Sometimes people ask “What was it like to grow up with a dad in a wheelchair.”

 

I get caught off guard and I normally answer with “Uhh normal?”

 

I answer in a question because I’m confused by the question.  I don’t know if people expect me to say that it was hard.  If they think I will say that I hated growing up with a dad in a wheelchair, that somehow it made my life difficult.  I don’t know how to respond to the question because to me it feels absurd. My childhood was normal. I didn’t have to do without, I didn’t have to accommodate for the wheelchair, it wasn’t a hinder in my life. I was a happy kid with a normal childhood, nothing traumatic happened to me.  I can’t say much for growing up with a dad in a wheelchair but I can say a lot about growing up with a happy-go-lucky, charismatic, always have a smile on his face, embarrassing, always makes-friends-with-strangers dad.

That I know all about.

 

My dad is a happy guy.  He thrives off of being in public and making conversation with anyone who will listen.  He goes out of his way to talk to strangers and he makes sure they leave with a smile on their face. To me this was absolutely terrible.  I am an introvert and strangers are people I have to make small talk to, I hate small talk.  I go out of my way to avoid talking to people while my dad goes out of his way to talk to people.  I think my dad loves small talk because he knows it can lead to something more.  Or he knows that saying hello and giving a big smile will make someone’s day.  And although that is true, it went against who I was as a person.  I was a shy kid, I didn’t smile at strangers and it took a lot to get me to open up to new people.  I was extremely shy with a dad who had a big personality.  I wanted to hide in a corner while he wanted to shine.  

A photo posted by @thewheelsofgrace on


Growing up I wanted my dad to stop talking to everyone.  I wanted to go into a grocery store, get what we needed and get out.  No, not my dad.  He needed his presence known.  He said hello to everyone he came across.  He called people Chief, “Hey Chief how’s it going?”  When Chief walked away I would ask if he knew them, My dad would say “Yeah that’s Chief.”  And he would smile a big grin.  Did he really know Chief’s real name?  I’ll never know.

 

“Dad can you please stop talking to strangers?”

 

That only lead him to talking to more people.

 

My dad had a way of getting people to laugh and joke with him.  He is one of the most charismatic people I know.  I always stood next to him a watched and as the conversations unfolded I would simply nod waiting for it to end.  Sometimes he would try and bring me into the conversation and I would start to get hot and red and force myself to half smile.  Didn’t my dad know that talking to people made me uncomfortable?  

 

My dad did everything with a smile on his face and when it was just me and him I liked to joke around and have fun too.  It was only when strangers were around that I clammed up.  As a little girl when he needed something out of reach I knew it was my job to get it for him.  He would point to the high shelves in the grocery story

 

“Ash can you get that box of cereal down?”  

 

First I would step on his feet that sat on the foot rest, then I would climb onto his lap, and get down what he needed. I held onto his shoulders as I stepped down from his wheelchair.  

 

Sometimes if I couldn’t reach from standing on his lap we would have to get innovative.  

 

“Ash go get a broom, hurry I’ll count to ten and wait here.”

 

I would run down the the broom aisle, grab a broom, and head back to the aisle where my dad was waiting. He would always finish counting to ten when I arrived no matter how long it took me to get back to him.   My dad would use the broom to slowly move the box of cereal, inching it along until I started to fall off the shelf.  He would open up his arms and catch the box.  I would take the broom back where it belonged and by the time I came back to my dad he was talking to a stranger. My dad and said stranger would be laughing and talking.

 

“Come on Dad we need to get milk.”  

 

That was my hint to tell him that we couldn’t waste all day talking to people.  

 

Now, at times I try and take lessons from my dad and my childhood, I try and say hello to strangers to remind myself that even though it is out of my comfort zone that it’s a nice to do so.  If strangers spark up a conversation with me I think “What would Sergio do?”  And in that moment I soften up, let down my guard and remember that my dad never turned down a conversation.  I know that my dad genuinely enjoys talking to people and sometimes it annoys me because it makes tasks like going to the grocery store take more time but in those extra moments are little bits of joy.  

 

I might never be the happy-go-lucky, charismatic, always have a smile on her face, makes-friends-with-strangers kind of a woman but I do know that if I try to be that person I have the best role model to follow.

Keep Rolling On!

 

A photo posted by @thewheelsofgrace on

Ashley

Ashley

Creator and Editor

<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="6" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50.0% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BDLVXIowWxJ/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_blank">A photo posted by @thewheelsofgrace</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2016-03-20T13:48:44+00:00">Mar 20, 2016 at 6:48am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote> <script async defer src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>
<div id="fb-root"></div><script>(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.3"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs);}(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk'));</script><div class="fb-post" data-href="https://www.facebook.com/thewheelsofgrace/posts/1030346827011297:0" data-width="500"><div class="fb-xfbml-parse-ignore"><blockquote cite="https://www.facebook.com/thewheelsofgrace/posts/1030346827011297:0"><p>We share our stories not so you know what we've been through, but so you're not afraid to share your own. Tell us, what's your story?</p>Posted by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thewheelsofgrace/">The Wheels of Grace</a> on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thewheelsofgrace/posts/1030346827011297:0">Monday, February 22, 2016</a></blockquote></div></div>

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