Anyone who knows me knows I’ve been hardened by life. I’m a School of Hard Knocks alumni, right here, one of the toughest sons of bitches you’ll ever meet. That’s why, when I realized my chronic pain was starting to become a real disability, I made the decision, after much deliberation, to get my first wheelchair.
And let me tell you, I’ve been around the block a few times. Just a few, to be clear. Being out in public in that thing is depressing as shit. So just a few times, not too many. But that’s enough experience, right? I’m still an authority? Tell me I’m still an authority! Say it, goddammit!
I mean, come on! I was briefly an old-fashioned, factory worker union man! And, you know, it takes a toll on the body! So the family convinced me I needed a wheelchair. I was stubborn. Hell, I didn’t even wanna retire! But I knew they had a point because my knees were shot to shit, and sometimes, being a man means swallowing your pride.
But holy hell, I hate that goddamn chair! It’s humiliating, that thing. My body gave everything it had until I had nothing left to give, but there’s plenty of wisdom left. There must be!
After only a few months of using the chair, when people see me, they expect me to have some calming perspective about taking what life gives you in stride. Kind-of bullshit if you ask me! But can’t going around the block a few times be enough? It takes so much out of me! Please, let it be enough!