#there are literally dozens of photos of a long haired individual driving a car with the plate SCUMBAG across a dozen or so fb groups

[theonyxranger]

oh my god im a local cryptid to the fucking. facebook userbase of the columbus metro area.

[laughingatmynightmare]

It was the morning of my high school graduation, and as much as I was downplaying the significance of the moment to my family—being excited about school events was so lame—I couldn’t help myself from glancing at the clock every fifteen minutes as the evening ceremony approached. Although I couldn’t show it, this was the biggest moment of my life so far.

After showering, re-showering in Axe body spray, and spending an obnoxious amount of time directing my dad how to place each individual strand of hair, it was time to put on my graduation gown. The smallest gown my high school offered was akin to wrapping myself in a large, black tablecloth, which took a great deal of maneuvering and patience on my dad’s part as he wrangled it around my twisted frame. At one point, I contemplated whether graduating from high school was even worth the bending and the yanking.

In the living room, my grandparents were waiting with giant grins to take photos before we left for the arena where the ceremony was taking place. I made sure to smile as seldom as possible. I did, however, become fascinated by the way I could swing the tassel on my cap from left to right with a swoosh of my neck. While the minutes ticked down, I daydreamed anxiously about driving across the stage in front of thousands of people.

What if my hand slipped off my joystick and I careened off the stage in a fiery explosion? That would probably ruin the graduation experience for most of my family and friends.

What if I was unable to grab the diploma from the principal’s hand? Hopefully, in my fifteen seconds of limelight, I could avoid one of those awkward disability interactions that happen so often throughout my life.

What if no one clapped for me? Oddly, this was my biggest fear of them all.

I’m not sure if it was the heavy black tablecloth hugging my body, or the nonstop worrying, but I was a giant puddle of sweat and nausea by the time we exited my house. It was an unusually hot June afternoon, so the sun only escalated the issue.

I will never forget the look of sheer panic on my dad’s face as I rolled down my driveway and he said to me, “We have a problem. The van won’t start.”

“What do you mean it won’t start?”

“It won’t start!”

“Can’t we jump it?”

All of my feigned indifference to graduating immediately vanished when I was suddenly confronted with the possibility of not making it to the ceremony. While my family could easily pile into another car for the drive to the arena, my accessible van was literally my only option. There are no accessible taxi or limo services in our area, especially not with last minute availability.

With growing distress, as he dug around in the engine, my dad responded, “It doesn’t seem to be the battery.” He gave me some explanation about engines, but all that stuck was the fact that my van was inoperable and I now had less than two hours to figure out how I was getting to my high school graduation. It hit me in that moment how essential my van was to my lifestyle. I relied on it, and I even began to take it for granted. Mobility was not a gift; it was assumed. Now, in what was quite possibly the worst timing in history, that mindset was flipped upside down.

My family sprang into action. My mom began calling bus services while my dad called truck-driving friends of his to see if we might load my wheelchair into someone’s pickup. My brother and I posted on Facebook, asking if anyone had an accessible van we could borrow for the day. My grandparents called their friends and asked their friends to call their friends. Nothing was panning out, and I was becoming increasingly distressed.

With less than an hour to go, when all hope seemed to be lost, my dad’s cell phone rang. It was a nursing home from one town over. One of their employees happened to know my grandmother, and also happened to be the nursing home’s shuttle driver. He offered the van to my family for as long as we needed it. Even better, he said he could deliver it to us within ten minutes. I couldn’t believe my luck.

Looking back, this life event provided me with a newfound appreciation for the accessible van that my family has always had. Even in bizarre circumstances like my graduation, my independence and freedom have never been limited by lack of access to a vehicle, and that is a beautiful privilege for which I will always be thankful.

We are so passionate about our current van campaign for exactly that reason. With your help, Laughing At My Nightmare, Inc. will be able to provide an accessible van and all of the freedom that comes with it, to someone in need.  

In the end, I did end up graduating from high school that night, and I’m happy to say that people even clapped for me as I took my diploma. So, on one hand, there may have been dozens of angry nursing home residents whose shuttle bus never showed up for the 7pm Cracker Barrel outing, but on the other hand, I did not put that stupidly uncomfortable gown on in vain.

You can contribute to our campaign right here and 100% of your donation will be matched! If you are unable to give, sharing this post is another amazing way to help us reach more people.

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