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My given name is Joseph Allen McBride and my birth certificate says
that I'm 48 years old, but that can't be. It seems I just graduated
from high school a year or two ago, and playing baseball and chasing
girls was all I cared about. Most people call me Joe, for some it's
Joey, and a few still call me Duff. It's a nickname taken from the
character Macduff, from Shakespeare's classic play Macbeth. My mother
gave me the name when I was just days old, so on this site and in
my book, I'll be known as Duff.
If you've read the short story here, you probably realize I don't
take things very seriously, but I'm a responsible adult who pays his
bills on time and is respectful of his elders . . . what few of them
are left. I'm nice to the neighborhood kids and often pet their dogs,
except the one who wakes me up at 7am from his constant howling. Him
I ignore in social situations and elsewhere.
I was born in Idaho, ("The state nobody uses," Al Bundy once said,)
grew up in a suburb of Philadelphia, and moved back to Idaho in October
05. I'm single by choice, maybe need, but probably because I've yet
to find any women who want me, everyday at least. I haven't given
up the notion of having kids of my own, but I think I'll wait another
20 years or so. That way, my wife or significant other will be able
to change the baby's diaper and mine at the same time. I love women
and am always looking out for their best interests. What a guy huh?
Hopefully you've read the short story and looked at the pictures,
as it will give you some idea of what my book is about. Let me now
introduce you to the introduction of A Tale of Two Gimps.
Webster's first definition of the word gimp is "an ornamental flat
braid or round cord used as a trimming." Duff knew nothing of flat
braids or trimmings, but over the last 20 years he's become acutely
aware of its second definition: "cripple, limp, hobble (walk with
a limp)." The first time he heard the word was two years after the
car accident that left him a gimp, at a state run rehabilitation school
in Pennsylvania. He didn't care for the word then, but over the years
he's come to realize that's it's the perfect word to describe his
physical condition. Gimp, straight and to the point.
Gimps can be classified in several different ways, the lucky ones
who can walk, with a limp of course, and those who can't, the wheelchair
bound, the walkers, and the sitters. Broken down further, many walkers
need assistance from canes, crutches, or other people, while some
need no help at all. The lucky sitters with upper body strength can
push their own wheelchairs, while others need electric chairs to get
around. The unluckiest of all are those who have no muscle function,
a puff and blow chair is their only mode of transportation. Mental
gimps are another story.
Duff's roommate at the rehab, who first called him the g-word, didn't
consider himself a gimp as he showed no outward sign of a problem.
When he neglected to take his medication, however, the muscular disease
he had would cause his head to shake so violently he could brush his
teeth without moving his hand. "There's nothin' worse than a closet
gimp," Duff said, the first time he saw his head bobble.
Most people don't realize, and maybe don't want to, what a gimp has
to go through just to make it from day to day. Steps are a problem,
and those without railings are next to impossible to navigate, and
that's for the walkers. Loss of balance to a gimp is a given. Ask
one to walk a straight line, and he'll list to one side or the other
like a ship without a rudder. He would never pass the test at a DUI
checkpoint.
Duff found new words coming into his vocabulary that he'd never used
before: urinal, catheter, stool softeners, bedpans, occupational therapy,
etc. A doctor mentioned impotence one time, and the blood drained
from Duff's head, the big one.
"You mean I'll never get it up again?" he gasped.
"Maybe, maybe not," the doctor answered matter-of-factly.
"Holy shit," was all Duff could say.
Many male gimps don't wear underwear because they get in the way.
Sometimes those extra five seconds make the difference between peeing
in the toilet, or wherever they may be, and having it run down their
leg. If you've ever seen a gimp spill a drink in his lap, it probably
means they've just pissed in their pants. The first thing they ask
at a new place is, "Where's the bathroom?" and sit as close to it
as possible. Bathroom habits oftentimes become public knowledge as
a bowel or bladder can burst at the worst of times. Sometimes they
feel it coming sometimes they don't, but come it does. Walking far
or fast, forget it. Running is a dream for most, and some must think
about every step, or down they go. Muscle spasms make arms and legs
shake so fast, they'd put Eddie Van Halen's fingers to shame.
Special parking spaces, no feeling, halo-braces, partial feeling,
staring people, hand controls, tubes in all the vital holes. It's
not fun being an ornamental flat braid, but it can be entertaining
to others.
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