one-handed humor

In the years since a car accident took his left arm, my son-in-love has developed quite a repertoire of responses to the inevitable question, “how did you lose your arm?”
“I lost it in an accident when I was 2,” he truthfully began in response to one inquiry. Then he, paused, looked down, shook his head and added, “I shouldn’t have been driving …”
More than one little kid has had him bend down, look them earnestly in the eye and say, “You know how they tell you not to feed the animals at the zoo? Well, … I did and the alligator ate it.”
At a family reunion, an older relative walked over, shook the empty sleeve, smiled and said, “What happened to your arm?”
“Oh, I left it in the suitcase back at the hotel,” he shrugged.
My daughter’s favorite is the time he looked at the questioner in shock and gasped. “I don’t have an arm?” made a dramatic inspection of his body and began wailing – until he couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer.
His attitude springs from his parent’s determination to raise their one-armed child as one merely inconvenienced – not disabled. His parents had him fitted with a prosthetic, but he found it awkward and inflexible. He learned to do things one-handed.
Before his first day of kindergarten, his mother took the teacher aside and emphasized, “Now you make sure that he does everything by himself. He can do it.” – only to visit during lunchtime a few days later “and, there he was with his classmates running up and begging to be the one who carried his tray, picked up his milk or opened the carton. He managed quite well,” she recalled with a laugh.
The only time his parents told him “No” was in response to his request to play football – the accident had also involved a head injury which they didn’t want aggravated. To compensate, his parents worked to get a soccer league established in the community. He played competitively in the junior and senior high school soccer leagues, still plays in a local adult league and is an avid follower of Major League Soccer.
For several years his mother made one accommodation: Velcro closing sneakers. But at 8, the kid who would be like everyone else, told his mother that he wanted sneakers with shoestrings.
“Okay, but you will have to learn how to tie them yourself,” she said.
He agreed. She showed him the trick the rehab doctor had taught her for tying a shoe one-handed. Then she set him on the stairs and told him to practice until he could do it himself. Several hours later, he came off of the stairs, the proud owner of his first pair of tie-up sneakers.
Traffic tickets have added another layer of one-armed misadventure stories.
One young officer mandated that he put both hands on the wheel.
“I only have one hand.”
She looked carefully, turned red, began talking about the weather, admonished him to drive more carefully and let him off without a ticket.
When he was pulled him over for reckless driving as a teenager, the officer demanded, “Get out of the car and put both hands behind your back.”
He complied.
“Put your other hand behind you,” the cop started shouting.
“I don’t have another hand.”
Yes, you do,” The officer reached in and poked around inside his empty long-sleeve until he admitted defeat.
His parents did not beg ‘disability’ when he brought home the ticket – they made him pay his dues.
Their attitude guaranteed the independence which allowed him to play soccer, ride horses and bikes, play baritone in the band, get a college degree and to develop a sense of humor to deal with the inquisitiveness of total strangers.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times. She can be reached at joanh@everybody.org)


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