**I have to take a short hiatus, so I thought I’d leave you with a never before told inspirational story that will tug at your heart strings/make you see what an unselfish person I am.
Whenever I’m having a bad day, I find it helps to think about people who are worse off than I am. Sometimes I’ll think about poor people, or vegans, or even Justin Timberlake the time he got Punk’d.
But more often than not, I think about old wheelchair man.
Here’s what happened. A few months ago, I was walking home from work when I noticed an elderly man waiting at the bus stop. He was sitting in a wheelchair, reading the newspaper.
Because I pride myself on not having anything in common with old people, I turned my head the other way and kept walking.
Suddenly, a gust of wind came by, blowing the newspaper out of the old man’s hand. It landed on the ground in front of me.
Now normally I would have made some funny joke, maybe pointing to the bushes and telling him to smile because he was on Candid Camera. But since I know how it feels be disabled, I felt sorry for this man.
Few people know this about me, but I live with a horrific disfigurement that has caused me a lot of grief over the years. It’s called a “skin tag”. Even though I took a pair of scissors to it the moment I noticed its hideousness just below my groin area, I still have an unsightly .005 millimetre long scar. The doctors said that besides applying aloe vera to the affected area, there isn’t much I can do.
Thanks to this aesthetically-unpleasing monstrosity, I can no longer wear mini-skirts or have sex with the lights on. It’s been hard, but having a life-coach helps.
Because I could feel this man’s pain, I knew I had to do something to help him. Mustering up my courage, I boldly walked up to him.
“You’re not alone,” I said.
I could tell by the expression on his wrinkly face that he was confused. I lifted up the hem of my skirt and placed my leg in his lap. “See?” I said. “I’m just like you.”
“Pardon me?” he said.
I forgot that because he was so old, he obviously had hearing problems as well. Thankfully, I still remembered how to sign the words to Bette Midler’s “The Rose”.
I pointed to my scar. Because I don’t know how to sign the words “skin tag”, I signed “Love it is a river” instead.
He looked at the scar. Then he looked at me. It was a really special moment.
I was about to let him touch it when the bus came. “There’s your ride,” I said.
He said that it wasn’t his bus. That’s when I realized he was also suffering from dementia. Thinking fast, I grabbed the back of his wheelchair and pushed him on.
“Disabled man coming through!” I yelled. I told the pregnant lady she would have to move. I put him near the window, because I know old people like to stare at things. I grabbed a feeding blanket from the nearby stroller and used it to prop his bald head up.
“Try not to go up any steep hills,” I said to the bus driver, slipping him a loonie.
As the bus drove off, I noticed that the old man was pointing at something on the ground. I looked down and saw the newspaper.
I knew this was his way of thanking me. Even though I don’t read the paper, I appreciated the thought.
As I walked home, I thought about what had just transpired. I realized that all of my pain and suffering over the years hasn’t been for nothing after all.
I only hope the old man made it to where ever he was going.