Crutches
I’ve only used crutches once in my life, after I had meniscus surgery. They were pretty annoying. My underarms felt like I had been slowly peppered by Glass Joe for hours. Using them had a cadence and rhythm that felt like an offbeat rap in the mid-80s. I felt like I was constantly and unsuccessfully trying to tap my head and rub my stomach at the same time.
I’ve dated people in the past who thought that I used my spot on the spectrum as a crutch. I wouldn’t know how to do that, but okay. I guess I understand, though. It’s hard to argue with someone who looks into the corner of the room, glazed over with volume and activity and a slovenly lust for silence. I suppose that’s not easy to deal with.
I never used the deaths of my parents as a crutch. How would I have done that? I get pulled over by a cop for running a stop sign and just say, “My mom died two days ago”? Come to think of it, I could have used these disasters for such trivial things. Forgot my wallet when I really wanted a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos? Dead dad. I’ve been doing it all wrong.
It’s strange that they haven’t invented a better crutch. We can solve the most complex math problems the world has ever known now, but we can’t iterate on the crutch? It can’t look that much different from what it did a hundred years ago. Why don’t they have a Whoop-adjacent crutch that measures your level of depression through your armpit? You’re welcome. I want founder credit.
Have you ever noticed how so many people use hats as crutches? Hats can hide hair anomalies and certainly make us feel better, but it’s temporary. We still have to go home and take them off. When my mom had her last bout with cancer and lost her hair regularly, she wore wigs and bandanas a lot. I didn’t think of them as crutches then, but they were. All crutches aren’t bad. They helped her limp through life with as much dignity as she could still muster.
Stairs and crutches are not friends. When I got home from my meniscus surgery, I would slide backward up the stairs in my house. My triceps were jacked, but I was spent by the time I reached the top. My leg was still straight in a brace, so I couldn’t navigate the stairs with any modicum of safety. The stairs would look at the crutches at the bottom and laugh.
© Jonathan Greene, October 16, 2026
