Pony Charity

 

The following story is about the Bible and if there was a stack of them close by, I would gladly place my hand on top of it and swear to you that what I am about to tell you is true. Of course, that wouldn’t offer you any reassurance because the Bible doesn’t mean anything to me and if I was going to lie to you I could just as easily do so with my hand on top of a stack of Bibles. So, I trust that you will just trust me on this one.

It seems that some companies that publish Bibles will be putting out editions that they believe will be more accessible to people who have dyslexia. They plan to accomplish this by printing the pages in a new font that they think   will be easier to read.

Now far be it from me to yuck anyone’s yum when it comes to making things more accessible for any genre of cripple. If you want to do whatever it is that you do in the name of cripple access, more power to you, unless you run a nursing home or something. In that case fuck off.

But now I know what my wise old grandmother meant when she said, “You know it’s easy to feel like you’ve had a good day if you’re a missionary or a libertarian." That may sound like a compliment, but it’s the opposite. She meant that missionaries have reduced life down to its simplest terms. The purpose of life is to save souls. So if you’ve  saved a soul, you’ve had a good day. Libertarians have also reduced life down to its simplest terms. The purpose of life is to make money, So. If you’ve made money, you’ve had a good day. My wise old grandmother sure was wise.

This is also a good example of pony charity. That happens when a bunch of do-gooders get together and present some poor unfortunate family with a pony. They don’t ask the poor, unfortunate family what they really want because they know damn well that a pony won’t be anywhere near the top of the list. And the do-gooders always make a big deal out of the pony presentation. They invite the local news. The unfortunate family has to pr4etend like they’re tickle pink  to receive a pony!  Just what they always wanted! And when the cameras leave, the poor, unfortunate family takes the pony to the pawn shop and hopes they can get enough for it to pay the rent.

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When Your Wheelchair Saves Your Life

 

You never know when your wheelchair just might save your life.

My friend Greg offers a case in point: Greg used to live in Florida, in the part where there are a lot of alligators roaming around freely. You never know if you might turn a corner and suddenly encounter an alligator. Their omnipresence is sort of like bears in Alaska

But anyway, one day Greg pulled up in front of his home in his cripple van. He deployed the ramp and just as he was getting out of the van he noticed that there was an alligator on the front lawn. Oh shit! What should he do? He thought about closing the van up and waiting inside until the alligator decided to leave. But that could take all night. The alligator looked comfy. So Greg decided that his best option was to gun it. He drove his wheelchair full throttle and sped to his front door, hoping he could outrun the alligator. And that must’ve been what happened because Greg got inside his house safely.

Maybe the alligator was too comfy to get up and chase after Greg. I don’t know. But I do know that something  similar happened to me at Yellowstone National Park. I turned around and there was a buffalo. Not more than 20 feet away. I looked at him. He looked at me. I felt my heart pounding. I said to myself, “Damn! If he wants me, he’s got me!” If the buffalo decided to charge me, I was screwed! It wouldn’t matter whether it trampled me or not. If it would have started charging me, I would have died of a heart attack before it got to me.

But, judging by the perplexed expression on the face of the buffalo as it looked at me, it was probably saying to itself, “Damn! If he wants me, he’s got me!” And then it ran away.

I think my wheelchair saved my life that time because I’ve seen that same perplexed look on the faces of some humans when they suddenly encounter somebody in a wheelchair. And if the sight of a wheelchair can confound a human, it must be downright terrifying to a dumb animal like a buffalo. That’s probably what made it run away.

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The Rules of the Game

Sometimes I wonder if some parts of me cancel out other parts of me. 

Like for instance, I’m a Caucasian male, right? You’d think that would put me at the tip top of the patriarchy pyramid.  You’d think that I’d be perched way up there with all of the advantages and privileges that are the birthright of Caucasian males oozing out of every orifice.

But I’m also crippled. And that has always felt to me like it cancels all that other stuff out.  Like for instance, I was sent to a state-operated boarding school for cripples that I refer to as the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT). I might’ve been one of those gifted students who would’ve been placed on a fast track to the Ivy League schools. Or I might’ve been a dime-a-dozen mope with a C average. Who knows? I was never given a chance to find out because I was crippled and that was all that mattered. Cripples were sent to schools like SHIT and that was that.

I suppose it’s true that being a Caucasian male puts me at the tip top of the patriarchy pyramid within crippledom. It’s logical to conclude, considering the rules of the game, that a black woman who is crippled would have a much harder time making progress than a cripple like me. Every once in a while the patriarchy bends over and spreads its cheeks and says to an outside culture, “Psst. You can enter me now. But just the tip.” Thus, guys like me are the first ones to penetrate.

A few years ago, I was invited to be the commencement speaker at SHIT. I think I was invited because I am probably their star alumnus, even though I graduated from there 50 years ago.

Of all the people who have come and gone from that place throughout the years, I may be their best success story. Isn’t that sad?

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