For as long as I can remember, people have told me I can鈥檛 do this or I can鈥檛 do that.

And, for as long as I can remember, I鈥檝e taken the words of those naysayers and turned them into personal goals.

On the interior, I鈥檓 a normal, everyday chap. But, on the exterior, people feel compelled to suggest what I can or can鈥檛 do because I was born missing my left arm below the elbow.

As a young, one-handed lad dressed to the nines for my first day of school, my teacher pulled my folks aside to air those concerns.

The instructor, whose name is being withheld both to protect her identity and because I鈥檝e simply forgotten it, wanted to put me in a special education program.

Granted I鈥檓 not a doctor, but if I鈥檓 not mistaken having one less limb than one鈥檚 peers has little impact on one鈥檚 brain cells.

Luckily, my parents, backed by the War Amps program, fought the kindergarten instructor and I was put through regular education as I should have been.

That鈥檚 when I started to notice that I was different.

Other amputees, myself included, were routinely picked last for grade school sports because of quick assumptions from our peers. In all fairness, they chose correctly in my case 鈥� I鈥檝e always been terrible at sports. Though, that has nothing to do with having but five phalanges. I was just plain uncoordinated, un-enthused, bad.

However, I never let it stop me. As a kid, like every other young boy, I tried every sport I could: soccer, basketball, flag football, you name it.

In high school, I played defensive back for the Aden Bowman Collegiate Bears. I was terrible and only landed one solid tackle on a wide receiver in my tenure, but I still competed.

Unfortunately, being picked last doesn鈥檛 stop after graduation.

After school, I had a myriad of jobs in a plethora of different fields. One more than one occasion, my employer pulled me aside to air concerns felt by 鈥渙ther staff鈥� that I wouldn鈥檛 be able to keep up due to my missing digits. I stayed long enough to prove to myself that I could do it, and then I quit because no one should have to work for an employer that doesn鈥檛 support its staff.

It wasn鈥檛 an attempt to prove to the masses that I could do what everyone else could, it was to prove it to myself.

However, there鈥檚 always been one thing that I never thought I could do because of my hand: boxing.

Enter Baxter (The One Armed Bandit) Humby.

Humby, a Winnipeg product, has won more than 15 belts and held two world titles, including the International Muay Thai Council鈥檚 World Super Welterweight Champion for a time. Humby is the only one-armed man to do so.

Granted, Humby competes in muay thai, which for those who are unaware, is a Thai martial art that utilizes fists, feet, knees, elbows and clinches, as opposed to boxing which is all about the punch.

But, if Humby can hold a champion title in muay thai, then why can鈥檛 I be equally as terrible at boxing as I am other sports?

With lofty goals of being the next One Armed Bandit and inspired by my friend and fellow Black Press reporter , I decided it鈥檚 time I stop telling myself that I can鈥檛.

They may not throw you in the ring, but Ralph and Mily and Ralph Buisine of have beat me into shape.

And, with my first class under Brian Jones, head coach of the , under my (non-championship) belt, that proverbial carrot on a stick is slowly coming within reach.

I hope to one day catch that carrot, though I may never have the opportunity to fight as boxers are required to have approval from a medical professional and certification from Boxing BC. However, Humby, Gibson, the Business and Jones have shown me one thing: I may be terrible, but I can still throw that hook.

Don鈥檛 let anyone tell you that you can鈥檛 do something. Because if a one-armed man can box, you can do anything.

parker.crook@vernonmorningstar.com
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