Living with Cerebral Palsy and Intersectionality

“The power of love is a curious thing, it makes one man weep, it makes another man sing” (Power of Love, Hewey Lewis and the News).  I've had three or four drivers in life, the first three being love, courage, and creativity. I'm going to use a lot of courage and a little creativity to talk about the former as it relates to living with Cerebral Palsy.  Love is without a doubt my number one driver in life and I don't say that in a cheesey or mushy way, but very seriously. As a human being, I understand that a lot of people see with their eyes first and, whether we want to or not, we assess impressions of people based on what we see.  As a kid growing up with CP, I saw the way people looked at me differently and I worried a lot about how that would influence my relationships with others, especially in the ways of love and attraction. Being told that someone took interest in me out of pity in the seventh grade didn't help that internal anguish.  It's taken me the bette...

I've been “surviving the night just to get through the day” for a long minute now.  That's a line from my poem “Hugs from Strangers.” When I write poems and songs they tell stories, like I'm doing here, but sometimes they tell stories of the things I can't say. Sometimes songs and poems tell my emotional stories. The moments that made me feel something deep.  Like this one that I wrote after reading the medical record of my birth.  33 Weeks       With a flat head and crossed eyes;  The brain bleeds, the lungs gasp, and the heart tries  From the first minute – I shouldn't be alive.  On the eighth day, how did I survive?  Life-threatening and I couldn't even see;  No wonder chaos is where I thrive. Clap your hands to my surprise.  The mirror of your truth and your lies.  Cut me open; ignore my cries.  Mother, dear, we almost died. I long to sit by your side. Father of mine, the jury is out from inside.  33 weeks un...

There was nothing but trees, rocks, and a raging river below. It would take actual blood, sweat, and tears to keep going. Every ounce of strength I had was required. How did I find myself here? What was I thinking? That was inconsequential in the moment. I had to push forward.  It was the last time I'd ever climb a real mountain. Before the descent, every muscle was jello. I was banged up just from the climb. Minor scrapes and wounds were the norm the handful of times I went on the rocks. I needed to make it 400 or so feet to reach the summit. Physically, it's one of the hardest things I've ever done.  On the way back down the mountain, I basically skied the backside of the rock face in my rental rock shoes because I had nothing left in my legs. My lead is the only reason I made it down. I remember the descent better than the climb because I was recycling the thought, “don't let go” all the way up the mountain and all the way back down, but in a very different way.  It ...

I'll never forget that Christmas morning and what I felt inside. There was a certain air about it. The kind of air memories are made of, the kind of air that breathes into your soul, the kind of air that changes your course. That's the kind of Christmas morning this turned out to be. On this Christmas morning, my future would take shape.  This was not just one Christmas morning, but a collection of them. One of the first was when I was around five years old. I got a kids drum set for Christmas. It wasn't just a cool present from my parents who were divorced at this point. It was that, but it was so much more.  That micro kit molded years of memories for me starting with the excitement of that Christmas morning. Followed by years of passion for music. Long before I ever tried to learn guitar, I was on a drum kit. The first songs I wrote were on the drums. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.  My drum kit was center stage at the start and implosion of my first band several y...