Paralympics begin......

The opening ceremonies of the Paralympics are underway. I am not sure if most people remember, especially in other cities, but even here in Vancouver and on the national news service (CBC) they have received about the same amount of attention as the fact that the clocks switch to Daylight Savings Time at 2am tomorrow night.

My theory is that most publicized sports are driven by male viewers and men are generally threatened and repulsed by disabilities, by weaknesses in other men and anything vaguely medical. Psychological studies support this. Most women would agree. My dating life confirms it. But most men would likely disagree and tell you to change the subject. Most of them would be uncomfortable watching disabled men compete, and would argue that that's not "real" sport. Hockey tickets in the Winter Olympics went for over a thousand dollars each while sled hockey games at the Paralympics are selling for $30, and they are not sold out yet.

There was this fellow, a friend of a former friend, who I used to run into all the time at a local pub. He was a doctor, a gay one at that, who used to write porn when he was younger. He was extremely proud of his over-sized cock, which he was prone to pull out to show young men he hoped to seduce when the bartender was not looking. He would say to me that he understood what my life with muscular dystrophy must be like and that he would be there for me when I "needed him". That is to say, he would assist in my suicide when I couldn't stand the deterioration any longer. I never indicated to him, either in my manner or my words, that I ever considered suicide. I just assumed that the thought of me putting an end to it all was more of a comfort to him that it would be to me.

I never over-reacted. In fact, I found it rather funny and often called him "Dr. Kevorkian". He was strangely drawn to me and often said I must have been cute when I was younger. I was astonished and bemused by the outrageous things he frequently said, as he seemed to change feet every time he opened his mouth. "I don't usually do guys as old as you", he'd say --I'm 8 years older than him-- "and I've never done it with a gimp before." "I wouldn't want to spoil your perfect record," I'd tease him, or I'd lie and say "I'm not really into large cock."

The last time we spoke he commented on how good I was walking, that I looked better than before, although I am not. Perhaps my repulsion factor is fading. "Someday I'd like to see you in the Paralympics," he chimed suddenly, as if he had said something both kind and brilliant. I suggested that I could be strapped as padding to a tree along the ski course in case disabled skiers lost control. "No, seriously," he said, but how could anyone take him seriously.

But his pathetic comment still haunts and amuses me, especially with the Paralympics having come to town. I'm still shell-shocked from the noise and chaos of the Games that just ended and have little enthusiasm for this second round. But there are definitely more people in town. I tried to go out for a beer with friends tonight but there was NO room in my favourite pub. I even had to line up to get out again, so I might just lay low another week or two until its all over.

PS: It's snowing hard in the mountains again, now that the Winter Olympics have left town. I love Mother Nature's sense of humour.