What If...

So, every now and then, Joey and I talk about "what if" we could walk, “what if” our hands worked better. This isn't a feeling sorry for ourselves convo. Yeah, growing up, we wanted to walk, and, in reality, neither one of us saw ourselves with a crip, because we know the baggage we already bring to the table...why double it?

Anyhoo, love's crazy that way, huh?  So, somewhere along our individual lives or the time we’ve been together, our self-esteem has strengthened, and we've decided that we don't care whether we walk, because, honestly, we see you able-bodied guys fall on your faces and asses all the time, but more importantly, we PROBABLY wouldn't have met. We did meet at a camp for crips after all…God bless Camp Summit. 

So, we both settle on “what if” our hands worked better for the better maneuverability.

Then again, I wonder if my hands worked better, how would it affect my way of doing my art? Would it just become white noise, because I wouldn't have to figure things out to make the brush strokes others can that have the dexterity I don’t? Hmmm.  Things I do that are unique to me, that Joey doesn’t even do, like using my mouth as a third hand, how would better working hands affect those activities?  Would I just become another face in the crowd, another nobody? 

A lot of times, we get looked over as crips, but some people that know us, think of us as inspirations, and not in that charity case kind of way (I hate lip service), but genuine inspirations to what can be with determination, ingenuity, and a lot of “don’t give a fucks.”  Some of the recognition is cool like when a tattoo artist tells us we’re the first crips he or she’s done or when we’re only a handful of crips at a tattoo convention, comic con, or a concert (I’ll have blogs about this too).  And, we’ll definitely be the ONLY crip couple seen at these functions, which makes us proud, but sad at the same time, because we know we’re in the minority...and, crips aren’t getting out.  On the other hand, we’re just trying to live our lives on our terms like everyone else without the ‘How cutes” and the stares.

Of course, we know about the talking behind our backs when we slow the city bus down a little, because the driver has to lock us down, or our own families trying to plan our lives for us, because we’re crips and they know what’s best for us, and know that things will be harder for us, so it’s better we play life safe.  Then, for a bit, we second guess ourselves and wonder “What if” we could walk…blah, blah, blah.

We talk about these things.

So, I've asked this question in many of the Psych classes I've taken in college and since leaving college during speeches:

Take a day in your life. How would being a crip affect you?  How would your relationships with your friends and family be affected?  Your boyfriend/girlfriend, spouse?  How would you get around to do your daily things?  Would you, could you?  If you have kids, how would they treat you?  Would you bee able to figure out a way to care for them, and get them wherever they feel the need or genuinely need to go?  I’ve asked about relationships and duties.  But, what about you, yourself?  Would you be able to care for yourself, say, if your legs didn’t work…or, how about your hands…or, both?  Have you thought, “What if…?”