My Father as Olympian
When the sailboat my father was on capsized in the Caribbean, he was a changed man. The contaminated water he swallowed caused his quadriplegia. His life story altered from a successful immigrant story to a tale of tragedy.
At the time of his accident, in the 1970s, he was essentially told his life was over. He retired from his job. My mother left him. He didn’t even qualify for single parent benefits because the government had not accounted for a single man to be father—the benefits were strictly “single mother.”
But my father has always been a determined, stubborn, and passionate man, and these traits ballooned after his accident. All his energy was now focused on ensuring his children would succeed and find stability in the world. Like many South-Asian parents, he emphasized our intellectual talents, telling me often, Your brain will get you out. But he also encouraged us to play sports, I think because he didn’t want us to take our bodies for granted. My father had loved swimming and tennis.
I will confess that I was skeptical about whether Canadians would embrace hosting the 2010 Paralympic Games. During the Olympic Games, I overheard several snarky, ignorant comments from spectators, such as The Paralympics are just going to lose Vancouver money. We shouldn’t have to host them, and, I don’t think tax payers should be responsible for funding international charity work.
Most people don’t know much about the Paralympics. This is problem number one. Many confuse the Paralympics with the Special Olympics, which it isn’t. Paralympians are elite athletes with world rankings in their disciplines. Special Olympians have mental disabilities and the focus of their games is on participation, which is valuable as well, but is different from the focus of the Paralympics, which is athletic excellence. Problem number two is that people tend to assume that watching disabled athletes will be depressing somehow—remind them of their own fragility and mortality. Problem number three is that many people have little contact with people with disabilities, and this inexperience only perpetuates stereotypes of what the disabled are able to do and accomplish. As someone who has written about disability in my novel To Whom It May Concern, I have discussed my characters Hardev and Dorothy (Hardev is a quadriplegic, Dorothy is deaf) this way: Everyone has limitations. For them, however, a number of their limitations are right on the surface, for the rest of the world to see. What matters is how we deal with our own limitations, and that’s what builds character and identity.
As I hope we’ll all see in Canada, first-time host of the Paralympics, watching Paralympic athletics is invigorating and awe-inspiring. The Paralympics are a truly amazing representation of human spirit and will mixed with human ingenuity. And I am hopeful, because I was very pleasantly surprised to be among a full house at BC Place for the Opening Ceremonies. Athletes from all countries were welcomed with cheering and dancing. And the video montages of Terry Fox’s journey across Canada and Rick Hansen’s Man in Motion world tour reminded us that two of our most famous Canadian athletes of all time are disabled athletes, whose inspiration is still felt internationally today.
I was extremely young when Terry Fox died, but I do have a vague recollection of the country’s collective grief at the time. Growing up in Ottawa, I frequently walked past his memorial statue, and I ran in events at Terry Fox track. But I vividly remember Rick Hansen’s tour, and my father, brother, and I keeping eyes and ears open to all Hansen updates. I also remember us yelling at television screens, urging him on to gold medal victory from my father’s adjustable bed. Through Hansen, my father’s struggle was legitimized. He wasn’t just a survivor, but a winner. His life did not end with his accident. He raised two successful children—he accomplished what he set out to do.
Fox once said to reporters that he was not running across the country for fame or for any personal gain. He only wanted to raise money for cancer research. I am no better than anyone. I’m equal.
I’m not so sure about that. The examples of the disabled achieving what most would have deemed utterly impossible, urges us to mine the depths of our inner and physical strength to live our own lives to the fullest.
