I’m watching the Paralympics. And you should too.

Sports break down barriers. How many times have you heard that? 

I grew up watching my brother and cousins playing sports. They played soccer, hockey, football, golf… and I, well I… just told everyone that I’d one day be the quarterback of the Florida Gators.

Today, I can only imagine what a sight that was. My pigtail braids, height that was way behind on the growth chart, and four walker wheels, telling anyone who would listen that one day I’d lead the charge into The Swamp. With full conviction, might I add.

I lived for sports. From the sidelines or in front of a TV screen, sports were what I loved most. 

Needless to say, when I found a turf baseball field that my wheels could roll on and got a jersey that was my own, it became my favorite place in the world. 

For the first time in my life, sports had actually broken my barriers. Before I had found Miracle League baseball, I was painfully aware that I was on the sidelines.  

And then, I wasn’t. The days I played on that field were some of my happiest. 

I still remember the way pride would swell in my chest, when I’d find my family in the stands. How I’d pull my walker a little harder and faster around the bases when I knew my cousins were in town to watch my game. How the buzz of the field lights at night was my favorite sound. 

How I’d go as fast as I could, push through my arms into my walker handles, elevating both of my legs, and glide over home plate. Every. Single. Time. 

On that field, I wasn’t “the kid in the walker,” like I so often was in other places. I was simply just another baseball player.  

And never in my life, had I been happier to be anything else. 

Sports break down barriers, in ways I believe maybe nothing else can.

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 If you’re reading this and you don’t know me, my name is Jordan, and I have cerebral palsy (CP). I’ve had it my whole life, it is all I’ve ever known.

 But I was raised by parents who did two very significant things:

They never defined me by my diagnosis, and they made sure I was aware of the human condition.

 What this means is, in my childhood, you’d find me on the playground with my mom and my brother, do everything I needed to, to keep up with him. And as I got older, you’d find me in the gym with my dad, making sure I knew how to exercise safely. They made sure I knew: sometimes, how I do things might look different than how other people do them – problem solving is important, but I can still do things. Whatever I put my mind to, in fact.

 What this also means is, when the part my parents probably dreaded happened, when I came home from school crying because I couldn’t run at recess, or when I called them from college, beat down by “living with this,” they did something important. Something pivotal.

 They’d acknowledge that CP isn’t easy. They’d tell me they’d do anything to take this away from me, anything so that I could run. They would let me cry, and they would cry with me. In no way would they minimize my experience and my struggle.

 After I got my frustrations out though, they would give me a superpower: perspective. They would remind me of the human condition.

 This life promises struggle to everyone. My mom would say over and over to me: “Everyone has something.”

 My “thing” was, is, outward. Meaning I can’t hide it. And yes, sometimes it’s unfair. But I am not alone in that.

 Every single person on this earth has something they deal with, whether they can hide or not. And allowing myself to grieve the fact that I will never run but also remember that everyone is human, everyone has struggles no matter how they manifest themselves, that has been what’s kept me balanced throughout my life.

 I am disabled. And the Paralympics (happening now, if you didn’t know. Coverage across USA, CNBC, and Peacock) have me fired up. Here’s why.

 I love sports. I was glued to my TV during the Olympics, and I’m glued to my TV now during the Paralympics. I love watching the unexpected wins, the people of all backgrounds coming together, the emotions, the competition.

 Another reason is: much of my life has been impacted by not seeing other people like me. For years, I didn’t have friends who also had a disability. I didn’t see myself in children’s books (I have a project that can help this, if any publishers or literary agents want to give me a call, just saying) or TV shows. Now, I’m fortunate to have a handful of friends like me.

 But seeing pairs of crutches on my TV, doing the thing I’ve loved all my life, sports, is impactful in ways I can’t fully verbalize.

 Sports tear down barriers. And the Olympics and Paralympics are an incredible depiction of that.

 I am disabled. I love sports. And both of these Games have been a highlight of my year.

 The reason I bring up the human condition and my parents raising me with the knowledge of uneven playing fields being around everyone in this world, struggle being a stranger to no one, is because of a narrative that often surrounds the Paralympics.

 These sports look different. These athletes look different than the ones you saw a few weeks ago. So, there is sometimes an inital reaction to lock in on how these athletes and events are different than the Games a few weeks prior. There’s sometimes, a reaction to only talk about that. Not the sports these athletes are playing, or the sheer skill they’re showing, but the disabilities they live with, and the things they overcome.

 How they are different, and their sports are different.

 For a second, I want you to go back in time with me.

 It’s 2008. My family and I are on our beach vacation. Glued to a TV, we watch Michael Phelps win eight gold medals. I swam in the pool that summer, as fast as I could.

 Because Michael was a human, and I was a human. And I was solely inspired by that.

 Or, maybe it’s 2016. A name Simone Biles becomes a household name almost instantly, and I’m wanting to workout harder in the gym.

 Because Simone was human, and I was human. And she showed me that humans are capable of some insanely impressive things, when they work hard.

 In recent years, Phelps and Biles have both been open about some of the things they struggle with. Things you maybe can’t outwardly see, but things that impact them, nonetheless.

 I bring up the human condition, because I believe everyone has something. Something they can overcome or be dominated by.

 Sports are universal. I’ve never been able to run, never been able to lead the Florida Gators onto the field like I once thought I would, but I still love sports.

 There are sometimes narratives surrounding the Paralympics.

One, is that some people don’t even realize they’re happening (they are, by the way, right now! And you should tune in!!)

And two, there is sometimes a tendency to see these athletes differently. To maybe, at times, over-emphasize everything that makes them different.

 I am disabled. And I am an open book about it. I’ll tell you probably more than you want to know, and I won’t shy away from telling you how it has been difficult at times.

 I have always been disabled. But that’s never been all of me, and I don’t always see it as this solely negative thing; I have my moments, yes, but at the end of the day, CP is just part of my life. Part of my life that I live with and even sometimes find joy in.

 Just like I was trying to swim faster and work harder because of what Phelps and Biles showed me a human can do, I’ve been telling my coworkers that seeing Hunter Woodhall and Nick Mayhugh hit the track, Ellie Marks fly in the pool, and Sarah Adam crush it as the first woman to play on a  U.S. wheelchair rugby team (aka Murderball) at the Paralymics, all may convince me I can run. So, when they see me hit the ground in the office, they shouldn’t be alarmed.

 I’m joking, of course. I won’t be attempting to run laps around everyone’s desk. But my point is the same.

 While the representation of seeing people like me on TV is impactful on one level, the way I am inspire by all the athletes mentioned is the same.

 Sports obliterates barriers. Representation matters. And acknowledging everything any athlete overcomes is important.

 You should be inspired by both the Olympians and the Paralympians.

Humans are humans, athletes are athletes. Whether they compete in the Olympics or Paralympics.

 Humans are humans, who all have struggles.

How someone deals with whatever hand they were dealt and what they face daily, should never be minimized. But it shouldn’t be all you see either.

 Of course, in the realm of improving accessibility, awareness, and acceptance of disabilities, one could say that we’d get nowhere without acknowledging differences. Not acknowledging how it is harder for me to open a door would do nothing to show the importance of having automatic door buttons that work in public place. I’m not saying we shouldn’t acknowledge disability; I’m saying we should embrace it without it being everything. See humans, see athletes for all that they are.

 What made my baseball experience so significant as a kid was the fact that there was a turf field I could play on, but also that I was seen as just a baseball player on that field.

 I have come to understand that there is a balance. Between acknowledging everything a disability brings, and also standing up for more.

 I think these athletes see themselves as just athletes. Strong, capable, hard-working, deserving athletes, who worked just as hard as the next guy. And I think they want you to see them as that too. These athletes care about disability acceptance and awareness and getting more accessibility in our largely inaccessible world, but their disability also isn’t all that they are.

 My point here is, you should watch the Paralympics, just like you watched the Olympics. You should be inspired, just as you were a few weeks ago. You should acknowledge their hard work, but you shouldn’t see them for just the ways they look different or how their sports are different.

 Sports are sports. Humans are humans. Who all navigate and face whatever life throws at them. Honor these athletes by seeing them as that: Humans and athletes. Who work extremely hard and compete at the highest level.

 I am disabled. And it means the world to me to see people like me, doing what I have always wanted to do: play sports. It’s even pushed me to start looking into adaptive sports available here in Nashville. Who knows, I may work up the courage to give sled hockey or wheelchair basketball a shot.

 But more than anything, the Paralympics fire me up because I’m seeing athletes, humans, doing what they love.

 I am disabled. And I’m watching the Paralympics.

 Even if you’re not disabled, you should too.