For starters, I don't! Here's what I mean: from a literary standpoint, I'm not interested in reading my own biography; I don't need to analyze my own essay on "Black Air," even though it's inspired. That's because Andrew Fillipone and others are the real car journalists, where I stand, as Paul the Apostle says, "The chief among sinners."
I was born in Tarzana, California with arthrogryposis. That was in 1984, and the reason that you already know this is because I made mention of it in my last blog.
Arthrogryposis is a muscular condition, but in the 1980s, I wasn't the only one to be born with it. The '80s and '90s were chock-full of disabled kids, so what did that mean for the physical condition?
Let's think about this: the 1990s, for those of you who can remember, smelled a little different than the '80s in the extreme sports sense; in the '80s, we had Double Dare, but by 1996...Legends Of The Hidden Temple!
I have arthrogryposis, it does not allow me to grab the wheel in any vehicle, and because we're from the San Fernando Valley, cars are a part of who we are. It's always been a part of who I am, but with arthrogryposis, it's your fingers, wrists and things like that that become fixed; how can you operate a regular vehicle?!
In the meantime, this is where I'm supposed to be, and the only difference is that it's hard for me to translate, to the pavement, that same passion that we all share as enthusiasts. And until it gets done, I'll continue to ask: If not me, then who?!
No comments:
Post a Comment