One step at a time: My crutch

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Here is a picture of me from my Senior Prom in 2016. 

Michael Reiner

People stare at me whenever I’m out in public. 

It’s basically expected that a child will stand beside me in line somewhere and ask their mom and dad this pressing question: 

“What’s wrong with his legs?”

Usually when the child asks this, the parent avoids responding out of embarrassment. If the child asks me this question directly, I calmly respond:

“This is my crutch that I use to help me, so I can walk just like you.” 

The truth is I don’t walk like everyone else. I walk slower than other people, but my crutch helps me move faster. I always get where I need to go, one step at a time. 

However, I can walk in familiar areas without my crutch for short distances. My crutch does not define me, it’s merely an inanimate object that helps me keep up with the crowd. 

I have two funny stories about my crutch from my first year at Kent State and I think they’ll make you laugh. 

The first story begins at my apartment during my first weekend as a Kent resident. I was getting ready to drop off my dress clothes at the dry cleaners. I put everything in my car and headed to the cleaners. When I got there, I realized something unusual. 

My crutch wasn’t in the car. I got a call from Mitchell and he said that he found my crutch on the ground in one of the parking spaces. That means that my crutch must have fallen beside the driver’s side door. I miraculously did not run over it. What are the odds? 

I didn’t have my crutch, so I looked like a goof when I stumbled into the cleaners for the first time. I hope that I made a good first impression. 

The second story happened with my coworker Mitch Meyers and his dog Callie. Mitch decided to bring Callie to the studio so that she could hangout with us during our radio show, “Mitch N Mike,” this past spring. 

Callie is a really friendly dog. She was being good for the most part until I started hearing a grinding noise. 

I looked down and realized that Callie was eating my crutch as a midnight snack. The handle on my crutch was chewed to shreds. Luckily, I had a spare crutch. 

I wasn’t late to class the following day, but if I was, I wonder if I would’ve been able to use the “my dog ate my forearm crutch” excuse? It does seem legit, doesn’t it?

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