“It’s times like these, we learn to live again”
-Dave Grohl
It was the first concert at Madison Square Garden since the pandemic, billed as “Rock and Roll Returns to the Garden”. Dave Grohl, the legendary frontman for the Foo Fighters stood under a blue spotlight accompanied by just an organ and began the song “Times Like These”.
When he got to the chorus, Grohl backed away from the mic, getting a bit choked up. The crowd roared. It was a moment of jubilation and reflection on what we’ve collectively been through. Then the band kicked in and the place went wild for the next three hours.
I love live music and I love Foo Fighters, but somehow I had never seen them live. There always seemed to be a reason I couldn’t go to one of their shows in the past. The last time was in July of 2019, they played the Garden the same week of our Foundation Gala. That’s the excuse I used. I was just too busy that week to take a few hours off and see the band I had wanted to see for decades. But that wasn’t the true reason.
By July of 2019 my walking had deteriorated to a point where it was getting unsafe to maneuver around crowds. It wasn’t fun for me and it wasn’t fun for anyone with me. I had just purchased my Pride Jazzy Air power chair, but didn’t have an accessible van yet. Not having the van was another excuse not to use the chair. In reality, I was still hesitant to have the world see me in a wheelchair.
So I didn’t go to the show, nor the Radiohead show that week that I also would have loved to attend. I was at that stage of my disability where I was avoiding doing the things I loved. It’s not the way to live.
At the gala, I mustered up the courage to finally let everyone see me roll, literally. It’s probably the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt. A week later, being stubborn again, I wasn’t using the chair while I was out teaching at my former broadcasting camp. Tired and rushing around, a fall led to stitches and a torn patella tendon. After knee surgery and rehab, the chair became a necessity when I’m out and about.
I was forced to use it at work that season. Another instance of extreme vulnerability. But I started getting used to people seeing me. However, I still felt the need to explain it to people. Until a conversation with a friend, Joe Cuomo, the Nets equipment manager. I was starting to explain it to Joe when he stopped me and said, “Chris, you’ve earned the right to feel comfortable.”
I never looked at it like that. I was always worried about how others would view me. It was a little bit of perspective that made a huge difference.
You have to understand, ever since my FSHD diagnosis, a wheelchair was my biggest fear. The day we brought it home, I was emotional. That’s when Laura, my wife, put her hand on my shoulder and told me she was proud of me. Her love and support has been crucial in my development as someone embracing life with a disability.
But then quarantine hit. There were no rock concerts and ballgames. We all had a taste of what it’s like for our world to be inaccessible, even unsafe.
Then the world opened up again. And Foo Fighters were back. It was a chance for everyone to re-join life as we knew it. I was determined to be in the Garden this night for live music. Only this time, for the first time at a rock show, I was going to roll.
So when Dave Grohl sang, “It’s times like these you learn to live again”, it meant more to me than just the quarantine ending. I was participating again. I was doing something I loved, and for the first time in a long time, I was comfortable doing it. And just as importantly, my son Chris, who was with me, was also comfortable. He didn’t have to worry about his Dad falling.
About midway through the show, the band launched into the the song (ironically for me) titled ‘Walk’. It won the Grammy in 2012 for best rock song. It’s a powerful song that appears at the end of ‘Wasted Light’, an album with a recurring theme of redemption and second chances. ‘Walk’ is a metaphor for having to learn to live life differently, to re-adjust what you think you knew and “learn to walk again.” Grohl sings, “I believe I’ve waited long enough. Where do I begin?”
The answer is – start now. There are definitely logistical concerns, but what did I really fear about using a wheelchair? It was time to metaphorically learn to “walk” again. At a time like this, I’m reminded of these words:
We suffer more in imagination than reality. -Seneca
The closing song of the set was the profound “Everlong”, asking what we all wondered, if anything could ever feel this real or be this good again?
I’ll be at the ‘Sea. Hear. Now’ Festival in Asbury this September to see Pearl Jam. In October I’ll make my way to Hammerstein Ballroom to see Counting Crows. I’ve got my ADA seats.
But this is a call to all these venues. Please have more handicapped accessible locations and make them easier to find.
We’ve all experienced what the world is like when it’s inconvenient and inaccessible. As life returns to normal, I hope we carry forward what we’ve learned and learn to live again.
