AbleBodies

Blake Leeper: The American Blade Runner

“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.”

This quote is taken from the homepage of Blake Leeper (www.blakeleeper.com), but has taken on more meaning; Leeper has turned this into a philosophy to help guide him through life, while motivating countless others.

Blake Leeper was born a bilateral paraplegic; he had nothing below the knees. Before he even thought of walking, his doctors told him that he would never be able to. His parents, Edith and Bill, completely disagreed with this and made a decision right then and there: change to doctors who would treat their newborn as though he had limbs, rather than taking his life away before it began. Fortunately, they found doctors who were 100% on board, and Blake was fitted for his first pair of prosthetics when he was 6-months-old. Remarkably, 3 months later, he was walking and keeping up with his able-bodied counterparts. Edith and Bill immediately instilled a mindset that being born without legs isn't an obstacle; it’s real and will be dealt with accordingly. At a very young age, Blake was taught there was no room for excuses. If he wanted to accomplish something, then he would have to go get it. In large part due to the influence of his older brother, Kris, Blake enjoyed participating in every sport from the get-go; basketball was his favorite because it allowed him to run around the most. While some people might be wary of wearing prosthetics, Blake embraced his legs, as they became part of who he is. He wanted to be viewed as an equal competitor, and his legs were just as good, if not better, than his competitors. Blake Leeper could have easily given up because of his condition, but quitting was never an option because of the way he had been raised, along with his fierce quest to be the best.

Leeper is currently a full- fledged United States Paralympian, with his fair share of medals, and customized running legs, to show off. But, his mind is set on a larger goal: becoming a paralympian competing in the able-bodied Olympics. He’s been training, and will continue training, to qualify for the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil: this is his life’s biggest dream, ever since his doctors told him that he wouldn’t be able to walk. Leeper doesn’t understand why disabled people can’t be as competitive as able-bodied competitors, regardless of the stage. During the NBA All Star Weekend earlier this month, Leeper took part in the Celebrity game. As Blake is accustomed to, he more than held his own, outshining more recognizable faces. While playing an exhibition basketball game, he gained attention of some other celebrities, who held a misguided perception that a disabled person can’t be an equal. Blake Leeper showed he belonged among other able bodied celebrities by doing what he has always known to do: competing at the highest level.

The life of Blake Leeper isn’t all about athletics. He utilizes the platform he has to help spread the message of hard work, dedication, and the right attitude as key ingredients to accomplishing life goals and aspirations. Despite his busy training schedule, Leeper sees it as part of his mission to go around the country motivating, encouraging, and inspiring people from all walks of life. He does this because he understands a physical disability isn't an excuse to sit back and watch people pass by, but an opportunity to sprint past.

"I have two disabilities, but thousands of abilities" - Blake Leeper

- Brandon

“Doing Something for the First Time…I Did It!”

Can a vision-impaired individual do anything he wants? With certain, few exceptions, my answer is yes.

This past week I took a step to do something I never imagined doing partly because it’s something foreign to me but mostly because I thought my eye sight would limit me from doing it. I went cross-country skiing.

Now, let me take a second to give background. Yes, I live in Michigan, have for the past fourteen years, but I grew up in South Texas, where it only snowed once during my time living there (the proof is in an old photo of a young Roel in the snow). And during the time living here, I’ve never so much as tried any winter activity except for sledding on a few occasions.

But when this opportunity came up, I never hesitated. I said yes. I saw it as a chance to try something new and also spend time with my son Kyle, who also never tried skiing.
So off we went and the two of us were part of eight people taking lessons on the trails of Pigeon Creek some miles north of Holland. The lessons were hands-on. Learn as you go on the trail. And you know what? It was the most exhilarating and fun time I’ve experienced in many winters.

Was I scared? Oh, I’d be lying if I said no. because of the way my vision loss is set up in my field of vision, my central vision is obstructed. So I am relying so much on peripheral vision. And what did I see near me on the trails that cut into the woods? Yep, trees. I was so afraid of flying off and slamming into a tree face first.
That never happened,, though. Thank goodness; though, I fell a handful of times, scraping my face a bit and bruising my ego more.

There were times when I picked up speed as I glided/slid down a very slick hill (all the trails were slick with icy, packed snow). And just when my speed seemed steady, I’d panic and stop pushing with my ski poles. It was during these bursts of speed that I envisioned myself flying off the track or trail, missing a turn and smack! (cartoon image of Roel striking a tree trunk, full body, and then sliding off onto the snow).

So my own fears sort of held me back from gaining huge bursts of speed. I felt if the trails were wider, speeds exceeding a fast jog would be reached.

In the end, it was a great, bonding time with my kid (who, like many physical activities, he excelled at it). And it was a learning lesson for me. Don’t let anything stop you, disability or not. You can do it. And so I did.

- Roel -

Man's Best Friend

If you've ever had a dog, or any pet, you know how much they mean to you; they become family immediately. I lost my best friend, Swish, just over two years ago. This poem was written in his memory.

Here With Me

Walking down the stairs;
staring, where you used to be.
Looking around the corner;
searching, where you used to be.
Opening the door;
hoping for a warm greeting,
as you used to do.
Throwing a tennis ball:
imagining you running, ears flapping,
as you used to do.
Walking around the neighborhood;
it’s not the same, because
you're not there.
Walking up the stairs;
to give a goodnight kiss,
to pet you,
you're not there.

I stare at some of your favorite toys;
touching them, smelling them.
I want you here with me. But,
you're not here.
I stare at your pictures,
at the memories, because
you're not here.
I have accepted that.

You're in heaven.
You’re with Cocoa, Mickey, and
all the new friends you made.
You’re smiling down on me,
on all of us.
Your strength,
your smile,
your joy,
all live on.

-Brandon-

Parenting Issues and the Vision Impaired

Parenting probably is the toughest job a person undertakes. Myriad of experiences occur, emotions vary from joy and happiness to heartache and worry, and a parent just hopes he or she does and says the proper things to shape a child to become a productive individual.

Parenting is a tough road and presents itself with its own challenges. Now, throw into the mix a parent with a vision disability and those challenges multiply.
When Dawn and I first discussed adopting in 2008, I never gave much thought to the affect my limited vision might play in being a parent. I’ve lived with my vision issues since age fifteen and I’ve managed to survive and flourish in life with everything from earning a master’s degree to being a reporter for several newspapers.
Even though mentally I worked on adopting kids, I never gave much thought to the disability element. I figured since everything else up to that point was achieved, why not too achieving becoming a successful parent despite my disability. Deep down I didn’t want it to be a problem.

Our three kids came to live with us on April 1, 2010 and it was an adjustment for me as it was for them. Suddenly they are with two strangers who in time will adopt them. and we did. On Jan. 20, 2011, Dawn and I adopted our kids. That was one of the greatest moments of my life.

It’s going on five years that the kids have lived with us. And like any other family, we’ve experienced our fair share of ups and downs—mostly ups, though.
So you may ask, has your vision hindered you as a parent?

Yes, at times, especially when it comes to health issues. And those are the most important.

In late 2013 one of our kids was diagnosed with epilepsy after experiencing a series of grand mal seizures. Seeing a child undergo a seizure is frightening—the body convulsing and limbs flailing. Your first thought is “Oh my God, my child is dying right in front of my eyes.”

For me, while I see the big picture, the small things escape me due to my limited vision. A flurry of questions become my anxiety: Are eyes rolling back in their sockets? Any bruising from a fall? Is it a full-body seizure (a 911-operator question)? Any facial expressions changes? Is the child breathing? as the head bumped or struck during the fall? I must approach the situation in a different manner that includes more touching and listening rather than seeing, which tends to be the manner most people assess a situation.

While coping with one child’s epilepsy, due to trauma, another of our kids is hording food. We’ve found lots of wrappers under the couch cushions and containers behind said couch.

Though the issue is more prevalent now, it is something that has occurred over the years. On many occasions I’ve been in the same room where that child has sneaked some “goodies” and is slowly eating them. I see nothing and the deed is found out only after the fact.

Just the other night I asked Dawn to check in on our child to make sure everything was fine. My words to Dawn were, “Can you check, you can see things I can’t.” That seems to be my go-to phrase. And, what did Dawn encounter? A package of saltines by the bed and a mouthful of crackers. It’s always easier to sneak food when I’m the one around.
And the list goes on.

So is life challenging for a parent with a vision disability? Yep. But I deal with it. I love my kids and try to do best by them and not let my disability get in the way. But when my disability becomes an issue for me, I deal with it the way I’ve dealt with it in the past—work with it and make it work.

- Roel -

Trauma

“Trauma”

 

It hurts and destroys,

Wheedling into the mind,

Burrowing into the deepest

Crevices and hiding

Until it explodes into

The present,

The true damage is seen,

The effects bursting forth

In a plethora of manners,

Anger, regression, isolation,

All stemming from fear,

Where it all began.

 

A loving child, innocent,

Turned and twisted,

Molded and shaped,

The resulting model,

Emotions disfigured,

Processes damaged,

Love and trust seen

Through shifty eyes,

Both strangers,

Their touch foreign.

 

Wicked, wicked thing,

Deserving of no name,

How I despise you,

How I wish to stifle

Your presence and

Spit upon your existence.

Be gone!

Damager of children.

- Roel - 

Positive Commentary

How do you know you’re doing something right? How do you know someone recognizes the effort you’re putting forth? How can you tell someone appreciates you? When do you know someone likes you, simply for being you? These are some of the many questions which occupy space in my head, almost on a daily basis. Many people perceive this mindset of sweating the small stuff as a negative. While this is true some of the time, the fact I care and worry is a positive, despite others attempting to convince me otherwise.

I will try to provide a simple answer to each of the questions posed. Someone knows they’re doing right when someone tells them they’re doing it right; a nonverbal or verbal sigh of communication will suffice. This can be a signal established between the two involved, or something as basic as “Good job!” When someone approaches you to tell you that a certain area looks better because you take the time to make it so, your effort is being recognized. You know someone appreciates and respects you by how they treat you over time, not simply by what they say directly to you. Remember that actions speak louder than words. You know someone likes you when they tell you and/or show a sense of excitement which can’t be mistaken for anything else, among many other verbal and nonverbal cues. I’m very fortunate to have many of these exchanges on a daily basis because of my job and my volunteer activities.

When a child expresses genuine concern over my absence from work (“I thought something terrible happened to you, Mister Brandon, and that I would never see you again”), I’m touched. When elderly couples walk their laps around the store, stopping each time to have a quick word, I’m thankful. When countless customers address me by name, not because I have to wear a nametag, but out of respect, I feel connected. When someone tells me they like what I wrote for the Holland Museum, I feel special. When visitors tell me that it’s great to see someone from the younger generation showing interest in history, and do so with such enthusiasm, I blush and say “Thank you.” When countless children flock to me, needing their fix of hugs, high fives, high tens, and knuckles, we’re left beaming with matching smiles. When I show a child a lobster and watch them touch the animal for their first (or not) time, I watch them smile and can’t help but feel awesome. Having customers tell me they won’t go to another store because I’m not there tells me they recognize and appreciate everything they see me do, all in efforts to help provide them unrivalled customer service. More importantly, we’re able to see each other as human beings, talking about life’s intricacies.

Unfortunately, a large portion of what we do on a daily basis goes unrecognized. There are many reasons and variables attributing to this. Don’t let the negativity stop you from being truly spectacular. Keep putting forth your best effort, as no good deed is left unrecognized. It may take a while for someone to recognize and appreciate how amazing you are, but it does eventually come around. When the moment comes, allow someone to give you a compliment and live in the moment. Then, continue being who you are meant to be: you.

-Brandon-

A Beautiful Scene to be Seen

As the year draws to a close, many people see it as a time of reflection. This is a poem I wrote a few years ago, which offers the audience to do just that: reflect. The setting is fairly simple: a sunset at the beach. But what happens when you give the sunset life? What happens when you try to dig deeper? A simple setting becomes more complex, a metaphor for life, perhaps. 

 

A Beautiful Scene To Be Seen

There is a blaze in the sky
Fading, quickly fading
A palette of dark, bold and radiant hues:
reds, oranges and yellows
The enormous orb begs people to stare, 

            “elegant strokes are here to be stared at,
            to be analyzed; bask in the glory the painter
            took time to stroke. This is their masterpiece,
            take advantage of it.”

Inspiration comes in many forms.

I oblige to the free offering of the spectacle.
The sphere lowers,
tints change,
becoming more tantalizing to the eye.

There is no sky; a rainbow of energetic colors:
Fuchsia, indigo, bright yellow,
all so lustrous
As I look in awe,
the palette is now splatters all over:
purples, greens, and blues.
Glowing, shining at me 

Approaching perfection,
this sight is the first to enter my mind.
Never does it grow old,
each is fresh and new: exhilarating. 

-Brandon-

 

Happy Holidays!

 From all of us at AbleBodies...

We’re thinking of you this time of year,

Whishing you happiness, joy, and cheer.

May all your days be warm and bright,

And your nights enhanced by holiday light.

 

Enjoy your delectable holiday foods,

As parties and gifts create holiday moods.

Favorite people play a meaningful part,

While treasured rituals warm your heart.

 

You are special to us in many ways,

So we wish you Happy Holidays!

 By Joanna Fuchs

 

By BuzzFeed 

Practice Makes Perfect

Since I can remember, labels have frustrated me. The concept of judging each other based on what clothing brand we wear isn’t right. But, I’m not talking about these labels; I’m talking about the labels at the root of our being, the labels inside us. These aren’t discovered until someone approaches us and has genuine conversation. It’s through these genuine conversations which true appreciation and understanding are reached.

During the middle of my high school years, I realized I was “different” than my peers. As I was growing up, I’d always been involved in sports, and high school was no different. I was never a superstar, yet loved the camaraderie being part of a team. Despite a locker room atmosphere constantly being around me, I didn’t feel I fit in with the rest of the guys, but kept pushing onward. I ignored the slurs which were barked: “that’s gay”, “hey fag” “faggot”, “you run like a girl”. My stomach sank and body ached each time I heard these. All the talks about girls and which ones were the hottest were so off setting; I tried avoiding these altogether to save myself from lying. I was a shell of myself, hiding in fear of what might happen. I was ashamed to be viewed as “different”, and then, be punished for not being the “typical jock”. I was terrified of what I thought  others would say and do. I kept to myself, only boiling over my frustration and anger. Coming to terms with my sexual identity was something I didn’t fully accept until a few years later, but this struggle also brought on the real struggles of depression, anxiety, and bipolar. I’ve accepted I’ll probably carry these scars with me for the rest of my life.

On the outside, I was seen as “normal” because my day wasn’t that different from my peers: wake up, go to school, go to practice, come home, eat dinner, and relax before going to bed, only to wake up to start a new day. None of my peers saw my sleep routine. None of my peers knew what I did when they weren’t around. My peers didn’t know the battles I was facing, the ones eating me from the inside out. Despite the amount of time spent around my teammates, they didn’t truly know me. It was much easier to focus on the everyday. I craved for someone to ask me about me, to dig deeper. Instead, I listened to what everyone said, true to my nature.

If I had a label back then, it would read “Depression, Anxiety, Gay, Bipolar, Jock” and my teammates and classmates wouldn’t know how to treat me. Today, my label remains the same, more or less. Just the same as then, some people don’t know how to label me. The main difference is that now I accept who I am and I know ways to counter those who say I’m not “normal”. Underneath all the layers, I’m human. You’re human. We’re all human. I’m the same person as I was, except now I’m a seasoned veteran as opposed to a 2-star prospect.

Removing a label isn’t always easy. But, once it’s removed, there is a sense of accomplishment and you want to show off your new item. The same rule applies to getting to know someone, with genuine conversation doing the label removal instead of your fingers. Remove the labels and get to know someone new; we live in a melting pot, where each story is waiting to be shared. Let someone share their story.

 

The bare bones. Feel free to add your own label. Better yet, make your own.

 - Brandon - 

Art Imitating Life

Writing is an enjoyment for me, whether it’s a simple, but contemplative, Facebook comment, one of my nightly Facebook diary entries, a short story or poem I’ve written. There always is a pleasure behind the thoughts and words and creative process. Writing is cathartic and a great way for me to release emotions and ideas.

More recently I started writing a book, which is a long way from any short story I’ve written. Still, the enthusiasm is there and I take delight in fashioning the storylines as they come my way.

In a nutshell, the book is about a visually-impaired high school senior living in a ranch in South Texas during the final year of the 1980s and the struggles he goes through internally and externally as he works on wrapping up his public school education and wondering what comes next. There’s my pitch for the Hollywood movie and any book agent.

Those who know me might say, that sounds much like you. Yes, I did grow up in a ranch in South Texas and did graduate from high school in 1989, but that is where the similarities end.

Or do they?

As I delve deeper into the life of this teenage boy and some of his struggles, I find more and more that much of the underlying emotions reflect what I went through that final year of school and wondering what was next for me? Would I be successful in college? What would I major in? There was that fear of departing the small school and heading to a college where I knew no one. Expectations certainly would be higher.

And within the context of school itself the complexities of being a teenager were ramped up. There was rejection from girls, trying to survive in a high school that was full of rough individuals, living a life of a visually impaired student before ADA law was in effect, and living with low self-esteem and insecurity.

In some ways, many of these issues are dealt with by all high school teenagers at one time or another. The big difference was my vision impairment. That set me aside from all other students at San Diego High School.

But as I write my story, bits and pieces of myself emerge and become the smaller, underlying building blocks of this tale. These elements, true to my own experience, weave together the underbelly of this character while the actual story itself is purely fiction.

Isn’t there a little bit of ourselves in everything we write? I believe so, even if the story itself is totally, one-hundred percent fabrication and outlandish. I do believe that art does imitate life, whether it’s on purpose or not. It has to happen, as the creator is directly involved in the creating.

- Roel -