Honestly, anyone who knows me knows I don’t enjoy formal dressing all that much. I think MIGHT own two ties and consider them an antiquated and useless piece of apparel that does nothing but get in the way instead of being a symbol of being “dressed up”. That being said, this past weekend, Shannon and I had a semi-formal dinner for a school function and I faced a bit of a quandary.

What does one where that looks good formal, while in a wheelchair?

Granted, it didn’t help that the weather that night sucked, with sloppy wet stuff all over the chair and shoes and pants…but still one wanted to make just a bit of an effort. So what to do?

Why is this such a big deal? Well think about it. A sport coat or dress jacket obviously hangs low over your wrists. That coat is going to be in contact with the tires every time I go to push. It’s a really good way to destroy a coat in one night. Trust me on this, I’ve already destroyed the wrist of a good leather coat in autumn. Pants and shoes? Well, to look half decent the pants need to be a bit longer so they don’t look like I’m wearing old-fashioned knickers…this is when being bloody tall AND in a wheelchair has its drawbacks. It’s hard enough finding long enough pants as it is, but then make them look decent while sitting with your feet out in front of you for hours at a time?

Ack listen to me! I’m worrying about fashion! When the hell did this start? I didn’t worry this much before my first date with Shannon! (though I probably shouldn’t have admitted that…where’s my “stop typing now” alert?)

It was amazing to think that it was truly the first formal dinner we’ve had since things had really got back with my legs over a year ago. I dealt with it though by going as simple as I could. Dress shirt, simple pants and the same damn shoes I wear each day that work well. I might not have been the most stylish, but you certainly couldn’t miss me. Well…you’d think you couldn’t miss me but it never quite works out that way. It’s just one more of those little things that you don’t think about before you get into a chair (which apparently now needs a name and is being actively debated on my Facebook wall thanks to my sister-in-law’s thoughtful suggestions).

One other significant thing came out of this night. Oh what was the occasion? I THINK it was the 50th anniversary of my wife’s school…I think? There seemed to be some debate on whether it was actually this school year or next, but whatever, those teachers outpartied the Italian stag that was being held in the hall next door. To do that of course, meant that after the standard Woodbridge Italian Hall meal (anyone from Toronto area will be able to pretty much recite the menu)…there was a DJ…and dancing.

Yep…dancing.

Now let me be brutally honest. Even before my legs went bad I was a TERRIBLE dancer. The stereo-typed white guy with no rhythm who couldn’t figure out how to do a two-step with the footsteps drawn on the floor in front of me. So really, being in a wheelchair wasn’t going to make my dancing get worse than it already was. I just wasn’t sure how the hell I was going to do it. I mean I am a good chair dancer. Come on you know chair dancing, you’ve all done it in your car at some point when that great song comes on and you think no one is watching as you sit not moving in traffic. THAT I’ve always been able to do. I just didn’t know how I could do it when I really wanted to do it…and with the person I really wanted to do it with.

My amazing wife.

That night though, after Shannon almost broke her ankle playing with an Irish stepdance, we did it. We danced. It was awkward, it had no rhythm or rhyme on my part, and I almost crushed a few toes and took out a few heels…but we did it. We danced, we wheeled (literally), we swung, we spun…and I dipped deeper and more securely then I ever could on two legs. We danced. Something I’ve always loved to do with my wife, no matter how bad I was at it…and we can still do it now.

My thanks to the entire St. Raphael’s staff and guests who gave us the room and didn’t mind one bit how goofy we looked on that dance floor. You made it easier than I thought it would be.

Who’d have thunk it.