It is almost two in the morning and apparently finding any sleep when you can’t breathe out of your nose and your right leg is acting really weird, I might as well get an early start to my post for Free Write Friday. And Kellie has picked a very interesting prompt for us this week. The funny thing is, everytime I go to do one of these kinds of posts, nobody usually reads them. Did I just jinx myself? Anyways, she gave us a very interesting prompt from a commercial she saw while she was in the middle of shows, (sounds like me, but I usually just skim past them with my awesome DVR) but she is having us use what was said in the commercial. And I’m hoping I didn’t do it wrong. Here is the prompt she gave us:
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” — John Keating (Robin Williams) Dead Poets Society
What would be my verse?
I am the one that people stare at while in the stores. It’s never been about what kind of pants, tops, jewelry I’m wearing; it’s the wheelchair and my controller at my feet they see first. If you were raised to not stare at strangers then how come you still do it? I’ve been alive for many, many years and I’ve seen a lot of older people, like probably in their 50s just walk on by and watch me drive away down the aisle. I love when I’m in the music department or just looking at some shirt and there will be some little kid, either inside a cart or running around by its mother; somehow I have the power to stop them dead in the tracks. And they don’t just stare at you, they have to come up close to you. You can’t help but smile at them because they’re curious of their surroundings. I am one of a kind, or so I’ve been told. A lot of children and older adults have never seen somebody who can drive with their feet. Could you imagine if I had a table and never-ending supply of notebooks and wrote with my feet in one setting at your favorite store? I mean, honestly would you come over and watch me in wonder like the rest?
I was born with these disease that basically locks all of my joints. I cannot move my arms like you can, nor my fingers. I can’t grasp things or put my hand in a fist. I wasn’t really taught how to walk, because of my feet. They’re a little different from most, but all of the things I describe what your hands can do, I do them all with my feet. I can grasp a pencil, pen, marker, etc with two of my toes and wrote as neatly as I possibly can. I can make two little awkward fists with my feet as well. I have also been told that I have a pretty nice grip too. God forbid, if you lost the use of your hands I believe with a little practice you could be able to do everything you did with your hands with your feet. I just wouldn’t try to use a knife around a fairly large group of people, you might scare a few of them off. Just a suggestion! I did try to do the walking thing, but it never gave me the same feeling I was hoping to get whenever I dreamt about it at night growing up. Once I decided to give it up, I never looked back on it. Which is interesting because I always second guess myself and regret later on in life, but that hasn’t happened for me with this subject.
So with all of this being said and back to my original question at the bottom of the first paragraph. If I had a table and was placed in the middle of the department store, would you really ignore me? Would you tell you kids it’s not polite to stare? Honestly staring isn’t bad unless you don’t come up and learn more about me. I haven’t looked back on life and saw giving up being able to walk in a walker, without asking myself questions about my decision. Would you regret not asking me a question? Saying that you admire me is one thing that I’ve been used to hearing, even though I’ve heard it a lot. I want to be asked questions. I always have, mainly because I have the same amount of questions trapped inside of me. I am not this person that minds a good question, rather you are five years old to your sixties. It doesn’t really matter to me. As long as you ask it. I wouldn’t mind answering it.