Today, as I was leaving Culver's, I noticed a little boy missing his right arm. He couldn't have been more than 8-years old. Making my way out the front door, I heard, "Sir!" and saw his mom coming up behind me. The conversation was a bit awkward, but basically she just wanted to point out the fact that her son and I looked the same. I shook his left hand with my right. He was wearing a ball-cap and a Detroit Tigers shirt and his mom had him lift the sleeve to reveal his right arm, which looked very similar to my left. I asked if he played baseball and he said yes. When I asked his favorite position, he said they just "switch around." I told him I pitched when I was little. I told him, "Whatever you do, have fun, ok?" He smiled and nodded and then we were on our way.
As I walked to my car, I was overcome with emotion. I'm not sure exactly why. Sure, it was somewhat awkward, but it was also an incredibly powerful moment in my life. I wanted to scoop them both up and smother them with love and encouragement. I wanted to hug his mom and say, "He's going to be great. Don't you worry. Be amazed by him. Encourage him. Expect great things from him." And I wanted to tell him, "Be you. Work hard. Have fun. You can do anything you want! Love people and make good friends; they'll protect you. They'll be in your corner." I felt like there was so much more I could have done or said.
So, why did it affect me so much? If you know me, you know I don't ever really think about my arm (unless I'm making a joke). But...maybe I should. It is quite unique. Even I do a double-take when I see myself in a mirror or on film. I feel like maybe I'm supposed to do something. Perhaps I could inspire kids who have the same uniqueness I do. That sounds so presumptuous, and honestly, I'm much too insecure to think that way at this point. But, maybe it's time to suck it up and live a life that inspires people. Heck, that mom thought enough of the fact that I was alive that she called me back to show her son. "See, pal, in 25 years you could look like this." She didn't know me from Adam. Just the fact that another person existed that looked like her little boy was enough inspiration. I can do that.
So, what can I do with this urge to do something? For one thing, I've had the idea to write a children's book about having one arm, because they are usually the ones with the most questions. Just last week, at my son Sam's baseball practice, seven of his 6-year old teammates asked me about my arm...at separate times, mind you. I should've just held a conference on the mound. The impetus for the book actually came years ago when my little brother, Joey, asked me to come to show-and-tell. The kids all asked me questions like, "Can you tie your shoes?" and "Can you ride a bike?" and "Can you drive?" and "Have you seen Tommy Boy?" All kids have these questions. And I can answer them, to some extent. I can show them that kids with missing limbs are normal.
And what about support groups? Maybe I could organize something like that. For kids, teenagers, young adults, parents, grandparents...everybody handles it differently. For instance, when I was working at Rogan's Shoes, a gentleman approached me who had been lurking in the store for quite some time. "I just wanted to tell you how inspiring you are," he said. "See, I'm on my way to an interview, but I'm terrified. I have a foot disability and it makes me so nervous around people. But, watching you help people so confidently, it's really helped me, and I wanted you to know that." This man, probably in his 50s at the time, was reticent because of a "disability" that wasn't even visible. But, to him it was glaring. It prevented him from living confidently. Why shouldn't people like him have a community of support and encouragement?
Growing up, my parents never ever treated me differently. They were amazing. They encouraged me to do everything I wanted. At the very least, to try it. Whether it was baseball, track, music, theatre...no matter what, they were there. And they never said I couldn't do something because of my arm. I grew up with great friends and amazing teachers, too. They protected me. No lie, I remember one time...one single time ever in my life...that somebody used my arm as an insult and within seconds, that person was thrown over a car hood by someone I didn't even know knew me. I remember my gym teacher, Mr. Marx, always encouraging me to tackle any obstacle put in front of me. Climb the rope to the ceiling? Done. Do Jump Rope For Life? Of course. For me, my "disability" was just the way my arm was made and I learned to do everything that way. In fact, I was one of the first kids in our state to be fitted with a myoelectric arm (checkout this vintage video clip of me on the news), but most of the time it sat shoved in my locker because I already knew how to do everything one-handed. Sorry, mom and dad!
When I really think about it, the reason I rarely think about my arm and how it affects my life is obvious. That reason is: community. A community of family and friends that loved me and raised me with high expectations and oodles of acceptance. Right now two of my three kids are playing in a fort they made and eating a snack they prepared for each other. My job (and yes, I've chosen to accept it) is to raise them the way my parents raised me; in an atmosphere of love and acceptance and expectation. I hope I can inspire them...somehow.
Sooner or later we'll see what the tangible results of this "chance encounter" are. But, I do know this: we all need community. A community of supporters, of defenders, of protectors, of friends...a community of love and acceptance. And expectation. Look to be that person to those around you. Lives will be changed.
Mine was.
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