You Are Normal -No Accommodation Needed!

My mother signed me up for little league baseball when I was around 8 years old.

I played outfield because it did not require much moving around, balls rarely were hit that far out. When they were, by the time I made it to the ball the batter usually had already either made it to base or ran home.

At bat, when it was my time, the coach helped me get set at home plate, the other team would move in closer, and a substitute runner was standing off from where I was batting.

The pitcher would throw the ball, underhanded, so I could hit it.

I’d swing, 2 or 3 times before the ball would connect with my bat, then “bam” the ball would travel a short distance. When the ball cracked on the bat the substitute runner standing by would take off and make it to first base, most of the time.

Then the coach would have me walk out and I’d be on first base. As the batters hit the ball or strike out, I’d be waived into the next base.

Sometimes I’d make it to home plate.

Regardless, the parents and spectators in the stands would cheer for me, mostly with muted enthusiasm if not out of pity (or some sort of obligation) but they would cheer.

I always hated when this happened.

Having polio since I was 4 months old, I always felt like I was treated differently from other kids, standing out and not in what I felt was a good way, was normal.

I wore a brace on my right leg, with a raised sole and heel to help me walk to make up for the 1 ¼ deficiency in the length of my legs. The corset I wore helped keep my back straighter and the crutches kept me from falling as I walked.

So why did I hate being on that little league baseball team, participating with my peers, hitting the ball, and getting on base?

The spectators did not cheer for me, they did not experience my effort to do my best or learn from my failures.

They cheered because they thought “how nice they let the crippled boy play on the team.”

It was generous of the coach to make a place for the crippled kid and the other kids demonstrated sportsmanship when they put up with the consideration the crippled kids got throughout the game.

They clapped and cheered to not look judgmental, or callus, more than they did to be supportive.

How did I know this?

Because I heard the comments the kids made out in the field, in the bullpen, and when we were at school. I heard the parents whispering at the snack shack and saw the look of pity on their faces.

“Well Lloyd weren’t they just trying to be nice, you sound a little judgmental yourself. At least you got to participate when a lot of crippled kids wouldn’t have been able to.”

I don’t disagree.

They were probably just being nice, the team made a place for me, knowing I either couldn’t hit the ball but for sure would never make it to first base if I did. They knew when the ball was hit out to the left-field, where I was always placed, if the ball was hit in my area the chances of me “running” to the ball wasn’t great, catching the ball while looking up and keeping my balance, would never happen.

Yes, they “made “a place for me, here’s my question.

What was their frame of reference?

To them, their kids played the ball to win, learn the game, be part of a group effort, sportsmanship, and even improve their skills.

For their kids standing out meant they either did well, hit a home run, stole the base to get the winning run, or brought the winning run-in with a bunt.

Lose or win players on each team experienced the feeling of being a winner or the heartache of not winning. And when they lost the coach helped them work on their skills, they needed to do better, perform more effectively, and contribute in a more meaningful way to the team.

You see that’s what I hated.

“They” made a place for me.

It wasn’t about me.

It wasn’t about learning “how” I could improve or “what” I could improve.

What I learned over the years and looking back, was about them.

What they felt, how they felt, and how they thought they would be viewed in 1962 if they didn’t go along.

They saw me as being different and they accommodated “that”.

Here’s the thing, I had polio since I was 4 months old.

The way I walked was normal for me, the way I rode my bike was normal for me, the way I ran was normal for me, and the way I swung the bat was normal…. for me.

Because I caught polio at 4 months old everything about who I am and what I did, to me, was normal.

In my life experience, it wasn’t me that was abnormal, it was all the other kids.

What I always wanted and didn’t realize until my teenage years was to walk on that baseball field, position myself at the plate, swing, hit the ball, and as best I could head to first base.

I know, I’d get tagged out, no doubt.

But “I” would have been tagged out.

Me, what I did, not what someone else did.

And between games, with coaching, practice, and effort I might have actually gotten better, hit more precisely, increase my strength, got rid of timidity and fear, and eventually made a hit that allowed me to make it to first base, on my own.

I might never have made it to 2nd base, to 3rd base, or to home plate but for me making it to first base, on my own, with no accommodation, no special treatment would have been my home run!

I’m not a hypocrite about this, I have had a handicap placard for my car since I was 16 years old, I park in handicap at stores and when my kids were growing up and we went to places like Disneyland we always took advantage of handicap access and my kids never had to wait in line.

In my career, when I was leading sales teams, they always wanted to fly with me because I got on the plane first because of handicap access.

The reason I take advantage of these society accommodations is that I’m normal.

How’s that?

Taking advantage of these societal accommodations was my choice!

 What I have learned is I am normal; I have always been normal.

I didn’t want some kid running to first base for me, I never wanted the team to pause when a left-field fly ball was hit, I wanted to either get the ball and throw it back in time, make it to the base on my own or not make it.

If our team won, I would have been an active participant in that win, not an ancillary character in the win. And when we lost, I would have shared in the agony of that loss rather than as an afterthought of losing.

Normal is being who you are, within the knowledge, experience, and emotional intelligence you have at that moment in time.

Normal means there are more life experiences ahead of us, our success always comes from the “next” thing we do…. next is always available.

The limitations we feel in our lives, personal and work come from what we don’t know not from what we know. Until we have accomplished that dream or goal, we aspire to we have no idea what it takes.

What can we do then?

We can accommodate every opportunity we have in life, make the best of where we are at and take measured risks, and hold ourselves accountable for our choices.

We are what we made of ourselves!