To celebrate Disability Pride Month, I thought I would honor the man my father was. Most of my memories of him place him in a wheelchair, but I remember him as someone who never gave up and made the best of the situations life handed him. He didn’t let his handicap prevent him from being a good husband and a fantastic father.
Strength Through Disability
Before I entered kindergarten, my dad was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. He quickly lost the use of his legs, but that didn’t stop him. For about a year after his diagnosis, he still drove to work and got himself in the building. Unfortunately for him, there was a flight of stairs as soon as he entered the building. Unfortunately for the stairs, he wasn’t one to give up. He climbed out of his wheelchair, sat on the first step, and carried himself up the stairs using his hands to lift his body up to the next step. When he reached the top, he climbed into another wheelchair and went to work.
Multiple Sclerosis eventually forced my dad into retirement but he didn’t roll over and give up. During the school year, he climbed out of bed early to make breakfast and drove me to school thirty minutes earlier than we needed. The radio in his car was broken, but he dug up his old fishing radio and had me tune the dials to an appropriate station for us to enjoy; primarily rock and roll. He and I went fishing twice but never caught much; the one fish I managed to reel in was small enough to be a baby that he named Lil Dinky which we joked about for years. We often cooked dinner together before my mom came home. Technically I cooked dinner while he supervised, but that’s neither here nor there.
Summertime was filled with moments of excitement. We built model rockets and launched them at nearby parks. We launched at least eight but only found two of them. He taught me to play blackjack and told me to take any free drinks offered by the staff. He begged my mom to use the credit card to buy Guitar Hero and Rock Band, video games that came with physical instruments required for gameplay. My dad recorded me on the videocassette jumping on the couch as I played. When my mom saw it, she wasn’t thrilled about me ruining her couch, but my dad insisted every rocker needs a stage to perform on.
As much as I loved doing things like that with my dad, reading brought us together. He didn’t want me to slip on learning during the summer. He knew the importance of school and didn’t want me to follow in his footsteps. For context, he was one of those troublemaking, metalhead, car-loving guys from the early eighties. He would get up from class to have a cigarette when he pleased. At the end of the school day, or whenever he wanted to leave, he peeled out in his Chevy Nova, smoking out the hallways.
Don’t question me, boy. I went to six years of high school. I know more than you.
Derrick Smith
Maybe because of his first-hand experience, he wanted me to be better equipped for school. During the summer, rather than let my brain rot away, he packed me up in his car and drove us to the library. It quickly became a system. Once a week we’d drive to the library, grab a stack of easy-to-read books, and on the way home we would swing by the corner store for a case of beer, a pack of smokes, and cheap push-up ice cream. No, my dad wouldn’t let me try the beer or have a cigarette. I only asked once and his stern denial was all I needed to hear.
Connection Through Reading
Eventually, my dad wanted to push my reading ability. Instead of scooping up the picture books and the short stories, he thought novels would be better for me. I felt ready and was eager to read but he wanted to help ease me into the longer and far more wordy books. He offered to read them with me, and I happily accepted. Little did I know that meant I would read the book aloud to him while he supervised, just like with the cooking. But I didn’t complain.
Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville
This was the first book we read together. It was about a boy who found a magical shop and left with a dragon egg. To his surprise, the egg hatched, and he had to take care of it until it was taken away to live with its kind. I’m man enough to admit I teared up as Jeremy’s friend was whisked away to be with his people. I know my dad is man enough to admit the same thing.
I look back on this book fondly, partly because I read it with my dad, but mostly because it was my true introduction to reading. It wasn’t the first book I read, but it was the first book I connected with. Before this, I was reading because people told me to, whether it be school or a requirement from a summer reading program. Jeremy’s journey sparked my interest in reading and steered me into who I am now.
My Name Is America: The Journal Of Sean Sullivan by William Durbin
The second book we read together was about a young boy who worked with his father to help build the transcontinental railroad in the late 1800s. Sean starts as a water boy, fetching barrels for the thirsty workers. At night, everyone is too tired to do anything but sleep. But on Sundays, the workers are off, and Sean explores the rough towns they come across as they work through America.
My dad chose this book because it was about a young boy and his father working together on something like the railroad. I get my enjoyment of history from him, whether this book created that interest I can’t say for sure, but it was fun to share that with him. The book had a few swear words; my dad told me to say them with my chest, so I did. And he laughed as my mom shouted from the other room to watch my mouth.
Hatchet by Gary Paulsen
Lastly, but most importantly, was Hatchet. This was the first book my dad got for me from the library and had me read alone. He told me the librarian was positive that I would like the book, and they were right. I did like it. But also because my dad handed it to me and urged me to read it myself. The librarian said it might be above my reading level since I was still in the second grade, but my dad assured her I would be fine. In Hatchet, Brian Robeson, a 13-year-old boy, finds himself trapped near a lake after his pilot has a heart attack. Armed with a hatchet given to him by his mother, he manages to develop survival skills until he is rescued by a passing airplane after 54 days in the wilderness.
I felt connected to Brian because it seemed like we were both on separate survival stories. It sounds dramatic, but bear with me. Hatchet was well above my reading level and my dad pushed me to do it on my own, like a bird nudging its baby from the nest. I was ready, it’s not like books are scary or dangerous, but it was still a bit of an adjustment that I needed to get used to. I was no longer reading at the kitchen table, underneath yellow lights, with my dad as an audience. Little did either of us know how that book would shape the rest of my life.
People who knew my dad told me he and I are similar. I’ve been told we have the same sense of humor, calm personality, and drop-dead good looks. I’ll have to take their word for it as I never saw the similarities because I never looked for them. I was too busy being amazed by who he was and how I could do my best to be like him. I didn’t see him as disabled or a man succumbing to an illness. He was a stubborn badass who wouldn’t let a disability get between him and what he wanted to do. I can’t emphasize enough how he never let the wheelchair define him or stop him from being the man, and father, he always wanted to be.
For books mentioned in this article and more, view Bookstr Team’s recommendations here!
Then, check out this article on books with badass characters who redefine disability!
