Getting Back on Track

A few months ago while I was watching television, I turned the channel to Larry King Live. The guest that evening was Bill Maher, and he was giving his thoughts on various topics. When the topic of religion came up, he referred to it as "magic." I couldn't believe it, so to get that response out of my head I watched, The Passion of the Christ.

I love the film and the message it presents to all of us, and that message is that Jesus Christ died for our sins. He went through so much pain and humiliation because he loved all of us so much. How incredible is that?

The next day I told my sister, Leslee that I had watched it, and it made me realize that I needed to be in church again. She had also wanted to start going again, so we planned to go that Sunday. Leslee and her kids did go to church that Sunday, I unfortunately overslept. However, I did make it the following week, and have been enjoying it ever since.

I immediately felt welcomed, everyone kept telling me they were glad to have me there, and hoped I'd come back again.

After my second or third week, I knew that I wanted to be baptized. I had been to a few baptismal services, and I got chills as each person accepted Christ in their lives. So I sent my pastor a message asking when the church would be doing baptisms, and he said they would schedule it.

In the meantime, one of Leslee's prayers was answered when her husband, Chad started attending church with us. It has truly made a difference for all of us.

Leslee and I are members of the church choir, which is wonderful. We've also been practicing for the Christmas cantata. I'm not usually comfortable with doing things in front of an audience, but when you're singing for God, you have to put the nervousness aside.

As I was heading down the hall for our first choir practice, my pastor asked if he could talk with me for a minute. We sat down, and he asked, "Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?" I said, "Yes, I have."

He said, "That's great! When would you like to be baptized?" I asked if we could do it the following Sunday, and he said that would be fine.

So, on my mother's birthday, September 19th, I went to church and everyone was asking if I was ready, and I said that I was. I couldn't wait. Just before I went back to be baptized, a man in the choir sang, It Is Well with My Soul.

He finished the song and then spoke of how he was encouraged by my decision to be baptized. I was thrilled that my decision had meant something to so many people.

I will never forget walking down the steps into that tub, turning around and looking in my pastor's face as he asked, "Ryan, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?" I said, "Yes, I have!" Then he said, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Then, I went under. As I came back up, I said, "Oh, wow!" I heard a man in the congregation say, "Amen." The power of that moment will never leave me. That day was truly the greatest day of my life.

I've heard people say that you don't need to go to church to believe in God. I believe that, but I also believe that if you do go to church, it makes you feel His presence so much more. I've realized I'm able to focus on things that are really important, instead of things that aren't so important.

I pray every night for those who are lost, and don't believe God exists. I try to understand how someone could feel that way and I can't.

I will continue to pray for them, and hopefully one day they'll realize how great there lives will be when they let Him in.

What Country Music Should Be (Part Two)

I wrote a blog last week about what I think country music should be. The entry talked about Patty Loveless, a singer I consider to be one of the TRUE voices in country music.

This second part will deal with another.

Her name is Kathy Mattea. I have been a fan of hers for many years, even before I found out she was from my home state of West Virginia.

The first song I heard from her was, Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses. I was around the age of nine at the time, and from then on, I was hooked.

During that time in her career, she was all over the radio. She also had the respect of the industry winning many industry awards, including CMA Female Vocalist of the Year in 1989 and 1990. She is also the recipient of two Grammy Awards.

Unfortunately, by the end of the decade, her hits seemed to dry up. In 2000, after the release of her album, The Innocent Years, she parted ways with her record company.

She then decided it was time for her to do the music she wanted to do, with or without help from radio, and major record labels.

Since taking charge of her music, Mattea has released four albums, Roses, Joy For Christmas Day, and Right Out of Nowhere.

Her fourth album was released in April, and is titled, Coal.

She planned the album after the Sago Mine disaster in January of 2006.

The album is a tribute to her grandfathers, who both worked in the mines. Songs on the album include, Blue Diamond Mines, Coal Tattoo, and You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive.

Critics have hailed Coal as the best album of her career. I totally agree, this album is perfect in every way.

I have wondered during the writing of these two entries why these two talented performers are no longer receiving radio airplay.

Is it because they aren't twenty-something? Is it because they're "too country" for country music?

I think the actual answer is that they refused to change their music styles to become what the "suits" would accept.

What do you think?

What Country Music Should Be (Part One)

An old blog from 2008.

I went to a concert last weekend, and it was amazing.

It's what country music should be, instead of the pop-tinged junk they play day after day on the radio, and on television.

I've been a fan of country music for a long time, or at least certain artists. These artists aren't having their music played on the radio as much as I would like.

It seems that if you aren't twenty-something in the industry, you don't count.

To me, this is a load of crap.

The person I went to see the other night was Patty Loveless, who, to me has one of the best voices ever.

She was in town promoting her new album, Sleepless Nights. It's an album that features some of the best country songs ever written.

She started her set with the George Jones classic, Why Baby Why. The song is also the opening track on the album. She performed six songs during the show, and she didn't disappoint me one bit.

She closed the show, and her album with the Hank Williams song, Cold, Cold Heart.

Patty had a string of hits in the early to mid-1990's, and then all at once radio seemed to drop her. Her albums have always been critically praised, even if they didn't sell well.

After radio finished with her, she decided to follow her own path. In 2001, she released a bluegrass album titled, Mountain Soul. Many critics have said it was the best album of her career.

She has released four albums since then, and after the disappointing sales of her last album, Dreaming My Dreams, she parted ways with her record company and decided to take some time off. She wasn't sure she would ever record music again.

During her three year hiatus, she dealt with the deaths of two family members, and the illness of another. It was because of these events that she decided it was time to get back to making music. For me, her new album was worth the wait..

Quiet Time

It's late at night, and I'm not quite ready for bed. I am listening to silence.

There is nothing on tv. I have it turned on, but I pushed the mute button awhile ago.

I think it's good to sometimes sit in a quiet space with nothing going on. When it's quiet, it's kind of soothing, and alot better than channel surfing.

I keep wanting to write something, anything that I think people will read. My thoughts get jumbled, and I can't seem to work through them.

But, right now, there are no distractions, no desire to see what's on the tv. Let's face it, it's 1:30 AM, chances are pretty good that there's nothing on.

Besides, people have told me for years that I watch too much tv. I guess maybe they're right, but thankfully over the past couple of years I have discovered a love for reading and writing.

The love of reading isn't such a huge deal, because I read a little in school and stuff, but I didn't REALLY enjoy it, till now.

My love of writing is really huge for me, because until two years ago, I never thought I would write anything. But a friend of mine had an online blog, and I read some of her entries, and through that I thought I could do it too.

I enjoy doing my blog. I love that people like reading what I have to say, even if it deals with things they could care less about.

Writing has also helped me express emotions that I don't usually express, like anger and feeling depressed. Thankfully, these emotions don't show themselves very often, but when they do, I work through them by writing.

Several people have told me that I should write a book. I like hearing that, because it means they enjoy what they've read, but I'm not creative enough to write a book. I barely have enough brain power to write my blogs. Maybe if I write enough of them, I can get them published someday.

Wouldn't that be something?

Happy Birthday, Papaw

This is re-post of a blog I wrote a year ago today..



Happy Birthday

Today would have been my grandfather's 92nd birthday. I think of him everyday, and yesterday I mentioned to my sister that we should do something to celebrate his birthday.

I thought of getting Oreo blizzards from Dairy Queen, then I thought of getting some Cookies and Cream ice cream, which he always had in his freezer.

My sister also suggested that we get some root beer, which was also something he had plenty of when we were growing up.

So, this afternoon, my sister went shopping for these things, and she also bought a cake. She also called our parents and invited them to celebrate with us.

This evening, me, Leslee, her husband and kids, and our parents gathered around the table holding hands and sang Happy Birthday to Papaw while looking toward Heaven.

It was a wonderful day to celebrate the life of such a great man. Thinking of all his stories and jokes, how much he loved to garden and help people.

The only thing that makes me sad, is thinking of his illness. I remember taking care of him, making his breakfast, giving him his pills and all that stuff.

I miss being able to see him everyday. I miss hearing his laugh, his jokes, watching him work word searches and reading Consumer Reports.

I'm very thankful for all the memories I have of him. The root beer and popcorn we'd have on nights we'd stay at his house, swinging with him in the porch swing. He loved it when we'd swing really fast. I think of him everytime I eat at Bob Evans, and can still hear him laughing, because he knows I always order their french toast.

Although he wasn't with us today physically, I know he was watching us from Heaven with a big smile on his face.

Happy Birthday Papaw......I LOVE YOU!!

Big Changes

When I turned 30 in May of last year, I had no idea at the time how much my life would change within those 12 months.

That day, May 10, 2009 was spent at my uncle’s house celebrating Mother’s Day. For me, the visit ended with a bang, or rather, a fall. You see, as I was heading to my parents’ van, my walker hit something on my uncle’s driveway which caused my walker to tip completely over. As I fell with the walker, I was sure I would bust my face, but thankfully, I just scraped my fingers.

I have always been terrified of falling, so for it to actually happen, I was sure I would never be comfortable on my walker again. I told my mother how scared I was to use the walker again, and she told me that I couldn’t let the fact that I fell stop me from using the walker. The following day I did get back on the walker to attend a program that my oldest nephew was in. I was so happy that I wasn’t nervous using it, because I was so sure I would be.

The following month, I was going to spend the weekend with my sister and her family. We went to a local swimming pool and I was talking with my sister, and I told her I was thinking of spending the summer with her. She loved having me over, so I knew she’d love the idea, especially since her husband was working out of town at the time.

So, I went to my house and got some things I would need during my stay. One night, I was sitting at the dining room table listening to music and working crosswords, and within a few minutes, I was clinging to the table. I was terrified that I was going to fall out of the chair. I had been having this feeling off and on for about a year and a half, but lately it had gotten worse. In order for me to be slightly comfortable, I had to put a chair on both sides of me.

I knew something had to be done.

I finally did something about the situation in November, when I went to my family doctor.

He asked me how I felt when the feeling of falling kicked in. I told him that it felt like the chair I was in was high in the air, and being afraid of heights, the feeling freaked me out. He prescribed Paxil to calm my anxiety, and it has helped me tremendously. I can now sit in any chair without feeling like I’m going to fall out of it.

During the same visit, we also talked about scheduling me for some physical therapy, because at the time I only used the walker when I absolutely had to. I know, it wasn’t very smart.

I went to therapy from November to March and out of all the times I’d done physical therapy, this was the best experience ever. I miss going to therapy, but I am thankful to know that because of it, I am more comfortable walking than I’ve ever been.

In March, while searching groups on Facebook, I learned that it was National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month. I was so thrilled to see that the condition I’ve had since birth, was finally being recognized nationally. I knew I had to find a way to get involved. I sent friend requests to several people, and spoke with a few who have children that have the same type of CP that I have. They appreciated me for sharing my experience with them.

In April, I was searching Facebook again for information on a comedian named, Josh Blue, who also has CP. While I was looking at his page, I saw a picture of a man in a Navy uniform.

I clicked on the picture, and I found out that it was the cover of a book called, “Someone Like Me.” The man who wrote the book also has CP, and he spent 20 years in the Navy, all the while keeping his condition a secret. As soon as I finished reading about his story, I sent him a message, and was shocked when I got a reply a few minutes later. I totally didn’t think he’d respond, because I figured he was too busy with book signings and interviews.

For the past few weeks, I have spent a lot of time spreading word of this man’s story, telling people to buy his book and join his Facebook pages.

I am so inspired by his story, that I would like to try to put my own journey with CP down on paper. I am also wanting to get involved, in some way, to spread the word of Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month. I want to see if I can get something done locally to celebrate this cause, and the people who deal with it from day to day.

Queen For a Day

We've all had embarrassing moments in our lives that we hope will never be brought up again. The following is one such story that took place when I was about seven years old.
At the time, I rode the bus to and from school. One afternoon, my mother helped me off the bus. And as she was walking up the stairs to our house, she said that she had received a letter about a program called, King/Queen For a Day.
The program was for disabled children and their mothers. The program was a chance for the kids to feel good about themselves. To celebrate what and who we were, at least that's how I saw it.
A couple days after mom told me about the program, my father took me to the Ramada Inn to register, because mom didn't get off work in time to take me. So we go inside, and we walk upto the desk and register. The woman tells us that every boy and girl has to wear a crown and sash to every event.
There's only one problem with this. The lady informs us that they have run out of all the "King For a Day" sashes. This means that for the entire time I'm there, I will have to wear the "Queen For a Day" sash.
My father asks her if it's absolutely necessary for me to wear the sash. The woman says, "Yes, every child must wear a crown and sash during the program." Dad apologizes to me, as if it's his fault.
The rest of the program made up for the fact that I was wearing the humiliating sash. The only bright spot was that the sash was yellow. We went to the Police Academy, and the officials spoke to us about the importance of being a police officer.
After the speeches were over, they gave us all the chance to ride in a police car. I loved it, because they let us work the siren. The officer I was riding with told us he hoped he never had to arrest any of us in the future. I kept thinking knock off the jokes, cause they aren't funny....lol.
After the ride in the police car, we headed back to the hotel for one last event. The people in charge handed out trophies to all the kids, and told us they hoped we enjoyed ourselves.
And with that, my day as a "Queen", was over. But when I got home, the teasing from my brother Eric began.
I hope that this story makes you laugh, because it is one of the funniest events of my life!!

Therapy

I have turned over a new leaf. For the last 5 months, I have been going to physical therapy, to try to become more comfortable on my walker and crutches.

When I first met my therapist, she asked me how I was getting around my house. I told her that I crawled through the house, since it was a lot faster and more convenient, since I am afraid of falling.

After hearing my answer, she told me that I needed to start walking around the house, otherwise, what we would be doing in therapy wouldn't do me any good. I told her that I had no problem with using the walker in the house, and that day I started to walk around the house, with minimal crawling.

During my early therapy sessions, we started with me laying on the mat doing several leg exercises. Then, we worked on the parallel bars. My therapist had me walk frontwards, backwards, and sideways. She also had me step on a wooden board, this exercise was done in case I ever had to walk up and down steps. The sessions ended with us walking down the hall to the lobby.

As time went on, the exercises were only done at home, and our work on the parallel bars ended. Walking around the hall, and sometimes outside became the main focus of therapy.

When I began to feel more comfortable on my walker, I began to think of working on becoming more comfortable on my crutches, which I hadn't used in a very long time. I mentioned this to my therapist, and she told me to bring the crutches to my next session.

We started slow with the crutches, at first my therapist just had me stand on them to see how they felt, then we walked a short stretch of the hall.

As we were walking down the hall one day, my therapist let go of the gait belt and I walked on the crutches without any support. It was an incredible feeling.

This month was my last month of therapy. The last couple weeks, my therapist had me walk the halls twice without holding the belt, to make sure I was comfortable enough to do it at home.


I have done so well with therapy, it's been amazing. I loved hearing other therapists tell me how much better my walking was now than when I first started. It's amazing what happens when you go from doing nothing, to doing something.


This past Friday was my last therapy session, and I ended it on a very good note, by walking around the hall 2 times.

I am so thankful to have gone through this experience. To know that I can be comfortable while walking is an amazing feeling..

A League of Our Own

I thought of this blog the other day while staying with my sister. I was sitting at the kitchen table talking to her step-son. He was talking about how excited he was about starting football practice soon. Then he said, "It must have sucked for you that you never got to play any sports". I then told him that I had played baseball for a couple of years, on a league for kids with various disabilities.The league was started by my occupational therapist, Mary Hager, and her husband in 1990 or 1991. She was working with me at the school one day, and was talking about the league and she asked me if I would like to join. I was completely excited about the opportunity to try something I never thought possible. I remember going and watching my brother play baseball and basketball, and both my sister's were cheerleaders and majorettes. I had such a good time watching them in these activities, but it never occurred to me that I would ever be able to participate in any sort of sport. Anyway, I told Mary that I would love to participate in the league, and I went home and told my parents about it and they were excited as well. A week before the first game, my sister's had a majorette festival, and on the way home my Father was talking about how Eric had played baseball and basketball...and Emily and Leslee were majorettes. After he finished I said, "It's my turn now." He seemed so happy that I had said that, because he told me that I had such a great attitude about things. Playing baseball was so much fun, I remember that some of the kids would try to hit the ball by having someone pitch to them, instead of hitting it off the tee. I wished that I could've tried it, but it was much easier for me to use the tee. Whenever I was in the outfield I would drive my family nuts, because if the ball wasn't coming my way, I would play in the dirt...lol. The adults would always tell us they didn't keep score, because in tee ball the score wasn't important, and that we should just have fun...each team kept score in private, but it didn't matter to me what the score was or anything like that...just feeling like a player was wonderful. I played in the league for about 3 years, because after you reached a certain age, you couldn't play anymore..kind of like Menudo. Anyway, at the end of each season, we would have our final game on the baseball field next to ours, because it had lights and everything. We even had an announcer who would introduce us when it was our turn at bat....it made me feel so great whenever my name was called, like I was the only one on the field. I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Again, thanks for reading.

Fight Club??

This story takes place back when I was around the age of 5...when I got into my first, and only fight. I went to a school that took care of the needs of the disabled, and the classroom was equipped with 2 sets of parallel bars for the kids to walk on...when it was playtime, or anytime we weren't doing class work. They were so fun to walk on, I always thought that if I let go, that I would be able to walk on my own after..I also felt that way anytime I walked in the pool. Anyway, this one day I'm walking on the bars minding my own business, when all of a sudden I get knocked down. I couldn't believe it...this kid named Stefan Marshall is on top of me, lightly punching and yelling at me...to this day I have no idea why he did it. While he continues his assault, I keep trying to get him off me or try to hit him back. Thank goodness I have long arms, because during my struggle I see a toy fire truck near me..I get a grip on it, and I hit him in the face with it. At that moment the blood starts coming out, and he starts to cry...I am pretty sure I did too, because we both got in trouble and they called our parents..not exactly Brad Pitt and Edward Norton, but fun to share nonetheless.

Caught Off Guard

There have been several occasions when my disability has caught people off guard. Here are the occasions, in no particular order. The first, deals with a phone call I get from some gentleman from a branch of the military. He introduces himself, and says that he would like to meet with me the next day in the counselor's office at school, to discuss a possible career for me in the service. I wait patiently for him to stop talking so that I can bring up the fact of my condition...so he finishes his speech, and I say, "I appreciate your call, but I am disabled." I expected him to hang up, but he goes right on, as if he didn't hear what I had just said. He continues by saying, "That's alright, you just drop by the counselor's office tomorrow, and we'll discuss some things." I hang up and look at my Mother, and say that he must have been desperate for recruits. Mom asked me if I told him of my condition, and I said yes, but that he just kept going and going...like the Energizer bunny. The next time this happened was with a UPS man...I am the only one home, and was expecting something in the mail. So the doorbell rings, and I answer it, and the man looks confused...because you see, I crawl around my house, so obviously I'm on my knees. I see his reaction, and almost start to laugh, because I'm sure this looked way too odd for him. I open the door to take the package, and sign for it...and he says, "Oh, you're on your knees"...and I think to myself, "No shit, Sherlock." The last time this happened is quite possibly the funniest, and the most embarrassing. I was visiting my sister and her husband in South Carolina, and they lived on a military base. We were coming home from eating or something, and we had to show ID to get through the gate...so the guard checks my sister and her husband, and then he looks in the back where I'm sitting, and he says..."Sir, I'm afraid you're going to have to step out of the vehicle." My brother-in-law said.."Uhh, he can't walk, he's disabled"... The look on the guards face went from total joy, because he had a good joke going....to a look of total embarrassment. He kept apologizing to us....I hope he didn't feel like crap the rest of the day!!

In the Hospital

I had been making trips to Shriners Hospital on and off since 1984. The doctor mentioned several times, that I may need surgery "someday." That someday came in the Spring of 1988.
My family and I made the journey to Kentucky, where the hospital was located. The surgery that I was having was called a tendon transfer. Not sure what the exact medical term is, since I'm not a doctor...lol. Anyway, the surgery took place during spring break, so that I wouldn't miss alot of school.
The day of my surgery came, and I remember a nurse came in to prep me. I remember feeling like Tarzan, because of the thing she tied onto me that covered Mr. Happy. She then wheeled my bed out in the hall, and then gave me a shot in the leg. Then my mother came and was talking with me, and I asked her if she could help me get more comfortable. When I raised my head up, the dizziness hit me. Mom told me to lay back down.
Shortly after, came the people who would be taking me to the operating room. It seemed to take forever for us to get there. Once we got there, they transferred me to the operating table...which was VERY cold. Then they put they put the mask over my nose and mouth, and I was out like a light.
When I woke up, it felt like someone had bound my legs like a mummy. I told them to "get me out of here." After awhile I got used to it, and everything was fine...until the spasms kicked in. I also remember having an IV. Dad kept telling me that the more I ate, the sooner I could have the IV removed. So when lunch came, I ate every bit of it...and said goodbye to the IV.
We went home a few days later. I have to tell you, it was a blast riding in the car, on my back. While I was home, my dad and I would go out and walk in the driveway. Walking was awkward, because there was a bar connecting the casts.
We went back to Kentucky a short while later, to have the casts taken off. When they took each leg out, they bent each leg. I cannot tell how painful this was. They then stood me up and asked me to walk on a walker. This was also torture.
After we came home, my dad kept trying to get me to walk on my crutches again. I told him I couldn't because of the pain. He and my mother then made the decision to send me back to the hospital for physical therapy. Their only problem was that they would have to leave me there alone, because my dad had to work, and mom had to take care of the kids.
Back to Kentucky we go. Dad left a couple days later, but before he left he told me that he left a bunch of change at the nurse's station. One night I asked if I could call home. The nurse said, "No." I was crushed. I guess she sensed it, because a few minutes later she told me that it would be fine for me to call home.
A couple days later it was finally time for my therapy session. I laid down on the mat, and cried shortly after the therapist started working on me. The pain was unbearable, but this was the only solution. When he finished, he said that he would see me again next week to see how much progress there was.
So the day came to see the therapist again. He and another therapist stood me up, and asked me to walk on the parallel bars. It was amazing, there was no pain at all.
Just like that my stay in Kentucky was over.

Tattoos and Scars

I got the title of this entry from an album by the country music duo, Montgomery Gentry. I like the title, because I have both tattoos and scars on my body.
I obtained my first scars in July, 1981. I had what they call a heel cord lengthening. The doctor performed the surgery, because when I would walk, my heels wouldn't touch the ground completely.
My next pair of scars came in 1988. I wrote about this experience in a previous entry, because it was the longest and most uncomfortable time I'd ever spent in cast.
In 1991, I returned to the doctor who had performed my first surgery. While in his office, he asked me to walk for him. I stood with my crutches, and walked a few steps. He noticed that my left leg turned inward at the knee. He said that he could fix it somewhat, by putting a metal plate on my hip to straighten the bone. The surgery was performed on March 6, 1991.
My next surgery was performed on March 28, 1994. I had another heel cord lenthening, because of a growth spurt. I was told at the time, that I may need to have this procedure done again in the future.
The moment of truth came on April 16, 2003. I had a slightly rough time after I came home. Every morning I would wake up at the same time, because of horrible spasms. It was the worst pain ever.
Now it's time to tell you about my two experiences with tattoo needles. The first tattoo was done on April 3, 2004. I was spending the day at my sister's house, and while we were watching a movie, I blurted out that I wanted a tattoo. I quickly said I was joking, but my sister knew I was serious. So, about an hour or so later, we headed for the tattoo parlor that she had been to on several occasions. I had the cartoon character Tazz tattooed on my upper right arm.
My second tattoo was done while I was visiting my other sister, in South Carolina. Her then-husband and I made the short trip to Charlotte, North Carolina, on June 26, 2004. I had the WV logo put on my upper left arm. It was done in honor of my home state.
After all it's the best state ever!!...

Who's at Fault?

I had a great childhood. Although some would say it wasn't a very typical one. While my siblings were out playing with their friends, I stayed inside with my mother, and watched countless hours of television. For me, the television was my playground. Sounds kind of silly, I'm sure, but it's true.
Now, don't get me wrong, I could have gone out and played with my siblings, and other kids in the neighborhood, but there aren't alot of games for a person on crutches to play.
During my early years, my parents provided a loving home for me and my siblings. And after I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy at the age of two, they began to search for the best medical treatment for me.
While doing so, they also had to deal with people close to them saying that how they were handling my situation wasn't good enough. That if I was in the care of another relative, I would be walking already.
A few years ago, another person told them that if they had consulted the right doctors, that I could have started walking while I was still little.
It was so easy for these people to say these things, everybody thought they had the answer. But the statements they made just caused my parents to second guess themselves.
I was talking with my mother recently, and this subject came up somehow, and she said, "It's no one else's fault, but mine."
She said that maybe if she hadn't smoked while she was pregnant, that maybe I wouldn't be disabled. But, the only reason I have this condition is due to lack of oxygen, which had occurred while my mother was having contractions, which she had no control over.
I will tell all of you reading this, that I am responsible for my not walking while I was younger. There is a reason why I haven't tried as hard as I should have.
The reason is because I am terribly afraid of falling. I don't know how to explain this to people, because it seems strange to people. Except my parents, and siblings.
I will say that no one is really to blame for my condition. It was given to me by God, and it's because of that, that I consider this condition quite a blessing.

Life is a Blessing

I recently put a headline on my profile. It says, "In God's eyes we're all the same, someday we'll all have perfect wings."
The quote comes from a country song called, Don't Laugh at Me, and ever since I first heard that part of the song, I've never forgotten it. I think how wonderful it is to know that God loves me no matter what I am. He blessed with cerebral palsy for a reason.
I may not know what the reason is, but I know I was given this condition for a purpose.
I remember two times when I was made fun for being handicapped.
I didn't actually hear what was said, but I heard about them from my twin sister, because it always bothered her when someone said anything about me.
She told me one day at school that some guy had said something about me, and that she would see to it that he apologize. Later that day while we were heading home from school, she told me that she talked with this guy's girlfriend, and the girlfriend promised to have him apologize to me.
The next day, while I was eating lunch, the girl and her boyfriend come over to me. She tells him to apologize. His response to her request is, "I ain't apologizing for stuff I didn't say."
I didn't know whether to laugh or not, because to me it was funny watching her drag him by the arm to where I was sitting.
I didn't get an apology from him, but I got one from his girlfriend. It was a nice thing for her to do, but I didn't really need an apology from anyone.
The second time happened a few months later. My sister informed me about it while we were heading to school one morning. Like the first time, I don't know the exact details.
Unlike the first time, this guy didn't get away with it by having his girlfriend apologize. This guy got his butt kicked.
After it happened, everyone involved got called into the principal's office. During my sister's visit, the principal told her, "We don't practice organized crime here at Andrew Jackson."
The following week, I was called back to her office, and sitting there with her was the guy who'd gotten beat up.
She told us to communicate how we were feeling because of this whole ordeal. He burst into tears as he apologized to me. I accepted his apology, because I knew he meant it.
A few months after this, the guy hurt his ankle, and had to use crutches. I felt bad for him, because I'm sure those wooden crutches are a pain in the ass.
These two events never got me down, because I didn't allow them to.
I also knew that I had five people at home who never let this condition get in the way of their love for me.
So, if I ever feel down about my condition, I think of the five people who love me most in the world.
I also think of God, for without him, I wouldn't be here to begin with.
I meant what I said at the beginning, that my life is a blessing from God.
And I'm going to live it to the fullest until it's time for me to get my…..perfect wings.

Hero?

I am a huge fan of doing surveys on this site. I also enjoy reading other people's answers, because reading what they think is quite interesting.
Below is an answer my mother posted on a recent survey about the third person on her friend list, which happens to be me….lol.

Q: Do you love this person?
A: As with all my children, I love him with all my heart and soul. He inspires me in ways he can't understand. When I think of a hero, I think of him. He's taken a really shitty hand dealt him and made the most of his life thus far. He finds ways to brighten my mood when I'm down. He always thinks of others. He's just the most inspirational person I know and I'm proud to be his mother.

When I read her response, especially the hero part, I was surprised. Not because I doubted how my mother feels about me, but, because it always seemed to me that children should think of their parents as heroes, not the other way around.
I have always thought of my mother and father as the ultimate heroes. They raised four kids, gave them everything they could ever want. They showered us with love and praise when we accomplished something special.
They made my childhood such a great experience, although I know it was difficult dealing with a disabled child. They never made me feel like I had to feel "different" from other kids, my condition wasn't a huge deal. It was, but they never treated it that way, and I think I followed their example.
I wouldn't trade my life for anything in this world. I know that may sound crazy to you, but when I think of the fact that the doctor's were saying my chances for survival weren't very good, I have to take comfort in the fact that God wasn't ready for me yet.
He gave me to the greatest parents who ever lived. There aren't enough words to express how much I love and respect them.
My life has been quite an adventure, and I am thankful that they've been there since day one, loving me every step of the way.
Mom, as proud as you are to be my mother, I am prouder to be your son!