33 and Happy Birthday to me!

This Thursday I will be celebrating another Birthday. Please say hello in the comments, I’d love to hear from all my readers! The big question for me right now is what next and I still haven’t figured this one out yet. I know where I want to be and I what I hope to be doing but I’m not quite sure how I’ll get there. I want my skills and education to make a difference in people’s lives. Hopefully, one day I’ll be able to structure programs that assist people with disabilities, promote independence and inclusion. Until then I will be open to any opportunity to make a living and be useful in and out  of Florida. One thing I was never afraid of is hard work. I’m not ashamed of my age but I lived in Gainesville for eight years. Don’t get me wrong, the town has been good to me, but there is only so much you can learn in my place.  I’ve met some great people who bonded with me and for ever changed my life. I’ve moved here from Poland, isn’t that crazy? Every year brought something different that shaped me as a person and was a learning experience. Teaching me mostly about myself. When I first got here I proved to everyone that I can function in my wheelchair by myself, survive and succeed. That I can go to a foreign country and… just start a law school there. The next few years taught me just how much I can take and how fiercely I can fight to prove my worth. The Law school admissions board had their doubts about me when I applied for my second American degree program, but with a lot of footwork I was able to convince them. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t a sure thing. And my book awards and Dean’s lists prove that they made a right decision. If I thought that was hard, clearly I had no clue about what I was going to face next. It took me many years to convince immigration to let me stay in this country. It wasn’t easy and it took multiple tries. I was getting frustrated that I couldn’t make them see why my mission to help other people like me was important. As months went by I was getting more and more frustrated and something broke in me. With no hope in sight I felt I was in a dark place for a very long time. But in the end I won. And it taught me how much I can take. And it taught me strength and patience. Strength not only only for myself, but for my parents who were back in Poland, worried about me. But also strength to be far from home. While I was away my dad had a double bypass, my brother had two kids and my childhood dog died. And there’s nothing I could do. But then powerlessness was an emotion that I experienced a lot over the last few years. At certain point you need to let the fear, the disappointment and resentment go or it will eat you up inside. But this self realization came at at a price. I was happier, more naïve, engaged when I got here. In ways I feel more broken, more reserved and cynical. Something was taken from me and I will never get that back. I have three law degrees know and various certificates, I’m an attorney in two jurisdictions. I have a green card that allows me to travel and move to anywhere in the United States, I have that freedom I always wanted, why am I still in Gainesville? Part of me wants to move somewhere and start over, although my law licenses limit my options to DC and Florida, I do want to see more and experience more. I was on the phone with dad a week ago. And he said:’I think you overstayed your welcome in Gainesville a bit. But then it’s hard to just move somewhere without anything lined up’. I do think that he is right. I’ve been letting my fear and familiarity hold me back. I do want challenge and I do want change. While I’m working on putting together a law firm and a nonprofit was it just an excuse to stick to what I know? How do I go about grabbing life by the horns? I am getting a bit anxious waiting for something to happen

Being Polish: Who we are

'”You don’t talk about being from Poland all the time” said a friend to me a few weeks ago, when she was telling me about a foreigner that she knows. She couldn’t understand how, after a person has lived in America for many years, being from somewhere else is still essential to how they think, talk and identify. To tell you the truth, the reason why I don’t talk about being Polish that much anymore is that I’ve run out of stories to tell.  At one point people around me were very interested to hear about my life in Europe, my education, our culture. To my American friends I often felt strange and exotic. Many of them never traveled abroad, some never even left the State. I told the same anecdotes over and over and over. It was difficult to keep track whom I told what story. So I stopped all together. Eight years later I don’t feel any less Polish than I did eight years ago. America is a melting pot. And there’s this strong tendency to think that we’re all the same and whatever brought us here, what we experienced is in the past and doesn’t matter. Call it Western culture if you will. We all dress the same, we all listen to the same music, we watch the same movies we all must be alike, right? Wrong. Poland to me is not just a place I came from. It’s a place that shaped me, made me who I am today.

 I was raised differently than kids in America. I was brought up on different literature, writers that would find great pride in Polish history. I’m very much aware of times of our national greatness, but also our historic  spectacular losses, wars, insurgencies and  patriotic movements. I grew up witnessing the fall of communism and great hopes for a change that came after.  We didn’t  have much. I still remember times when new jeans were a sensation and kids collected cans and bottles from the West. I didn’t grow up having 500 TV channels, but I read a lot. My parents’ generation was fighting for freedom and the type of life they thought we all  deserved. Many sacrificed a lot, but  it only shoved us that there are values that are worth it. Sense of patriotism and hope and great national pride was something that allowed  Polish people to find comfort in the pain. I doubt that the young Poles of today, raised on MTV and Cartoon Network can relate to some of those things the way that I do. Times change. I have a very dark, sarcastic sense of humor, that I don’t think many Americans can easily understand. The things that I saw and read, the values that my parents have given me, have formed how I think, how I see things, how I joke, what worries me and what I’m afraid of. I will always be very ‘Polish’ down to the core, in a cultural sense, not just in terms of geography. Decades ago, at the height of Communism, many  workers from Poland immigrated to America. Some did so legally, many did not. They were looking for a better life. A lot of  them didn’t speak the language or have any advanced education, so they ended up getting jobs based on their phy6sical strength in industries like construction. I used to think of them as tragic victims of the system, suspended between their old homeland and the new country they now called home. Years have passed, but to them I thought the time has been standing still and they would not recognize Poland today as the place the left behind. And the cultural differences  somehow stopped them from truly belonging. At first I thought it was the lack of skills and the language barrier that held them back.  But I feel like that sometimes. Not that I don’t belong, but…. different at times and separated from others in a way. Because it’s still a very important part of me, a part that I have no intention to ever giving that up. But then there are other important aspects that shape us as human beings. Americans seem comfortable talking about and accepting differences  in the ways we appear. Everybody understands the importance of race, color and gender, but we rarely talk about things in our psyche. Those friends of mine who suffered the trauma of abuse or poverty, grew up in broken homes are changed by those experiences for life.

The ‘American way’ seems to be to get over it. Because everybody grows up with something. We are all different, but just because you can’t see the things that make us that way does make them less important. Being Polish affects me everyday in a profound manner. Just like having a disability. Just like being foreign. Sometimes one becomes more evident then the other, in some instances those features act in concert. I couldn’t tell you where me being Polish starts and ends, just like I would not be able to tell you what my life would be like if I didn’t have a disability. All those things form who I am today. Because we all are black/white/Asian, etc. Male/Female, Straight/Gay/Bisexual/Asexual/Autosexual, of some national origin, with some talents and strengths and experiences that all shape who we are.

Falling down.

When I was little the goal seemed to be to make me as mobile as possible. But this newfound mobility came at a price. I was at a greater risk of falling down and hurting myself than ever before. I wrote about how my parents sent me off to the world famous Institute for children with (mostly) Cerebral Palsy a number of times before. I talked about the sacrifices we all have made as a family and how it affected all of us. During the first few days, right off the bat really I was fitted for braces to keep my legs straight. First pair was made of plastic like synthetic material, the next ones were metal ad leather with a release like mechanism at the back of the knee. These were pretty heavy. They wanted me to walk around using sticks. I would lean on them and make a movement from the hip. It was very easy to fall, in fact in the Institute I did it a number of times. It wasn’t uncommon for  a Conductor to walk off to focus on other kids while I was walking around the room. The floors were very smooth, made of PVC or something similar and my sticks were rubber. It was very easy to slip. The stick would get away from me making me lose my balance. At that point my dad became concerned. For weeks back in our apartment he’d make me stand in front of a couch and then throw myself on it while throwing my sticks to the sides with my hands stretched out. And again, and again and again.

The goal was for me to know how to fall down so I would protect my face and avoid head injury. Until it becomes an instinct , a reflex and you know what do without even thinking about it. Back then, the rubber on the tips would wear off quickly and the sticks would slide on sand and certain types of carpets as well.  The story my mom likes to tell is how she was walking and pushing my chair and didn’t see the sidewalk was ending suddenly. She pushed me over, but when she realized I was falling she grabbed me by my hat and that’s all that remained in her hands while I went face down in the puddle. She laughs that we found the one puddle in the entire city. I was ten and that was in Budapest. But the lessons my dad taught me about how to fall I use till this day. I may be in a wheelchair, but if there’s a crack in the sidewalk that I don’t see it may sent me flying and it happens from time to time even till these day. I remember walking out of a store one time thinking the ramp was in front of me, while it was actually on the side and I rolled into a concrete drop. I took the fall on my elbows. Once a painted crossing tricked me into believing a curb cut was right there when it wasn’t. I can get injured every day ad it doesn’t get better over time. If anything, if I get cocky I’m more likely to hurt myself. Scrapes and bruises are not that uncommon on me. Sometimes I get hurt regardless, because I overestimated something or wasn’t paying attention. Once I made a dent in the drywall of a restaurant’s bathroom with my head when I decided to jump into my wheelchair while it moved away from me. It happens. Mistakes happen. But the ability to try to protect and guard my body serves me well today.

My 2007 speech

5 years ago I was asked to be the key note speaker at the Jordan Klausner Foundation’s annual fundraiser. This is what started my long running adventure with the organization and it was right before I began law school again that month. Understandably, we decided to keep an uplifting tone and eliminate  mentions of my problems with getting into the program and issues with immigration. Still, I feel I did a good job talking about Cerebral Palsy, Conductive Education and my experiences in Poland. This was 2007. Today I’m an attorney in two jurisdictions but it’s still a good read. This is what I had to say with WCJBTV20’s cameras present.

When I think of conductive education in Gainesville I can't help but remember my own experiences in similar facilities. There's been quite a few of them, both in my native Poland and abroad. My parents tried every rehabilitation method available from Bobath Concept through Peto’s Conductive Education and Doman approaches, worked extra jobs and spared no expense to improve my motor skills. When I was younger my mother stayed at home until I was in my teens to provide a few hours extra of physical therapy a day at home while my dad took additional shifts to provide for the family. I will always be grateful for their dedication. Now I'm 28 years old. I have poor right hand control, I can't straighten my knees beyond 90”, and I'm in a wheelchair. But my left hand is pretty skillful, and I live independently. I've studied four languages, I have Master of Law degrees from universities in both Warsaw, Poland and Florida, I have worked as a media journalist from home and my wheelchair takes me where I want to go. I am about to start Law School at the University of Florida, I have a busy social calendar, a great circle of friends, plans and goals and the outlook in life for me looks GREAT.
Quite honestly I don't contemplate my own disability that often. I've come to accept that I do have to do certain things in a way  different from other people. When there are stairs I look for a lift or an elevator; when I need to cross the street I seek the lowest point on the sidewalk. It's the reaction of other people that I find most disturbing. When I go to a club it happens that kids there, afraid or unaware, give me a look of death or that I'm showered with uncomfortable questions that I've answered so many times already. And yes it sometimes hurts to realize that in some people's eyes I will always be reduced to an image of a guy in a wheelchair. But I will always remember what I had to go through to be where I am; and I am grateful that I can travel the world and live my life independently.
How did I get to where I am today?
I came from Central Europe. I grew up in communist times. Ironically, the region that produced the acclaimed Peto Institute of Conductive Education also did a lot to keep the disabled children away from the public eye. In the Communist lands where everyone was supposed to be content, fulfilled and equal, there was no room for illness, there was no need for ramps and elevators. Kids in wheelchair and with movement disorders were never seen in regular schools. There was however an extensive system of special schooling that mixed all types of disabilities together, often in common classes. Teaching would of course be slow and inefficient. The alternative was individual teaching with a single instructor visiting a students every day. My parents wanted a different life for me. They wanted me to have a better start. First, by arrangement with the teachers, they would sneak me in then officially got me in my classrooms carrying me up the stairs everyday. I knew my parents were getting older, I wasn't sure at what point their backs would give in causing all this to end. My parents started a trend. Many others tried to do the same. Most didn't last until graduation. Studying was never difficult for me and I loved to write. It never took me long to finish reading a book. But it's math and experimental physics class that I chose in high school, inspired by my parents who wanted me to follow the footsteps of my brother, the programmer. Yet again, no lift; my classmates carried me up and down the stairs. After school I decided to try out for a spot at the prestigious Warsaw University of Law. It was the Rector's Disability Office people, of all, trying to discourage me from pursuing that career. Classrooms are full, they said, often inaccessible, and how would I practice afterwards? It wasn't that bad; mostly because of the university volunteer assistants and paratransit. I did very well in school, I excelled in many contests, mostly international, I've graduated summa cum laude and completed courses at two foreign law clinics. But the nay-sayers were partially right. How was I ever to practice law in a country with offices, prisons, courts that still remember the golden era of communist style architecture? How can I function not being able to use mostly inaccessible public transit, having to rely on paratransit booked two weeks in advance for rides? I never knew if I could succeed in a different setting but I had to try. So I decided to enroll in a Master of law program in a town I've never heard of before- Gainesville, Florida.
At first the adjustment was difficult, but in the right setting, I found buses with wheelchair lifts, ramps and lifts, and it turns out I can be mobile, I can get to be all over town and rely on my own body strength. It's the determination that my parents have given me that drives me. And I'm not the only one. I spent four years of my childhood in the Peto Institute of Conductive Education in Budapest. There was a group of children from Poland in my group, and at that time the parents would stick together. And those kids were affected in many different ways and to different extents, and from what I have heard, blossomed into wonderful people driven my ambition. One of them writes his thesis in London, the other, whose condition was much worse than ours, as he couldn't speak or control the spontaneous movements of his arms at all apparently rides all over Warsaw with the control stick of his motorized chair wired to his foot. I recently went back to Warsaw after 3 years, only to learn that not much has changed in Poland, now a EU member state.
I know that my quest in life brings me back to the United States where I can attend Law School at the University of Florida and eventually help others like my self enjoy a free and open society where accommodation for people with disabilities are routine.
I feel a little awkward talking about my disability, having spent most of my life proving how insignificant it is for me as a person, yet I'm here today because of it. I am living proof that conductive education WORKS!. If there is one idea I can leave you with this evening it is that the only way to counter CP is through hard work. It's an investment. What you put into it pays great dividends--work, work, work. As my old doctor said, it's not about perfecting some movement for the sake of an exercise, it’s about getting everybody off the floor to do the best they can.
That's why I'm extremely grateful to James Klausner, for his Academy and Foundation and for everything he's doing for children in need in this great community. It takes great strength and great effort. This work needs to continue. Thank you all for being here this evening and thank you for you continued support of the Gainesville Conductive Education Academy.

The jacket

A few months ago I was on my  way to grab  a drink (I believe I was meeting some friends) when a familiar face stopped me. The man was scratched up and had blood on his face. You could easily tell that he had his share of alcohol for the night already. I didn’t know him too well, but I recognized him. He worked at one of the local bars, either as a bouncer, a server or a bartender and he was always nice and helpful. He told me he just got beaten up, but he was too afraid to talk to the police. The attackers, he explained, took his clothes and walking around half naked he would only attract unwanted attention. I’m not going back to jail- he vowed. You could understand his concerns a bit- he was in an awful shape and being covered with tattoos of flames, skulls and daggers clearly didn’t help. He asked me if he could hold my jacket and have me walk with him to his bar. ‘You know me, I helped you so many times’ he said. While that never actually happened it was December, we expected for temperature to drop that night and the wind was picking up. I was more concerned about the guy than the jacket and I knew that although I had a pretty good idea  were he worked and who he was chances were I would never see my jacket again. I liked it too. It was unique, my mother got it as a souvenir back when she was working on the Polish production of Big Brother. ‘I’m not going to  walk with you to that bar, because I have other plans’ I explained. But  why don’t you borrow my jacket and  meet me on the corner of University and Main at one?  He didn’t show up. Still, I was happy I helped a guy out. He was a good kid and he was in trouble. It was more of an impulse and he wasn’t a stranger either. I lived across the street, he needed it more than I did. But I

He no longer worked at the place I knew him from, still I was told he comes by. I asked his co-workers to tell him I still want my jacket back. That was in December. I didn’t see him again until tonight. I decided to  chat with a friend who runs a hotdog stand downtown for a good 30 minutes. When we talk I see a familiar face coming up to buy food. Don’t I know you? – I asked and it took me a few seconds to realize who it was- You have my jacket! Washed ad pressed, he said as we exchanged numbers. Who knows

When life gives you lemons…

A street preacher in my neighborhood whom I had known for quite some time told me recently that my mission is to make people understand  what it’s like to be me. I wouldn’t put it quite like that but there’s a lot of truth to it. I’ve written about it it before: Cerebral Palsy will always be part of my life, affect me in one way or the other, so I might just as well accept it and move on. This the thing people will always notice it first when they meet me, so why should I ignore it? It will always be the elephant in the room.  I have always said, it’s been a bigger issue for the world around me that it ever was for me. But when I see people who pity me,  want to give me money or assume things not knowing the first thing about me, well that’s when it starts to affect me. When I go places that turn out to be not wheelchair accessible and nobody seems to care it affects me again. The problem is not how I feel about myself and how I see me,  it’s what the world throws back at me and what’s reflected in their eyes. Because I’m fine and I love my life. But if I can’t make it a non-issue, I want to control the narrative. I want to grab this thing by the horn and turn it into an asset. Rather than seeing it as a social issue and a health problem, why don’t we talk about it as one of the  many, many things that defined me. And I think on many levels it’s a fun story to hear. How I moved here from Poland in my mid-20’s looking for a place where I could finally be independent and self realized and included and how I had to battle everyone from my own law school to immigration to be where I am today. Let’s talk about how my disability partially shaped my ambition and my drive to succeed, my sarcastic and dark sense of humor.  How about how all the things that happened to me made me want to get involved and help other people, do things that I think matter and I hope make a difference. Let’s talk about kindness and humanity.  I want to make it about the celebration of life. About mind succeeding over flesh. About passion and excitement. Because at the end of the day it is a distinguishing characteristic and people these days will do anything to stand out. I didn’t have to have a sex tape out or be photographed without my underpants in a cab to be where I am today. I want to grab the bull by the horns. Because I do have a choice. They can either pity me or be curious what it’s like to be me. And I choose the second option.

Pick up a copy of the Gainesville Sun Monday

I wrote a letter to the editor of my city’s leading newspaper  last week. I quite liked what I wrote. I thought it was poignant and funny, maybe a little edgier  than the things I typically post on my blog. As I read it to myself I thought I really didn’t mind if they didn’t use it because then I would just put it here for everyone to read and that would save me the effort of having to write another piece. But then I got a phone call from the opinion editor at the Gainesville Sun. They were not going to print it as a letter to they editor. They said it was too long for that., but they liked the text. They did however ask my permission to print it as a guest column on Monday. What is it about? I’m not going to reuse it on my blog, so I decided to tell the story with pictures I took one Wednesday night while strolling about downtown. I’ve noticed how people who frequent local hipster bars tie their bicycles absolutely everywhere- trees, lampposts, street signs, often in a way that blocks wheelchair ramps and sidewalks making it sometimes nearly impossible to get around. And they have more choice in transportation and mobility than I do. You can read the text here: http://www.gainesville.com/article/20120702/OPINION03/120639992/-1/opinion?Title=Ralph-Strzalkowski-When-bikes-impede-my-mobility

Also a frequent practice: Those portable entrance lines to clubs taking up most of the sidewalk.