is still spinning as I look up to see Eric walking down this hill with fishing poles and tackle box in hand, he is trying not to laugh. He sees that I’m okay and didn’t harm more than my wheelchair, which was not in the best condition anyways.

This in not the first time I did something stupid in my wheelchair. He started laughing really loud and helps me up so we can go fishing.

And that is my story of a handicapped guy having fun. That was pretty damn fun, even during.It got my heart pumping and I didn’t cause physical harm to my body.

As we were fishing I was telling Eric my whole thought process.

A few years later my dad took Eric fishing in his boat and Eric told my dad this story, but from his perspective. The difference between my mom and dad are simple. My dad simply laughed his ass off thinking, “that’s my son.”  

My mom would just end up saying “Don’t have any fun, you’re going to kill yourself.”