Thinking Inside of the Box


By Mark E. Smith

We need to think outside of the box. If you’ve been around any sort of business environment – or, even pop-culture – you’ve surely heard that expression, one used by countless management coaches and motivational speakers for decades. Of course, what thinking outside of the box means is using creativity and originality to find new solutions, ones that others presumably haven’t found.

Interestingly, the term thinking outside of the box is said to have mainly originated through corporate coaching at Walt Disney Corporation in the late 1960s, based on the nine-dot puzzle, in which the goal is to connect nine dots by drawing four straight, continuous lines without lifting the pencil. The key is that the puzzle is only solved by connecting the dots and drawing a shape that voids the puzzle’s initial “box” shape – hence, thinking outside of the box.

Despite the catch-phrase appeal of thinking outside of the box, the way that most people view the motivational concept – arguably, including Walt Disney – is the completely wrong . Literally, the nine-dot puzzle requires us to think inside the box – that is, we’re given a specific situation, and to solve the puzzle, we must work with the constraints of what we have, exactly nine dots. Sure, we must unconventionally connect the dots to solve the puzzle, but we’re still only working with what we literally have, nine dots.

When we live with disability, thinking inside of the box is among our best strategies toward successful living, where we simply make the most of what we literally have. Indeed, some can think outside of the box, hoping for a cure, or wishing to turn back time. However, such thinking that’s outside of our realities – beyond our nine dots – is truly futile. After all, we can’t work with what we don’t have.

However, to the contrary, when we think inside of the box – that is, when we look at the “dots” that we actually have, and work with them to our fullest potentials – we can then create true progress, from solving puzzles to succeeding in every aspect of our lives. Quite simply, thinking inside of the box is when we recognize the literal resources that we have, and then we work them to their most fruitful, advantageous outcomes: I may have cerebral palsy, but within those limitations, I have the ability to excel in business, to write and communicate at an impacting level, to live as a role model for my daughter, and on and on. That is, thinking inside of the box allows us to focus on our true potentials, no matter framed by disability, and succeed with the inherent capacities that we have.

Countless times, I’ve sat talking with someone – someone with a lifelong disability, or a recent injury, or a progressive condition – and I’ve heard him or her thinking outside of the box, longing for a cure, wanting to change the way life has gone, wishing for the impossible. Meanwhile, inside the box – that is, within the person’s true daily life – there’s a wealth of potential and blessing, from a great intellect, to a supportive family, to some physical abilities. Yet, the person is so stuck on thinking outside of the box, that he or she has no capacity to value all that life has truly provided within its seeming limitations. In this way, thinking outside of the box simply stifles one’s potential for growth and joy in life, whereas, in contrast, thinking inside of the box allows us to realize our full potentials. The simple truth is this: Working with what we have, to our best abilities, is how we succeed – disability or otherwise.

I volunteer one night per week as a credit counselor, helping others get their financial lives back under control. What’s striking to me is that the vast majority of consumers I’ve worked with initially believed that their debt was due to not having enough money: If I only had more money, I wouldn’t be in debt, is often said. However, as we’ve listed their incomes and expenditures, it usually becomes clear that they make more than enough money to live comfortably, but that they’ve simply been spending more than they’ve made – or, as I like to say, their wants have been larger than their wallets. In this way, much of their financial woes aren’t based on income, but based on perspective, where their thinking outside of the box – charging big-screen TVs while truly having small-screen budgets! – has lead them directly into debt. However, what’s surprising to many is that in helping clients get their finances under control, there’s no magic or skill to it – as financial counselors, we simply show them how to live within their budgets, or how to think inside of the box. The fact is, financially-secure, successful people simply don’t spend more than they earn – that is, they think inside of the box. Again, there’s no question that simply using precisely what we have to its fullest potential works every time, in money, life, and disability.

When it comes to the success of thinking inside of the box that we call disability, I’m reminded of a friend of mine who lived for flying. In fact, he was an airline pilot with a major airline for 15 years, working his way up to captain. One night, while walking through London during a layover at Heathrow airport, he was robbed at gunpoint, and as he tried to get away from his attacker, he was was shot in the back, resulting in quadriplegia. By any account, his ability to captain airliners was over.

Yet, rather than giving up on the career that he loved, my friend found the value of looking inside of the box that he now had. No, he couldn’t professionally captain an airliner ever again – that was way too far out of the box. However, with all of his education, training, knowledge, and personality, he realized that he could pursue his passions for flying in a new way, working within his present abilities – inside of his box – and he became a ground instructor, teaching young pilots in the classroom.

If there’s one motto that we should live by, it’s to think inside of the box. No, not all of our boxes are equal, where some have nine dots in their boxes, while some of us have fewer. Yet, if we forgo any impossible wishful thinking or any stifling regret, and merely utilize the full potentials that we each truly have in our lives, opportunity becomes boundless. Let us think inside of the box, fully valuing all that we have, and make the most of our dots – our lives – each day.

Practicing the Unoriginal


By Mark E. Smith

I remember my first day in San Francisco State University’s creative writing program years ago. It was a big deal to get accepted into it, and as I sat in my first class, I was undoubtedly surrounded by some of the best and brightest – especially since now they’re running magazines, managing newspaper syndicates, and publishing best-selling novels. But, on that first morning, rather than an inspired welcome by our department’s head celebrating our admittance, we were told that we were merely legacies of the past, void of originality, that all worth writing had already been written, that we were kidding ourselves if we thought that we could contribute anything but mimicry to the literary canon.

Of course, I knew that the department head was just trying to shake us up, seeing if we had the guts to put ourselves out there when it came to trying to find our individual voices in a craft so heavily populated with historical talent. However, her words stuck with me, not relating to writing, but to disability experience: There’s nothing original about succeeding with disability – it’s already been widely accomplished, and there’s nothing intrinsically unique about any one individual’s experience. And, there’s tremendous inspiration in that reality.

This year, I had among my most amazing summers. No, I didn’t take an exquisite vacation – in fact, I’m not sure that I even took a day off of work. Rather, what made my summer so extraordinary was that I was on the road almost every weekend, jumping in the van or on a plane on Friday nights or Saturday mornings, shooting off to remarkable events, speaking in front of groups and having one-on-one dinners with intriguing people, all relating to disability experience in some way. And, the life stories that I witnessed along the way were emblematic of so many ordinary folks simply succeeding with disability:

A 40-something mother, who likely won’t experience another summer, told me that she’s using her rapidly-progressing ALS to teach her children about the joys of living, not the sorrows of dying.

A young lady with spina bifida explained to me that she’s been on over 20 job interviews in her field this year, all to no avail. When I asked if she was getting disillusioned in her job search, she smiled and said, “No, I’m just getting warmed up.”

A gentleman who dove off of a dock, into three feet of water, resulting in paralysis, told me that when he came out – of the water, of the rehab, of the depression – he found himself sober and better for it for the first time in twenty years.

A six-year-old girl with cerebral palsy told me that she can’t wait to receive her new power wheelchair. And, when I asked what she was going to first do with it, she replied, “I gunna dance with my sisters.”

It’s amazing how when you get out there and meet people with disabilities, of all ages and backgrounds, you realize that so many are living successful lives, a contrast to statistics or bummed-out posts on Internet message boards. What’s more when you delve deeper, getting to know those living successfully with disability, a pattern emerges to their success: There’s no magic, talent, or originality to it. Living successfully with disability is simply intrinsic to our humanity.

No, I’m not saying that everyone draws upon their capacity to thrive while living with disability. In fact, some entirely convince themselves that disability is destroying their lives, that their self-pity and bitterness is completely justified, while still others have misaddressed psychological or emotional conditions that prevent disability acceptance or optimism, as well. Yet, their defeated rhetoric manifests itself all the same:

When you live with ALS, every tick of the clock means that you have one less minute to live – that makes living with hope and optimism impossible.

When every job interviewer shuts the door on you because you use a wheelchair, it’s impossible to continue.

Why should I stop drinking? Since my accident, I’ve got nothing left to live for.

I wish I wasn’t in a wheelchair, so I could dance like the other kids.

Of course, none of the people who I remember so clearly from this summer took such self-pity routes, and rightfully so. Again, if you really get at he heart of disability experience, taking the negative route goes against our humanity. From birth, we’re wired with tremendous survival instincts, and when we face challenges, we rise to the occasion. I think of the flooding throughout the southern U.S. in recent years where people hustled to prepare for storms, rode them through, and lost almost everything in the process. Yet, with little more than the clothes on their backs, they’ve had tremendous optimism toward rebuilding their lives. What we see time and time again is that we are indomitable survivors, where resilience proves itself as the core of who we are.

Now, I know that rebuilding a house or even an entire town after flooding doesn’t equate to living with a profound disability. However, my point is, we all face storms; but, more importantly, we all have the innate ability to weather them, riding them with grace and dignity no matter how they impact our lives. In this way, there’s nothing original about living successfully with disability, as people accomplish it everyday, moving forward with positivity, dignity, and resilience – the very capacities we’re born with.

This realization is so important because it allows us the clarity needed to pull ourselves out of the self-pity trap. When one looks at those who successfully live with disability as exceptions to oneself, it simply serves as a justification for one to continue living in defeat. However, once we realize that successfully living with disability is, in fact, commonplace, we’re forced to ask ourselves a question of ultimate accountability: Many others are succeeding with disability, why aren’t I?

And, it’s at that point where we can then stop looking to outside factors as excuses, and start looking to ourselves for solutions, where we actively shift from self-pity to empowerment. In this light, when we find ourselves feeling depressed or defeated, we then know to seek support from peers, counselors, doctors, and pastors because we realize that disability, itself, simply should not be defeating us – that is, there’s work to be accomplished, success to be achieved, and we must get to it.

Interestingly, I asked the mother with ALS how she so optimistically focuses on living during a stage when medically she’s withering, whether she thought that her successful outlook was unique to her or something that we all share? “I’m going to die once,” she told me, “but, till then, I get to live every day. Only a fool would stop the celebration of life early, no matter the circumstance.”

What a beautifully unoriginal thought – unoriginal in the way that we can all practice her outlook, and live every day successfully, with disability or otherwise.

Three Pages in the Trash


By Mark E. Smith

If you told me of all of the complications of your disability – physically, emotionally, mentally, socially, economically – and I simply replied, “So what?” would you be offended?

In fact, I give this very response to my friends – and, more importantly, myself – every day when it comes to the challenges of living with disability: You and I have disability hardships, so what?

No, I’m not insensitive or crass or jaded. Rather, I simply know that when it comes to viewing our disabilities, often simply saying to ourselves so what? is a key to success, a game-changing move that allows us to accomplishing our goals.

This summer, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know a 21-year-old young lady with very severe cerebral palsy. She’s unable to speak or use her limbs in any way, but with slight moves of her head, she’s able to operate a communication board, as well as operate a power wheelchair. As you might imagine, however, both tasks are very intensive for her, where communicating a single word can take literally one minute, and operating her wheelchair is a constant stop-and-go procedure. Still, beyond her communication device and power wheelchair, she has no other physical abilities whatsoever, and requires full-time care. In fact, she’s what some in the clinical community might call “locked in,” meaning that she has no natural way of expressing her needs to the outside world.

Yet, what might surprise some is that my friend attends college and has a part-time job – just like many 21-year-olds.

Now, don’t feel embarrassed if you’re wondering how someone with such a severe disability – “locked in,” in many ways – attends college and holds down a part-time job? After all, maybe you’ve attended college or certainly worked, so you know the physical, social, and interactive demands required; or, maybe you are profoundly disabled and can’t imagine going to college or working. Therefore, you might logically be wondering, how does someone like my friend with such a severe disability accomplish such seemingly enormous goals despite her condition?

By saying so what? – that’s how. We can make a list three pages long why college and employment should be impossible for my friend – she can’t speak, has no control over her body, can’t feed or toilet herself, and so on. But, to each one, she’ll tell you the same response: So what?

And, I agree with her – so what? No, I’m not surprised that she attends college and works despite severe disability – lots of us with disabilities have done that, as we should. However, what impresses me is that at such a young age, she’s put into practice a key to success: Accepting full accountability as she lives with her disability, unwilling to use it as an excuse in any way, avoiding playing the victim role, saying to herself, so what if I have a disability?

Sure, my friend could have easily dived headfirst into victimhood at some point, making a three-page list of reasons why she couldn’t attend school or work: I can’t speak. I can’t move my limbs. I can’t feed myself. I can’t toilet myself. My cerebral palsy prevents me from doing what I want and dream. And, as a society, we’d never argue with that reasoning.

However, there’s no accountability in such thinking, is there? The minute that we look at disability as happening to us – where we make a list of excuses why we can’t rise to its challenges – we live in defeat. It’s not my fault that I can’t attend college or work – I have cerebral palsy. It’s victim thinking at its best – and it serves no one.

Yet, my friend completely avoids victim thinking by viewing her disability as of her, not happening to her, and that’s a vital distinction, where the mindset of I have cerebral palsy – so what? allows her to simply move forward. It’s common sense that the minute that when we shift our thinking from the victimhood of why me? to the accountability of so what? – I’m moving forward despite disability our lives open to progress and accomplishment.

Often when it comes to the presumed limiting factors of our disabilities, they’re based almost entirely on our own negative thinking – our embracing victimhood – instead of valid barriers. Sure, we could all play the victim, make our own three-page list of how our disabilities limit our potentials – and, we could check off every box as yet another reason why we can’t pursue our goals or live up to what we should achieve, why we’re casualties of disability. Heck, we could even get everyone from family to doctors to society to sign off on that tragic list, validating why we can’t do something we should be doing, acknowledging why we deserve to feel robbed, defeated, and depressed.

At some point, though, if we’re going to fully live up to our potentials – and, most importantly, move our lives forward – we must assume full accountability for how we live with disability, and throw our three pages of disability excuses in the trash, just as my friend has done, where victim thinking is replaced by accountability, where we pronounce to ourselves, I have a disability – so what? and just get on with life.

Echoes of Willowbrook

By Mark E. Smith

When one discusses “institutions for those with disabilities,” Willowbrook State School must come up. From 1947 to 1987, Staten Island’s Willowbrook was among the nation’s largest facilities for children with disabilities – and, ultimately, among the most horrific. In a February 1972 article, Time reported, “[Willowbrook] resembles Sartre’s vision of Hell. Bare and high-ceilinged, its walls covered with flaking green paint, the room is redolent of sweat, urine, excrement – and despair.”

In the 1960s, children with disabilities at Willowbrook were intentionally given hepatitis as medical experiments, and by the 1970s, they were subject to unimaginable neglect and abuse. In 1972, a then-29-year-old Geraldo Rivera performed an undercover news investigation of Willowbrook that awoke our nation, showing how the institution housed 5,000 children and teens in a facility for 2,000, in unimaginably repugnant conditions. He showed how residents were neglected, treated literally as caged animals in some cases. He showed proof of ramped physical and sexual abuse by staff members. And, he showed how some of the residence, placed there as infants by scared or coerced parents, had absolutely no reason to be there – that is, they were children with misunderstood disabilities that didn’t effect their cognitive skills in any way.

As Willowbrook’s population was described in the Time article, “By night, the children, many of whom have physical handicaps as well, sleep in closely spaced cribs. By day, they sit strapped into special chairs, recline in two-wheeled wagons that look like peddler’s pushcarts or lie listlessly on mats on the floor. Some of the youngsters weep or grunt unintelligibly; most make no sound at all. Children with severe physical handicaps but normal intellects share the accommodations; families unable to care for them have made them wards of the state.”

In the mid 1970s, based on the media’s exposure, and subsequent public outrage, New York state began cleaning up and shutting down Willowbrook. But, it was too late – countless children died from neglect, and those who survived were so underdeveloped and traumatized that most were unable to ever lead normal lives, merely transferred to new facilities, where very few Willowbrook residents are alive today.

Willowbrook, in fact, was such a horrific case study, that the federal government enacted the Civil Rights of Institutionalized Persons Act of 1980, hopefully ensuring that another Willowbrook could never occur. And, in 1987, Willowbrook closed its doors permanently.

Here we are some 21 years after the last doors of Willowbrook shut, and while literal facilities like it no longer exist – Gothic, echoing institutions now replaced by contemporary “centers,” “homes,” and “schools” – the children still do exist, only in a new generation. Across this nation, children with disabilities remain “institutionalized,” tucked away from society, where we know that neglect and abuse remains, as with the ongoing reports on Texas’ state “schools” for the disabled, where incidents have been most notably flooding out of its Denton facility, to the sum of 10 deaths and 60 questionable injuries of residence in the last nine months alone. To paraphrase what a retired facility director recently told me about care facilities in general, any time that there’s a large group of residents with complex needs, cared for by low-paid, unskilled workers, with high employee turn-over rates, and a lack of family involvement, residents are at tremendous risk for abuse. From Willowbrook to Denton, the locations and generations change; however, unspeakable crimes against our society’s most vulnerable – children with disabilities – remain.

Now, the fact is, not all care facilities are bad, and many provide absolutely necessary long-term care for those with multiple disabilities, some well beyond the care that even the most dedicated parents and in-home caregivers can offer. Surely, such facilities are needed and they are unquestionably humane, ensuring the health and safety of residents.

However, as someone who’s visited several “schools for the disabled,” what weighs heavily on me are the children who I’ve seen who simply shouldn’t be there – that is, children who are “institutionalized,” not based on disability, but based on what can only be explained by the inexcusable lack of accountability and humanity of some parents – and a system that supports such poor behavior.

The fact is, in every facility that I’ve visited, I’ve seen children, adolescents, and teenagers with no cognitive disabilities – that is, they have no mental disabilities whatsoever – where many of these children had non-critical medical necessities, either. Some of the children had cerebral palsy, some with muscular dystrophy, and others with forms of dwarfism – not medical reasons to “institutionalize” children under any circumstance in today’s world. Of course, I’ve confidentially asked workers why certain children were in a given facility, why a child with cerebral palsy, with no cognitive difficulties or complex care needs, for example, would live at a “school” with others of multiple disabilities, surrounded by chaos, isolated from a normal childhood? “I’ve had a parent tell me flat-out that her handicapped kid didn’t fit with their lifestyle,” one worker explained to me.

It’s striking to think about the potentials being lost – and the exposure of risk – from physically disabled children being “institutionalized.” In 2008, it needs no explanation that children with physical disabilities live fully-integrated, productive lives, where they attend public schools, graduate from college, and go on to successful careers. What’s more, there are more in-home support resources for families with a disabled child than ever before. There’s simply no reason why any parent or culture should allow a physically disabled child to whither in an institution – all potential and dignity stripped – in the United States today.

Indeed, this is a very personal subject to me, both as an individual with a disability, as well as a parent. As an infant with a severe disability, in the era of Willowbrook, my course was set by my own doctors for institutionalization. No, my parents weren’t educated, or sophisticated, or even emotionally healthy; however, they were decent enough people at their cores to know that under no circumstance did you place your physically disabled child in an institution. It wasn’t that my parents were martyrs, or saints, or extraordinary in any way; rather, they simply had basic humanity.

And, I have to ask, where’s the humanity in the parents today who have so much more going for them than those families of 40 years ago facing raising a child with a disability, yet, they’re still placing their physically disabled children in institutions? How does any parent explain to their child with cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, or dwarfism that his siblings get their own bedrooms, get to attend school, and get to celebrate Thanksgiving with Grandma and Grandpa, but he’ll be living in a facility three states away with strangers caring for him, surrounded by those with multiple disabilities, likely neglected and abused at some point?

Typically, such parents answer the question by convincing others that placing their child in an institution is their only choice, that it’s unimaginably impossible to care for such a child. However, such justifications by parents is a complete and total self-serving cop-out, a shunning of their obligations, a lack of parental accountability. As I always point out, if it’s so impossible for parents to care for physically disabled children, how are hundreds of thousands of parents doing it every day?

With humanity and accountability – that’s how. In a poignant twist, I’m not a parent who has a child with a disability, but I am a parent with a disability who has a child. And, as a father, I can’t fathom doing any less than whatever it takes to care for my daughter in the healthiest forms possible – that’s my obligation. In this way, I can unquestionably empathize with the anguish of parents who must put their children with multiple disabilities in care facilities, while I conversely have no capacity to understand how any parent of a fully-cognitive child with a physical disability could elect to effectively institutionalize them? Again, my daughter doesn’t have a disability, but even if she did, the rules wouldn’t change: As a parent, my role is to treat my child with unyielding dedication, fostering all of her potentials in life – regardless of disability or otherwise. And, it’s clear that some parents need to place the welfare and upbringing of their children above their own wants, looking at a child with a disability not as a burden, but as just that, their child.

Supposedly, the doors of Willowbrook closed 21 years ago. However, clearly, they still haven’t been entirely locked.

On Schooling Incorrigibles


By Mark E. Smith

A non-disabled friend and I recently discussed whether employer-sponsored disability-awareness programs are truly effective – that is, does giving employees a course on how to interact with people with disabilities truly change the way that they view others of physical diversity, as in those who use wheelchairs?

As an ideal, my argument is that if a company’s workforce, as a whole, doesn’t know how to treat all people with acceptance and equality, it’s a systemic issue that needs to be addressed through better employee screening during the hiring process, not through retraining those presently employed. However, I recognize that such an ideal is not realistic, as you truly can’t ever know the entire fabric of those who you interview during the screening process. Therefore, it’s all but impossible to create my view of a Utopian a workforce where every single employee is accepting of diversity from the start, especially in large companies.

In the way that a Utopian workforce of disability acceptance can’t be created, then responsible companies must strive to train and educate their workforces toward recognizing and accepting cultural diversity, including disability. However, this brings us back to my original question: Does giving employees a course on how to interact with people with disabilities truly change the way that the employees view others?

In some cases it does; but, in a lot of cases it doesn’t. The fact is, as humans, our instinct is to be hesitant toward the unfamiliar – it’s our survival mode. Fortunately, we also have the capacity to learn very quickly, and so when we encounter that which is new and different, we’re initially cautious, but then we use our intellect to best understand how we should approach a particular situation, building comfort and acceptance.

My entire life, I’ve seen people’s natural hesitance come into play regarding my disability, where some people have been understandably apprehensive upon first meeting me, never having interacted with someone with a disability; but, then they quickly warm up to me, recognizing that I’m just like everyone else. This process of becoming comfortable with my disability takes seconds for some; and, for others, it takes them longer. And, I’m sure that you, yourself, have experienced or observed this toward disability, where some people just need more time than others to become comfortable with those of diversity.

Of course, employees are people first, and certainly experience this same learning curve – that is, they may be understandably apprehensive about those with disabilities if they’ve never encountered such diversity. And, in these cases, when employees go through a disability-awareness program, a light bulb turns on in their heads, where being exposed to disability – becoming familiar with it – allows them to realize, “Yep, people with disabilities are just like me.”

Yet, there are those employees where disability-awareness programs – or any diversity training – will never enlighten their views of others. In fact, you could force some employees to sit through a course six times – and even teach it! – and they still wouldn’t recognize the equality or commonality in others. No, such a discomfort or closed mind toward others doesn’t necessarily make them bad employees; but it certainly limits their potentials, where they simply won’t succeed in working with all people, behind the scenes or in public.

Interestingly, as those with disabilities, many of us personally encounter those who are apprehensive or non-accepting of us, of our disabilities, in all areas of our lives – from waitresses to co-workers to family members. And, although some around us try to hide it, it’s often blatantly obvious, as when a co-worker raises her voice three octaves when she speaks to you, like you’re a seven-year-old at the pediatric dentist, and she’s the nurse trying to keep you calm: You just sit here in Mr. Comfy Chair, and we’ll put on the happy mask like this, and when we’re all done, if you’re a good little tyke, you can go pick out a treat from the toy chest!

I know that for many with disabilities, it’s a natural reaction to want to educate those who don’t treat us with the normality and dignity that we deserve. However, just as employers can’t ultimately train all employees to sincerely accept diversity in others, where it becomes a waste of company resources to try to teach the unreachable, we can’t waste our own time trying to change the way some individuals view us as those with disabilities in everyday life. The fact is, there will always be some people who will simply treat us differently due to our disabilities no matter how hard we strive to educate them – and trying to educate them till we’re blue in the face does no one any good.

I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in my life despite disability, and I know that it occasionally helps me overcome some interpersonal hurdles, where if someone knows of my accomplishments, they can be a little more open to meeting and working with me, putting my disability a little less in the forefront of our interactions. However, there are those who will never, ever find acceptance of me as one with cerebral palsy. I could take that proverbial high-pitched co-worker into a room, show her my college degrees, my career successes, my books, articles about me, awards, my finances, my daughter, how I’ve striven to make a difference in the world – and how my omnipotent disability power allows me to biblically roll on water! – and she’d still talk to me like I’m a seven-year-old.

And, I’m entirely fine with it – that is, I’m OK with people who will never have the capacity to view me, as one with disability, on an even playing field with others.

Now, you’re probably screaming at me right now, “Mark, it’s not OK for people to dismiss those of us with disabilities in any way!”

And, you’d be right – it’s not acceptable for anyone to dismiss those of us with disabilities. But, some people do dismiss us, demonstrating no capacity for growth and understanding, and it’s not our roles in life to try to educate or change them. In fact, if we allow ourselves to fall into the trap of trying to educate those with closed minds, of trying to prove ourselves as those with disabilities, we end up merely stalling our own lives, wasting our own time, detracting from our own potentials for success.

See, disability or not, life is a simple return on investment, where we achieve success by focusing our efforts on the areas in our lives that make the most difference for us and others in our lives. Getting ourselves riled up into feeling compelled to change others’ ways toward us, when they’ve demonstrated no capacity for change, does absolutely nothing for us – it’s completely futile. I say, chuckle at that co-worker talking to you like a seven-year-old – her behavior is of no ultimate consequence to you – and when she’s wasting her time doing that, you should be focusing on how you’re going to knock the sales ball out of the park with that innovative business plan that you’ve been working on. Live your life solely focused on your true potentials, ignoring those who don’t have the capacity to fully embrace you or others, and you’ll go far in any situation.

Indeed, my disability-awareness program comes down to a simple course for all of those around me: As one with a disability, I live my life. On my grading scale, some people immediately accept me; some take time to accept me; and, others will never accept me. In other words, 66.6% of my program graduate, and even though I don’t pay any attention to the other 33.3% who flunk, I suspect that they go on to great careers in pediatric dentistry.

Ed Did It, Why Can’t I?


By Mark E. Smith

If someone told you that you’re solely accountable for your disability, what would you think about that? Would you be offended? After all, when most use the term accountable they mean responsible for or to blame. And, how outrageous would it be for someone to blame you for your disability?

However, I believe that we all are accountable for our disabilities – and, arguably, for others’, as well – but not in the way most define accountability. See, I define accountability as the willingness to take action, especially when others don’t expect it.

In honor of the 18th anniversary of the Americans With Disabilities Act, I was asked to give a speech recounting how far we’ve come as those with disabilities. And, when I looked back at the origins of the disability rights movement, I realized that it all came down to one, all-encompassing theme: Personal accountability toward disability.

Ed Roberts, a gentleman who I had the pleasure of meeting several times while I was growing up, has been called the father of the disability rights and the independent living movements. Contracting polio in the early 1950s as an adolescent, Roberts was required to spend most of his time in an iron lung. As if the severity of his disability wasn’t challenging enough, Roberts experienced it in an era when there simply was no such thing as disability rights or awareness.

However, at some point, Roberts made a bold move, a shift in the way that he viewed his own humanity. Roberts realized that it was solely up to him to make the most of his life, irregardless of the cards seemingly stacked against him – that is, he realized that it was up to him to move his life from merely surviving to truly thriving. To accomplish this, Roberts did what we all must do in order to succeed: He assume full accountability for his disability – and, ultimately, for others with disabilities, as well.

Roberts applied to the California Department of Vocational Rehabilitation for college tuition, and when the agency denied him, stating that he was too disabled to ever productively work, he assumed accountability for his disability by not accepting the way he was being viewed, suing the agency, and won. When Roberts applied for admissions to the University of California at Berkeley, and the Dean proclaimed, “We’ve tried cripples before, and it didn’t work,” Roberts assumed accountability for the ignorance of others toward disability, fighting his way into admittance, living in his iron lung in the campus infirmary while studying to his Bachelor’s degree, going on to a Master’s, then a PhD. Candidacy – a newspaper of the time published an article on Roberts, with the headline, “Hopeless Cripple Goes to School.” When Roberts found the city of Berkeley inaccessible to wheelchairs, he assumed accountability for wheelchair access, lobbying and winning to have among the first curb-cut ramps in the nation installed. And, when Roberts realized the injustices of hundreds of thousands of others with disabilities being denied access to education, employment, housing, and other essential liberties, he assumed accountability for all with disabilities, and co-founded the nation’s first Center for Independent Living, going on to serve as Director of California’s Department of Rehabilitation, building it up to 2,500 employees and $140 million annual budget during his tenure.

Among the lessons that I long ago learned from life-changing examples like Ed Roberts is that accountability isn’t a trait that we should look for in others, but it’s a requirement that we must place upon ourselves, that we can’t settle for merely surviving, but must propel ourselves toward truly thriving – again, especially for those of us with disabilities.

The fact is, we live in a culture that implies – and, arguably, institutionalizes – a lack of accountability when it comes to disability. It’s accepted by many with disabilities that due to their conditions, they can’t work, just as it’s equally accepted by some employers that they’re not obligated to hire those with disabilities because they’re seemingly less productive and more problematic to employ – there’s no accountability on either side of that fence. Or, what about those with disabilities who elect to live indefinitely with their families because they see moving out on their own as too challenging, just as with landlords refusing to rent to those with disabilities because they perceive it as a hassle or liability – neither side is accountable there, either.

Now, some might argue that the reason why some with disabilities seemingly lack accountability is because remaining social barriers toward disabilities prevents it, that it’s a direct cause-and-effect relationship. After all, how can those with disabilities be accountable if employers won’t hire them , or landlords won’t rent to them, right?

Yet, this is where our ultimate accountability comes in. It doesn’t matter what barriers are against us – we must hold ourselves personally accountable for our disabilities, to work our ways around obstacles. Ed Roberts didn’t write himself off when the rest of society tried – he didn’t use the clear barriers of disability as an excuses not to move his life forward. And, it’s this outlook that’s intrinsic in all who succeed with disability, where they simply don’t care how physically disabled they are, or how others view them, or what obstacles or challenges that they face – they simply hold themselves accountable to do what it takes, whenever it takes, to get the job done. It’s my disability, and at the end of the day, I’m solely accountable for it.

I write and speak of these types of empowered topics all of the time these days, and I hear from people who to tell me why accountability shouldn’t apply to them:

Fatigue makes my symptoms worse, so the harder I try in life, the worse I get.

I don’t live in an area with resources for those with disabilities, so I’m stuck.

My progressive disability takes a big psychological toll, so it’s not as easy for me to move forward as it is for others.

I’m so severely disabled, not having speech, all of which makes it impossible for me to go to college or get a job.

I encounter such reasoning every day, and my argument to such people is a blunt: If someone like Ed Roberts could assume absolute accountability for his life – with polio, dependent upon an iron lung, living in an era prior to disability rights – there’s not a darn excuse on the planet why you and I shouldn’t assume full accountability for our lives. What’s more, beyond Roberts’ stellar example, it’s not difficult to point to countless individuals with far more involved disabilities than most of our own, who live phenomenally successful lives – demonstrating that our abilities to move our lives forward with education, career, family, and community, is liberated by our humanity, not restricted by our disabilities.

As for me, it’s interesting in that when people know me from my public roles – from reading me and seeing photos of me, but never meeting me in-person – they sometimes note being surprised by “how disabled I am” when they finally meet me in-person. While on the surface, it is a bit odd for someone to say to me, “You know, from seeing all that you do, I never would’ve guessed that you’re so disabled in real life,” I’m actually not offended by it, but flattered by it, as such words suggest to me that my accountability is shinning through. I would never be as direct as evangelist, David Ring, born with a disability, who puts his audiences on the spot, asking them, “I have cerebral palsy; now, what’s your problem?” However, I hope that I set a standard of personal accountability in my own life that suggests Ring’s precise question to those who I reach and meet.

Toward my own accountability, if, at this writing, I use only the past three weeks of my schedule as a barometer, I’ve covered a lot of ground. In addition to my full-time day job in the mobility industry, and my dedication to supporting the WheelchairJunkie online community around the clock, I’ve coordinated and hosted a disability event, appeared on live morning television, delivered two keynote talks, and worked at night on a rehab text book that I’m co-authoring and editing – to name a few accomplishments. And, along the way, as always, I’ve dealt with the physical realities of my disability, and encountered stereotypes and ignorance from others regarding it from time to time. No, my accountability doesn’t protect my from hardship, trials, and setbacks ushered in by my disability, but it does move me forward in spite of them – and it’s my sense accountability to move my life forward that I focus on every day, irregardless of my disability level or the obstacles that I encounter.

Maybe you’re not as optimistic as I am, where you don’t think that you have the power at this moment to catch the curve balls that life sends you, polish them up, and toss them back twice as hard. Maybe you feel like disability has held you back, knocked you down, or robbed you. Yet, in even the bleakest moments, simply reminding ourselves that we’re personally accountable for our disabilities – that it’s solely within our capabilities to move our lives from merely surviving to truly thriving – changes our lives, empowering us to begin seeing that success is within our reach. Again, if someone like Ed Roberts could change his life in the 1950s, living with polio, living in an iron lung, then there’s nothing that we can’t accomplish today as long as we hold ourselves personally accountable for our potentials in life, no matter disability or otherwise.

I suppose that it all comes down to one fundamental statement of ultimate accountability that each of us can make toward succeeding with disability: If Ed did it, so can I.

It’s Not My Stuff, Man!


By Mark E. Smith

When it comes to using a wheelchair, I find few aspects more embarrassing and incriminating than my backpack.

Now, when I note wheelchair backpack, I should clarify that my backpack is of a tasteful black nylon that hangs neatly on the back of my chair, and blends in relatively well with my seating. What my backpack is not, is a rucksack made out of denim, with butterfly patches sewn on, made by Mom or Grandma. In fact, if I worked in the Legislature, I would ban denim rucksacks from ever being hung on wheelchairs, namely to prevent 12-year-old boys who use wheelchairs at school from being asked, “Why do you use a pansy-pack for your books?” (OK, maybe that’s my childhood issue to resolve.)

I should also clarify that when I say my backpack, I don’t really mean my backpack. Sure, the backpack hangs on the back of my wheelchair, but the backpack, itself, is essentially community property. The fact is, I can barely reach my backpack, and I certainly can’t see what’s in it, so I rarely use the darn thing; however, everyone else can both reach it, and see what’s in it – which is where the trouble begins, in that order.

As it turns out, backpacks are heavily in need by those who walk, but drastically underused, so it seems like whomever I’m with catches on to my backpack as the perfect place to store their stuff, which they then forget in my backpack. Then, my backpack ends up like a magician’s hat, where I never see what goes into it, but I’m always shocked by what comes out.

The last time that I was at a sporting event, the security guard asked me what was in my backpack, and when I told him it was empty, I wasn’t the least bit concerned when he looked inside my empty backpack – that is, till he started pulling stuff out.

“A Bratz doll,” he said, setting it on the table. “One pipe wrench. An empty Coke bottle. A snorkel. A Saturday Night Fever 8-track tape. And, three florescent yellow golf balls… For a dude with an empty backpack, you sure have some bizarre stuff.”

I felt like one of the suspects on the television show, Cops, where they’re searching his car, pulling out the craziest stuff ever – blow-up dolls, clown costumes, live chickens – and the guy’s pressed against the hood, proclaiming, “It’s not my stuff, Man!”

At some point, I suppose that I’d better get more control over my wheelchair’s backpack before I really get myself in trouble. Like the other night, this woman put her purse in my backpack for safe keeping at an event, and I guess it turned upside down at some point. So, the next morning, my wife went to stuff my rain gear in my backpack as I left for work, only to find lipstick and a carton of pantyhose in my backpack.

Of course, the true explanation, that some woman’s purse spilled in my backpack, wouldn’t be believed by any wife, no matter how true of a tale, so I thought it best to go all out with the first excuse that popped into my head: “Would you believe that I’ve been experimenting with cross-dressing?”

As I said, I really need to get control over my backpack.

Getting up from the Floor


By Mark E. Smith

It’s been said that if you want to succeed in corporate management, you have to be a problem-solver. After all, problems arise in any business venture, and while lots of lesser managers will call attention to the problems, place blame, and make excuses, if you’re the one who immediately shifts from dwelling on the problem, to focusing on the solution, you’ll be among the most valuable players on the company team – you’ll be the one moving the bottom line past adversity, into success.

The same mindset proves absolutely vital toward living with disability. It doesn’t matter if it’s relating to the challenges of independent living, or in addressing the emotional struggles of disability acceptance, or all in-between – the fact is, when it comes to facing disability, success doesn’t come from dwelling on problems, but from focusing on solutions.

Maybe it’s not the biggest problem in the world, but a friend of mine, always wanted a Corvette, never having the opportunity to get one when he wished. He told me of saving for his dream car in his 20s, only to fall in love, spending the money on his wedding. Then, in his 30s, after owning a home for a few years, and having two children, he again scraped and saved enough money to buy his dream car, a 2006 yellow Corvette. However, just days after beginning to seriously shop for the car, he was paralyzed in a construction accident, resulting in low-level quadriplegia.

Once out of rehab, he went through an adaptive driving course, and while his driving instructor assessed him for an accessible minivan, my friend longed for the Corvette that always escaped him. In fact, despite the medical bills and financial setbacks of his injury, he never touched his Corvette money, as it was still in the bank, his desire remaining strong for his dream car. However, the driving instructor told him in no uncertain terms that a low-level quad couldn’t drive a Corvette, that there was no room for a wheelchair or hand controls, that there was no way that he could transfer in and out of it. The instructor saw nothing but problems.

Yet, my friend didn’t buy into the driving instructor’s negative focus on the problems that he may encounter in trying to drive a Corvette. Instead, my friend began looking for solutions. He learned of the exact height of a Corvette’s driver’s seat, which sits low to the ground, and he mocked-up the height in his garage with an old car seat, teaching himself to transfer between his wheelchair and the low height. Then, he spoke with hand control manufacturers, discovering that hand controls for a Corvette were possible. And, he purchased an ultralight, folding wheelchair that was so thin that it would fit in the behind the front seats of a Corvette. Indeed, in no time, my friend was driving his beloved yellow Corvette.

The fact is, when it comes to disability, the easiest perspective to take is to dwell on the associated problems. It would have been effortless for my friend to dwell on all of the seeming problems in his life, chalking up quadriplegia as robbing him of all of his dreams, including preventing him from ever owning a Corvette. Yet, he didn’t dwell on the problems in his life; instead, he focused on solutions, using optimism and tenacity to discover the ways to successfully live his life – disability, Corvette dreams, and all.

In my own life, I’m always ready to enter my problem-solving mode. Due to my cerebral palsy, I’m not the most gracious of transferrer, with it being tough to go from my wheelchair to my bed or such – and, as a problem-solver at heart, I like to jest that I’m already thinking of how I’m going to get back up from the floor before I’ve landed on it!

But, there’s absolute truth to my mindset that extends to all areas of my life, where when I encounter a problem, I immediately move toward looking for a solution instead of being thrown for a loop by the issue and dwelling on it.

In a fitting metaphor, life doesn’t always allow us to make it from our wheelchairs to our beds – sometimes we land on the floor. And, at those points in life, we can either lie on the floor and shed tears, cursing everything around us, or we can simply focus on how we can get back up, onto the bed – that is, we can figure out how to get our lives back on track. No, it’s not always easy climbing up from the floor – that is, it’s not always easy overcoming challenges when life knocks us down – but only a lazy or foolish person chooses to wallow on the hard floor when a comfortable bed awaits. Personally, I choose the rewards of climbing onto a soft bed over the misery of sulking on a hard floor whenever the situation presents itself.

Interestingly, people often post very discouraged tales regarding their wheelchairs on the WheelchairJunkie.com message board, which is understandable – when one’s wheelchair isn’t working properly, that’s a very upsetting circumstance. And, as you may have noted, I usually have an answer for many situations, stating to try this or that, or suggesting that I get the provider and rep involved to resolve the issue in-person. However, what I really strive to accomplish is in shifting the situation as quickly as possible from a problem to a solution – namely because that’s the only way to restore one’s mobility. In the most literal sense, talking about how terrible it is that one’s wheelchairs isn’t working doesn’t restore one’s mobility. Instead, while we should appreciate the emotions that others have, we should see the sole goal of postings as finding the solutions to getting one’s mobility physically restored as quickly as possibly – because that’s what will ensure that one can get back on the track of life.

The notion of finding a solution instead of dwelling on the problem goes straight to the heart of most successful outlooks: No matter what obstacles one encounters, it’s striving to solve the problems that creates success, not dwelling on the problem:

My wheelchair just broke, now I’m really stuck – my life is one big nightmare! No, I’m immediately calling my provider, then I’m having my brother come over to help me transfer into my backup chair. I’ll be mobile today, and hopefully, my provider will have my chair fixed by week’s end.

There’s no way that I can go back to college with my disability – it’ll be too hard. I have no money for tuition, no transportation, and there’s no one to help me with personal care. No, I’m making an appointment with Disabled Student Services at my community college to arrange all of the support that I need to get back in school. I’m going to find grants and scholarships, sign-up for the paratransit bus, and arrange for on-campus support. Heck, there’s no reason why I can’t start classes next semester.

I can’t get my dream Corvette because I’m a quad. No, I’m going to find a way to transfer into the car, and obtain the appropriate hand controls and wheelchair that allows me to hit the open road with the top down!

The reality is, people with disabilities – and without – face real challenges every day, and the only way that they move their lives forward is by focusing on solutions, not defeating themselves by dwelling on problems.

Still, there are those who have no wish or desire to even attempt seeking solutions, where they elect to wallow in their problems. My wheelchair situation is terrible, but I’m not going to pursue changing it. I can’t get a job because I lack the needed education, but I’m not going back to school. I always wanted a Corvette, but since I have quadriplegia, I’m not going to look into driving one. And, unfortunately, no matter how much we may wish to pull them out of their rut, it’s up to them, alone, to put forth effort to change the directions of their lives. That is, sometimes, the best that we can do toward those of such negativity is to lend a little inspiration by sitting on the bed, saying, “Man, it sure is comfortable up here – I’m glad that I pursued a way to get off the floor!”

If you’re like many of us, you’ve found yourself on the downside of life more than once, where the sky seemed to be falling and all was going wrong. Maybe it was due to your disability, or a troubled childhood, or a failed marriage, or an addiction, or debt, or a lost career. Regardless of the particular situation, if you wallowed in despair and misery during those trying times, then you know that such a defeated mindset did nothing but bring you down further – that is, you don’t get out of ruts by digging them deeper. However, if you dealt with those bleak moments by striving with perseverance and courage to find a solution – to climb your way back toward a successful path – then you know that it allowed you to move your life forward. As we can each see from assessing our own coping skills in life, these simple truths prove themselves undeniable: Dwelling on problems holds us back, whereas focusing on solutions moves us forward.

When you find yourself on the floor – and maybe you’re there now, as life knocks us all down from time to time – remind yourself that lying there does nothing but creates misery and prevents success, that you must sit up, and just start climbing back to where you wish to be, seeking one solution at a time. No, it’s not always easy, but when we forgo the trap of dwelling on our problems, and focus on finding solutions, we inevitably move our lives to where we wish: Achievement and success.

It Doesn’t Take a Saint


By Mark E. Smith

Have you ever felt unequipped to handle the entirety of your disability, wondering how you could succeed among such seeming adversities in life?

Now, imagine if someone was there to support you during those discouraging moments – those times when you may have wondered how you were going to get through another day – where someone put a hand on your shoulder and said, “Believe me, I’ve been where you’ve been, with my own disability, and I know that you not only have the strength and the spirit to pull through this, but the abilities to make a tremendous mark on the world.” Just think of the difference that such a person would have in your life.

The truth is, none of us succeed in life on our own, including with disability. At some point, we simply need others to believe in us, to inspire us, to encourage our potentials in life. In fact, I’ve never met or heard of a tremendously successful person who didn’t credit someone else – a parent, a teacher, a boss, a spouse – for his or her successes in life. After all, the decisive factor in many of our paths is whether we simply have the confidence – the belief in ourselves – to pursue our dreams and goals. And, for many people, much of their confidence was established by others encouraging them along the way.

If you’ve spent any time living with disability, no matter your own or relating to someone who you care about, then you know that there are some downright discouraging cultural messages conveyed. We hear of continued discrimination and defeating statistics, such as 62% of those with disabilities are unemployed. We frequently witness family members lowering expectations of their loved ones with disabilities, such as implying day after day that disability is an inherently limiting factor. And, we witness public dismissing of those with disabilities, such as a restaurant waitress speaking to the able-bodied patron instead of directly to the person with the disability. Indeed, these negative social queues can certainly shake one’s confidence toward living with disability.

However, as many of us know, those discouraging factors ultimately have no significance toward our individual lives, toward our own successes with disability. We know that we have the capacity to see beyond any subjective social barriers, and move our lives forward, entirely undaunted by discouraging statistics, unsupportive families, or social stigmas. We know that we are capable, productive, impactful people above and beyond disability, just as with all others who live their lives to their fullest potential.

The question then becomes, how does one move one’s life from being burdened by negative cultural messages regarding disability, and rise to the level of self-confidence needed to truly succeed in life?

Someone offers encouragement along the way – it’s that simple.

In my own life, I’ve been extremely fortunate to have had two people along the way believe in me, one in my early twenties who encouraged my education and writing, and another who’s encouraged my mobility career over the years. And, make no mistake, I wouldn’t be the same person – nor would my career be the same – if it wasn’t for these two people encourage me and believing in me, helping me set my expectations of myself. After all, when we know that others believe in our abilities to make a difference in the world, we can’t help but wish to live up to their expectations, fostering our personal growth in the process.

Interestingly, you’ll note that I stated that I’ve been extremely fortunate to have had two people encourage me during my life, as it is true for many with disabilities that encouraging people can be hard to find. However, while encouraging people can prove scarce, they’re entirely easy to become – all we have to do is reach out to others with our own support and encouragement, letting them know that we see their potential, that we appreciate their vying and victories, that we believe in them.

It’s my belief that, as those with disabilities, we have a responsibility to serve roles of positivity and encouragement toward our peers with disabilities, where we have insight to reach out to others, recognizing their potential, saying to them, “I’ve been where you’ve been, with my own disability, and I know that you not only have the strength and the spirit to pull through this, but the abilities to make a tremendous mark on the world.” We should simply strive to be the ones who help others find their own strength and confidence toward successful living with disability, just as others have done for us.

Now, maybe you’re saying, “Mark, I’m struggling to find my own strength and confidence, with little success toward living with my own disability – I’m in no position to encourage others.”

To the contrary, you’re in every position to encourage others. See, encouraging others is from who you are, speaking as one person to another, and it’s your sincere efforts and belief in others that makes a difference in their lives, not your track record or resume’. I mean, think about how great it feels when a complete stranger compliments you – you know nothing about the person, but his or her words make all of the difference to you. The reality is, it doesn’t take a saint to make a difference in someone’s life, just your sincere effort toward encouragement.

Surely, encouraging others with sincerity seems like a selfless act, as it should be – after all, we help people because we know that they have remarkable potential, not because we expect our own reward. However, as I’ve learned, encouraging others is remarkably reciprocal, where our encouragement of others often encourages us in return, where their inspired efforts lead us to believe more in our own potential. In one of my most valued relationships, years ago I reached out to a young lady who seemed to be struggling with disability, only to find myself forever inspired by her efforts to better her life. As a result, while she’ll kindly tell you that I encouraged her life for the better, she’s certainly encouraged my life for the better – that is, somewhere during our friendship, we forgot who’s encouraging whom, both finding encouragement from each other toward living with disability.

Of course, no matter our positive outlooks in life, we will still encounter those who engage in the complete opposite of encouragement, where rather than trying to uplift others with disabilities, they try to top their misery – If you think your life is bad, wait till you hear about mine! – turning every conversation about living with disability into a pity party. These types of life-is-terrible conversations do nothing more than pull both people down farther. In everyday terms, if we see a fire, it’s our obligation to help put it out, not pour gasoline on it – that is, let us use our words and actions to uplift others with disabilities, not foster negative disability views with woe-is-me conversations.

Amazingly, it doesn’t take an extraordinary effort to make a difference in the lives of others living with disability – often, just a few focused, kind words that encourage one’s good efforts. If you know of someone struggling with disability, jump in and let him or her know that it will get easier, that you recognize his or her potential for success in the face of adversity. If you know someone with a disability who’s striving to move his or her life forward, jump in and cheer him or her, letting him or her know that you recognize the sure-to-come achievement. And, if you know someone with a disability who may not recognize all that he or she has to offer the world, jump in and point out that you and many others believe that he or she has the capacity that it takes to go far in life.

Put simply, we can better all of our lives as those with disabilities by being among the most encouraging, supportive peers possible, where we don’t ever pass on the opportunity to simply put our hand on a friend’s shoulder, and state those four empowering words: I believe in you.

The Dolphin Whisperer


By Mark E. Smith

Don’t you hate it when people talk behind your back about your disability – especially when they’re completely honest and sincere, and only tell the truth?

I mean, I really don’t mind when my friends, family, and colleagues talk about my disability behind my back with others – but, I just don’t want them doing it with honesty and sincerity. After all, as I tell them, if you’re going to answer others’ questions about my disability, at least have the decency to treat the conversation with the tact that I would: Lie to my every advantage.

My sister frustrates me till no end by telling her friends the truth about my disability. She’s 13 years younger than me, meaning that, mathematically, while I’m in my late 30s, her hot friends are in their mid 20s – and, trust me, that’s a great thing. It’s also the perfect opportunity for her to lie in my favor, making a great thing even better.

With my sister and I having a close relationship, we often run into her friends when we’re out together at dinner or at social events, and my disability sometimes comes up in her conversations after the fact, as with her friends casually noting, “I didn’t know that your brother uses a wheelchair?”

Now, these conversations are the perfect chance for my dear sister to score points for me, to respect my wishes and honor my spirit. She has the ideal opportunity to flat-out lie to her hot friends, manipulating them beyond any truths about me – middle-aged, married, big ears, dorky – and tell a tale worthy of tears, where they’ll long to reach out to me with their soft, silicone-enhanced touches:

We really don’t like to talk about my brother, Mark’s, disability because it’s so tragic…. He was a renowned dolphin trainer in Orlando during the 1980s and ’90s, who could actually communicate with the dolphins. In fact, he was known as the “Dolphin Whisperer.” One day, he slipped along side the tank while rushing to the aid of a baby dolphin in distress, falling, hitting his head on the concrete. He was in a coma for 6 months. Then, in a last-ditch effort, we rolled him in his hospital bed to the dolphin tank that was always so close to his heart. Remarkably, a dolphin came out of the water, and gently laid its head on Mark’s chest, refusing to leave. Miraculously, that day, Mark awoke from his coma. He’s had cerebral palsy ever since….

See, that’s a great story, one that works on two very powerful levels – not only do hot chicks love dolphins, but they also love dolphin trainers. Truly, everyone wins from such a touching story – especially me.

But, can you believe that my sister is so heartless that she forgoes such powerful prose about me, opting for the truth? I mean, come on, everyone knows that the fundamental principal to Disabled Dude 101, is that when a hot chick inquires about your disability, the truth is not to be told under any circumstance – a bold-faced lie is a necessity.

Sure, my sister naively explains that not only is it morally wrong to tell such lies, but that she also couldn’t keep a straight face when recounting such an absurd story about my disability. “Duh,” I tell her. “That’s why I took acting classes. If you wish to lie like a pro about this whole disability thing, you need professional training. It ain’t easy pulling tears from jaded, hot chicks in bustling bars – it takes years of practice and a lot of talent.”

As for my wife, she’s understandably offended by my self-serving compulsion to want others to tell tall tales about the origin of my disability. But, of course, she knows the honest to goodness truth from my confiding in her when we first met: I really received my disability while saving a school bus full of helpless children.