Friday, August 12, 2005

Life is a Ball and Don't You Forget It!

Last Tuesday, our moods adding up to a pitiful sum, my date and I hid out at the Laemmle’s Sunset 5. In a moment of good sense, we opted to see the documentary on the U.S. Paralympics Rugby team, "Murderball" over the Kurt Cobain tribute, “Last Days”. It was a wise decision, an amazing film and I can’t wait to tell you about it.

“Murderball” blends together a group of compelling characters who deal out adversity with panache; a dash of current events when two of the players pay a sobering visit to Veteran’s Hospital in Virginia where young, newly amputated troops appear shell-shocked at their present condition; loud cursing, smutty sex talk and crashing around on the court in the name of professional rugby. This type of unique content is exactly why this documentary raises the bar.

For myself, the film’s subject matter was much more personal. While clips from the Athens 2004 Paralympics flickered in front of us, my date turned to me in genuine awe and said: “Wow, the world has certainly changed”. I found myself moved to tears at how much.

Certainly having Christopher Reeve as a spokesperson elevated visibility of people living with disabilities in the ‘90s, although it is important to remember that a sizable part of this population was living in state nursing homes until as late as ‘70s when de-institutionalizing began and Vietnam Vets began to appear on the streets. One of the featured men in “Murderball”, Joe Soares, a former quad-rugby player turned coach, maintains that his life would be different if his parents didn’t emigrate from Portugal. Remembering the ethos of decades past, as a polio victim he would have been sequestered from sight. The progress this community has made over the decades is enormous. However, we, as the rest of society, are unaware of these steps; taking it for granted that we are physically able to go wherever we want, and easily so.

I was first exposed to physical disability when a ramp was installed in our garage so my father’s friends and colleagues from work could enter the house on their own, often joining him in loud, ranting play by plays during weekend Red Sox games. During his tenure as Executive Director for the Boston Center for Independent Living, my father was one of many instrumental in implementing the Americans with Disabilities Act set forth in 1990. Beginning as a small company in the back of a True Value hardware store, BCIL subsisted on donations, United Way grants and a handful of truly committed people. These centers were created to teach self-advocacy, lobby for increased housing, jobs and education for those living with disabilities. Remember that up until this time, there were no buses equipped with elevators, ramped sidewalks or designated parking spots. With the exception of the Architecture Barriers Act of 1968 in which any new construction of federal buildings required accessibility, most of the world was not.

While we meet a group of extraordinary men who have overcome extreme difficulties, reflecting on their tragic circumstances with gratitude, the filmmakers take a pointed unsympathetic view on their subjects, a directive which prompts reviewers to colorfully describe the featured players as everyday guys, like, “Hey, they’re just like you and me! They’re ballsy, athletic and talk trash about sex!” Even the Rolling Stone review qualifies by apologetically stating: “it’s about quadriplegics in wheelchairs – but wait, it's not depressing!”

Obvious and ignorant as it sounds, the sentiment requires attention. The other day, I mentioned “Murderball” to a friend of mine, who immediately shook her head “I can’t watch that film!” Society’s blinders prevent people from seeing this film. We naturally gravitate towards subjects we want to look like, act like, dress like, and be like, not people who don’t function like we do. It’s the fear of simultaneously feeling gratitude and guilt for being “normal”.

All of the reviews I’ve read glow with keen admiration because, let’s face it, how many people have actually seen wheelchair sports? Or knew that the Paralympics have taken place the week following the Olympics since 1960 and in 2004, counted 136 countries representing 25 sports categories? It’s impressive. But what truly sets this documentary apart is how the film itself transcends disability, a feat that provokes an unambiguous connection, prompting us to look inward. How do we overcome that which holds us back? How do we harness the actual strength of spirit each of us possess; strength we rarely tap.

This point is dramatically made when we meet Joe’s 11-year old son Robert, a bookish violinist who doesn’t carry his father’s athletic gene and we witness Joe’s harsh treatment as if Robert were the one with a disability because he’s not like him. The chair doesn’t hold Joe back, his inability to see his son’s unique gifts does. Joe’s growing awareness is a poignant moment, speaking to the binary relationships we have with our parents, our children, the care we want from them and perhaps, how they, in turn give care, especially when the shit hits the fan.

The film isn’t about a bunch of guys crashing around like gladiators and talking about picking up chicks at bars. It’s about people whose dreams were stripped away from them in an instant and how they created new dreams for themselves. It’s about the ability to see ourselves for who we can be and the courage to harvest our character. It’s about love and service. It’s about a small, but valuable percentage of the world’s population making progress with courage and the desire to make life a little easier for themselves and others to come.

In a world constantly blinking by with new episodes of CSI and Jaguar models, it’s easy to become myopic to remarkable ways in which the world has evolved. It reminds of me of that Margaret Mead quote “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has”.

The “R” rating and the subject itself is killing “Murderball” at the box office. I encourage you to see this film. I challenge you. Bring your friends, bring your children and tell your neighbors about it. You can handle the sex talk and the swearing, and I promise, you’ll walk away inspired that world is a better place.

For me, watching “Murderball” was an earnest reminder of my father, his passion for his work and the community he hoped to build for all people.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

The Angry Man

Memorial Day. I don’t attend any BBQs. I spend the day at Kaldi writing my bleeding heart out. The next day, I board a red eye to New York where the man I am seeing is waiting for me.

What I’ve not told you is that while spending the past six months lamenting the C/R/M, I’ve been involved with someone sporadically for over 18 months. I call him “The Angry Man”. Although he definitely has metrosexual qualities, it’s harder to categorize them. He does a little magic, watches a lot of basketball, likes good sheets and he never steers you wrong when it comes to eating out.

 In fact, the next morning, after the unnamed hyphenated man had left me to motor on to his ex-fiancée’s house (I’ve only just figured this out, sometimes I can be so obtuse), he was the one I called, having bawled until I gave myself a migraine and then threw up. With a jar of dill pickles in hand from Langer’s Deli, he took one look at my puffed eyes and said: “He dumped you, didn’t he?” which prompted the waterworks all over again. I probably shouldn’t have rang him, but I’m glad I did. He’s the only man who has ever been there for me 100%.

Last summer, prompted by one of the girls in the New York office, I called him and told him that he was a pill and pissed me off most of the time, but that despite that, he made me laugh, he challenged me, and I loved him. We broke up about two months later, but I have no regrets about telling him I loved him. I know the golden rule is to let the man tell you first, but that was just the way I felt. I still feel that way.

In fact, when I left his apartment this morning after a rather loud squabble in which he once again announced something completely preposterous, I yelled “I’m going home and I’m going to WRITE about YOU in my BLOG!” Taken aback, he replied, “You have a blog?” I didn’t respond. He has not been on my emails alerts where my latest adventures lurk. He bores easily, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to hear the silence on the other end of the phone when asking his opinion. For someone who claims not to read, he sure has a lot of literary opinions.

After clearly defining the fact that he is not a rebound relationship, I decided to embark on more serious byways. Inspired by LeeAnn’s elopement in Oahu last month, I called The Angry Man and frankly announced that we should have a baby together. Life is short, right? I know he wants to be a father, he’s great with kids and I’d love the experience while I’m still under 40. I’m not sure about the full time mother stuff and the insane schedules I watch my friends keep and I told him that. What I said was “We don’t have to get married, we can have an alternative lifestyle and you can be the primary care giver.” I thought it sounded quite reasonable in this chaotic world. He started in on custody arrangements and stipulations about leaving the country. I was laughing, this was perfect, so him. Instead of getting caught up in the moment, or maybe my chaos, he launching into all sorts of reasonable questions. When I pointed this out, he yelled, “What do you mean you don’t want to marry me? If we’re having a baby, we’re getting married!” and hung up the phone.

I’m not pregnant, and we’ve not talked about getting married, but I have been invited to the coveted family retreat on Martha’s Vineyard which I will ferry off to in a couple of weeks.

Despite his assertion about not reading, he pours through two newspapers a day and will clip articles he thinks I’d be interested in. He’s incredibly bright, and during our first spat, said, “You’re used to being the smarter one in the relationship, right? Get over it!” later assuaging my ego with “You’re almost as smart as me”.

He’s my biggest critic, but constructive and frighteningly accurate. He’s also my biggest fan and wants the best for me. He sees me clearly. He thinks I'm sexy and should wear bikinis and jeans that show off my butt. He’s funny and he loves to go to theater, museums, or drive up the coast, stopping to buy strawberries. He can usually get me to try things I’ve never done, although I am steadfastly refusing to join him at the nude beach in the Vineyard and anything related to Dim Sum. I think I’m going to lose the Dim Sum fight soon. He can work a room, but would prefer not to. He is an ardent Red Sox fan, Beatles fan and connoisseur of the best restaurants. During one of our earlier dates, we were at a loss of words, staring around the restaurant trying to feel each other out, when he pulled out a red scarf from nowhere and started a mini-magic routine. It was then I knew he was special.

For those of you “Thirty-Something” fans, you may remember the episode where Gary is describing his new girlfriend, Susannah, to Michael. Michael wants to meet her, and we, the audience, are secretly hoping he gets back together with Melissa. Gary smiles and says, “You’re not going to like her”. I think this is the first impression that The Angry Man gives. He’s churlish and doesn’t suffer fools lightly. He also seems rather fond of the word “battle”, I’m not sure why. We have many similarities and appreciate our differences. He’d never be caught doing yard work or manning the grill, while I get great pleasure out of mowing the lawn. He also secretly loves that I call his favorite basketball team “The Fakers” and has a beautiful singing voice.

Last weekend, I picked up Laura Schlessinger’s book, “What Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives” (relax, it was at a friend’s house) and spontaneously turned the page to a bold paragraph heading “Adult Relationships Are For Adults”. Could this be an adult relationship? Readers, I’m dying to know.

Shameless Crushes...

find life experiences and swallow them whole.
travel.
meet many people.
go down some dead ends and explore dark alleys.
try everything.
exhaust yourself in the glorious pursuit of life.
-lawrence k. fish

Yoga For Peace

read much and often

Cleopatra: A Life
Travels with Charley: In Search of America
Never Let Me Go
The Angel's game
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Bel-Ami
Dreaming in French: A Novel
The Post-Birthday World
A Passage to India
The Time Traveler's wife
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Catcher in the Rye
One Hundred Years of Solitude
The Kite Runner
Eat, Pray, Love
Slaughterhouse-Five
Les Misérables
The Lovely Bones
1984
Memoirs of a Geisha


read much and often»