away to the circus

Hello there! I know, it's been a minute...or several years, whatever. Explanation? Well, I could say I ran away to the circus, which is kinda true, but I didn't run so much as take a plane, then a bus, then a train...and it wasn't several years ago, it was Saturday...and it's not Barnum and Bailey, it's circus camp...and no ordinary circus camp...it's amputee circus camp, or as we campers have affectionately termed it, Camputee 2019!

This is actually the second annual Amputee Circus Camp, hosted in Kingston, Ontario, at Kingston Circus Arts by the lovely and talented Erin Ball. Erin lost her legs below the knee several years ago. She was an aerialist before her accident, and she has continued with a mission to bring others with limb difference and disability into the world of circus.

So here I am. Just getting to hang out with other limb-less or partially-limbed folk from all over is novel enough, much less have the opportunity to play together on fabric, trapeze, and other aerial apparatus. It's surreal. 

Erin and Talli

There's a good variety of us with partial arms or legs or both. Very few times in my life have I had the pleasure of being in the majority when it comes to limb deficiency. And to find as many other folk with limb differences who are ALSO interested in circus arts is close to impossible. But then, "impossible" is a word we don't give much credit around here.

Of course we are all serious about circus and working so hard our entire bodies are aching with soreness, but the comedic potential in such an environment is astronomical. Just one peek: in the Starbucks drive-thru the other morning with Bonnie and Talli, both with lower limb deficits, we missed the ordering spot and I offered to jump out and ask the car behind us to back up, only to discover the child-lock was preventing me from exiting the vehicle...me, the one most able to jump out. Don't fear, coffee was ascertained eventually, an international incident averted.

OneArmGirl   

one arm boy

OK, I have big news. In fact, this may be the biggest news I'll ever have, so I hope you are in a position to appreciate it fully. Turn off the television and turn the stove down to simmer, folks, cause this is BIG...

I've found my doppelgänger. Or, rather, he found me. Just over a week ago, I received an email from a guy with one small arm just like mine! Note: I do not use exclamation notation lightly.

Yep, OneArmBoy. Not only was he born with a small left arm with three fingers just like me, he was born in the same year, in the same month...no, not on the same day. C'mon, that would be ridiculous.

People, I don't know what to do with myself, I'm so excited. I've spent the last week telling everyone that I met a guy just like me. Mostly, I've gotten, "Oh, really, that's cool..." But my friend Kristen said, "I WANT TO MEET HIM...and then cut off his arm so there is only one [of you]." She's very loyal. 

OneArmBoy was born in Holland...or the Netherlands...I'm still not sure what the difference is. I do now know, after inspecting various maps of Europe, that Holland is nestled right up against Germany. He's Dutch; I'm Deutsch--it's not exactly unlikely that we are actually related--Maybe twins separated at birth. Except my people left Europe some time ago. And I can't say why a person would ever wear wooden shoes. There goes that theory.

Thankfully, in Holland, you learn English in school, because this would be a much different post if OneArmBoy had written to me in Dutch. He was a bit shy to get in touch anyway....probably because he was afraid something like this would happen--I would write about him. I'm lucky he's given me permission to do so. I swore by my other arm that I would not publish any pictures, and just in case he is the only guy in Holland with his name, that shall also remain under wraps.

I can tell you he has an understated smile that hints at both a sensitive spirit and a keen sense of humor; he knows his way around computers; and when kids ask what happened to his arm, he says, "I left it at home, I thought one was quite enough for today."

And yes, ladies, he is available...for now...

If anyone is more excited than me, it's Finneas, because now he has a pen pal, though it's more of a Cyrano De Bergerac situation since Finneas can't type. OneArmBoy's smaller appendage did not have a name. Strange, I know. But now, thanks to his making my acquaintance, Dr. Claw has a name. He also has his PhD, apparently. Of course, who am I to assume Dr. Claw is masculine.

I'm only a little glum because I wish I could hang out with OneArmBoy. You know, so we could both feel more average for a change. I've imagined it. Of course, we might just become a bigger freak show; we might draw a crowd. A small following, if you will.

More than likely, we'd just stare at each other, neither of us used to seeing someone like us. Watching home video of myself is strange enough.

But after we're finished staring, we could hold right hands and spin in a circle or have a tug-of-war with our small left arms. We could race my Mazda and his Kia, using only our knees to steer our respective vehicles. We could set up double blind dates with people who didn't know about our one-armedness and then never mention it on the date either. We could pose for a photo with a pitchfork...

Art-show-goer: "Well, it looks like American Gothic, but something's not right."

The possibilities are endless.

We're in the process of forming a club. Membership would be limited, of course. Though OneArmBoy says we shouldn't discriminate. Spoilsport.  

Like me, OneArmBoy does not know what caused him to be born with one small arm. After some research, it was decided we may have what is called Poland's Syndrome, but there are some inconsistencies. For example, people born with Poland's most often have a small right arm. And they are mostly boys. I read an estimate that only one in between 10,000 and 100,000 babies are born with Poland's Syndrome. Apparently, people with tiny arms come in small waves.

The equation that deduces the probability of our meeting is probably enough to make a mathematician's head explode.

You're just not gonna run across one of us every day, thus ensuring my job security...ahem, our job security. Unfortunately we've still got nothing on Nick Vujicic. But that's not gonna ruin my party.

OneArmBoy, it's very very nice to meet you.

OneArmGirl

freak show

Thanks to a new follower of this blog, I've been made aware of an important Facebook page called Armless Wonder, dedicated to the men and, probably, mostly women who were exhibited in freak shows, demonstrating various mundane tasks such as smoking a cigarette or using a writing utensil with their feet. Apparently, for the Victorians, this was not only freakish, but also provocative, as women rarely showed any part of their legs above the ankle, much less made dinner with their toes.

And, as I hadn't a clue as of yesterday what I was going to write about today, this find provided a perfect opportunity to share something I wrote several years ago for Confessions of a One-Armed Girl: 

from us-smkr.info

It used to be that people with disabilities joined freak shows. That was how they made it in this world. When I was a kid, my mom read us a true story about conjoined twins from Siam (now Thailand), who, through various stints in show business, popularized the term 'Siamese Twins.' Not only did they make a living from being joined at the stomach, they both got married and fathered 21 children all together. Yeah, try to get your head around that one.

I watch freak show documentaries with interest. “Why’d they do it?” I find myself asking. Why would people with some sort of physical deformity subject themselves to public display and possibly scorn, even contributing to the stereotype of being less than human? They were labeled freaks by their own employers. You’d hardly get away with that in today’s society of political correctness. I’m sure there must be endless hypotheses as to why the bearded woman and the half lizard man joined the freak show. Maybe it was for the money. Maybe they got attention they’d been denied all their life. Maybe they had no other option. I don’t know. But sometimes I wonder if they actually chose to be a 'freak' because the title fit. Like there was maybe nowhere else in the world like the freak show, where being a freak was a good thing, something lauded and praised. Is it possible that these people joined the freak show because they actually felt like they belonged there? This is just a theory I’m working on.

It doesn’t take much for me to feel like a walking freak show. Just going to Target or the food court at the mall can feel like stepping on stage in front of hundreds of eyes. “And now, the amazing one-armed girl! Yes, folks, she’s got just one arm and she still goes shopping just like any other person. Amazing, isn’t it? Watch closely, you might get to see her tie her own shoe!” Sometimes I have to giggle because people can hardly conceal their amazement at most anything I do.

But sometimes, mostly when I’m tired and introverted, I don’t like feeling like a float at the Macy’s Day Parade. So I’ve become an expert at concealing my handicap. If I walk fast, wear a coat, or smile a lot, I may get by even the most observant onlooker without being found out. When I first met my best friend Audra, she didn’t notice that my coat sleeve was empty. In fact it took a few weeks before she thought, ‘Hey, why is Tasha wearing her watch on her right wrist?'

Considering my innate aversion to stares, one may find it a bit counter-intuitive that I became very actively involved in drama in high school. But something drew me to the stage, every aspect of production, but I loved acting. I loved standing there at the end of a musical number with the cameras flashing and the crowd applauding. It felt like all eyes were on me and I loved it. I hated auditioning, but I did anyway, just to have that chance to stand on stage again. The thing is, I knew I had talent, I knew I had something to say and to do, I just needed my big break.

But my big break never came, unless you consider singing “Beauty School Dropout” dressed in a pink leotard and a shower cap, a big break. I never had a starring role, never. And to this day, I’m a little bitter. That’s when I felt my disability was really working against me. Maybe I didn’t have the talent, but truthfully, I believe my greatest talent, taking on the world with only one full arm, turned out to be too much of a distraction for the stage. I imagine waltzing on for my crucial opening scene, where I leave my lover standing at the alter, and all the while the audience is thinking, “Hey, what happened to her arm?” And then, in the next scene, they’ll be like, “Hey, did they break up? And seriously, what happened to her arm? This play sucks.” At least that’s how it goes in my mind.

from aurelia.mx

Later in college, I got some callbacks for leading roles. But it never really panned out there either. Eventually I just got tired of being one of many in the ever underestimated ‘chorus’ or ‘villagers’ or ‘townspeople.’ They go by many names but are often told the same thing by directors all over the country: “There’s no small roles, just small actors,” which is partially true and partially meant to stop the grumbling that accompanies late nights and long rehearsals. So I guess I just got tired of small roles or long rehearsals or maybe I’m just a small actor, but nonetheless I began to put less stock in the stage.

I think it was in college that I realized why acting came so naturally to me. Shakespeare said that all of life is a stage, and in my case, nothing could be more true. Not unlike a movie star, I feel noticed everywhere I go. I am, in essence, living my own personal freak show. So somewhere along the way, I decided it might be worth taking advantage of my high profile. I never chose to be noticeable, but since I was, I figured there had to be an upside. For instance, I often have the complete attention of the world around me, if only for a few seconds. It’s kind of like those movies where everything is suddenly frozen except one character who is still moving. I also realized there was little I can do to make people stare more, they were already looking, and there was freedom in that.

Suddenly, my liability as an actor became an asset in my regular life. I decided to give myself permission to do pretty much anything. I could dye my hair purple or dance to the music in the elevator and it wouldn’t matter because people were already staring. I had gotten used to being in the spotlight and, over the years, I actually started to enjoy it. Carrying cafeteria food trays with one arm, a sometimes daunting task, became an opportunity to show off my ability. Not only would I carry it from the salad bar to my table, I

Most likely to be a freak?

would stand at the edge of the table while the waitress finished clearing it, then set it down, just for show. I get a small high when fellow gas station patrons peer through the filling stations to get a glimpse of me pumping my own gas. If I’m feeling generous, I’ll squeegy my windows as an encore.

And while I was coming to my quiet conclusions, Hollywood had the same idea. Lately, certain prominent celebrities with handicaps are appearing on the reality television circuit. Heather Mills, former wife of Paul McCartney, appeared with a prosthetic leg on ABC’s ballroom dancing competition Dancing with the Stars. Next came actress Marlee Matlin who found her inner sense of rhythm despite not being able to hear the music. I don’t think I’m the only one who watched with interest. The judges were consistently blown away by the commitment and level of competition these ladies brought to the show.

Just a few nights ago I happened to catch the latest episode of something I consider to be the closest thing to a freak show since Wild Bill Hickock. Celebrity Circus enlists the Hollywood B-list to attempt various big top endeavors like the Wheel of Death as they vie for the top spot. Oh my goodness, can you imagine my reaction to a show that would put Burt Reynolds on the high wire? Of course Burt Reynolds has too much good sense for that, but still, can you imagine? This week, I watched Wee Man of Jackass stunts fame, born with a form of dwarfism, attempt and succeed at balancing a gigantic weight-lifter on his back. Impressive. And this was after he’d beat out other competitors with acts like the wheel of fire.

Wee Man is a modern day freak. He’s making a living doing things that we love to watch because it's strange, and it might be impossible. There’s just something extra interesting about watching a deaf actress do the Mambo. People want to see the underdog get ahead. It’s as primal as eating and buying something on sale. It makes us feel good inside.

from androidbees.com

So I’ve realized that maybe the freaks were onto something. They knew something that it’s taken me years to learn. They looked at disability and saw opportunity; they made a living at just being who they were. Several years ago I began to ask myself a question: “Are you ready to be a career freak?” And simultaneously it occurred to me that I may not even have a choice. I’m interested in people like Heather and Marlee and Wee Man because they are helping me to understand my place in the world. When I decided to join the freak show, I started to feel much less like a freak and more like a person. I found identity and purpose like I’d never known before. I started to find me.