Dillon shared his wheelchair journey with us, a story about growing up, finding independence, and discovering freedom on his own terms.

My name is Dillon. I grew up in a small suburb of Dayton, Ohio, called Beavercreek, with my three siblings. My life has not followed the typical white-picket-fence version of the American dream, and that is because my twin brother, Darian, and I were born with cerebral palsy.

Even though we share the same diagnosis, it affects us in very different ways. I like to joke with him and say, I got the good looks, and you got the ability to walk. Humor has always helped me navigate life. Growing up, I knew I was not quite like my siblings, but that never stopped me from trying to keep up. Our childhood was chaotic in the best way, and my parents would probably tell you I drove them a little crazy. My mom lovingly called me her rambunctious spider monkey.

That energy did not always pair well with the restrictive manual wheelchair I grew up using. It cramped my style, to say the least. But I found other ways to keep up and find my place, especially through my love of sports. Some of my earliest memories involve watching games with my grandparents. Whether it was fate or punishment, the jury is still out. My first football game happened to be a New York Jets game, and I have been a fan ever since. Another vivid memory is falling asleep on my dad’s lap after a doctor’s appointment while watching the 2012 Cincinnati Reds. My love affair with sports has never really stopped.

Growing up with a disability teaches you quickly that society is not built with you in mind. Sometimes, you just must fly by the seat of your pants. Everything changed for me in middle school when I got my first real taste of an electric wheelchair. I always compare it to the first time a teenager feels the wind on their face while driving a car. That moment, realizing I did not have to be pushed around by an aide or anyone else, was pure freedom. For the first time in my life, I could go on adventures on my own terms.

That freedom reached a whole new level in 2021 when it was time for my next wheelchair fitting. I was introduced to a piece of technology I never imagined I would have, the F5 Corpus wheelchair with the ability to stand. Once everything was fitted and ready, I found every possible excuse to use it. I stood in the wood shop to cut materials. I stood in the grocery store with my aunt until my legs felt like jelly.

When I got to college, I realized how powerful that ability truly was. Standing does not just help with everyday activities, like being able to take myself to the bathroom independently. It opens doors to the future. I can imagine standing at my wedding someday. That is a huge deal, not just for me, but for many disabled people. It is something that once felt impossible.

This past November, I got a reminder of just how much my wheelchair means to my independence. I was heading out to work on a school project when a wire in my chair decided to give out. Just like that, my wheelchair was unusable. I spent a day and a half stuck in my dorm room watching TV. For someone who is always on the go, especially in college, it felt like watching paint dry.

As my parents scrambled to get me mobile again, we connected with Amy, the regional director in Indianapolis. She was able to secure a rental wheelchair, which my dad brought down to campus. He affectionately named it Rental Regina. We swapped out my wheelchair tech, and a few weeks later, my dad brought my repaired chair back down.

Because we are originally from Ohio and I go to school in Muncie, Indiana, timing made things tricky. My dad was not going to be able to return the rental on time until Amy and Dwayne, a technician at the Indianapolis office I had worked with before, stayed well after Dwayne’s shift ended so my dad could return it. That meant everything.

Numotion does not just help people like me stay mobile. They look past the wheelchair and see the person sitting in it. They understand that this chair is not just equipment. It is my lifeline. It connects me to my school, my community, my home, and my people. They work hard to keep us moving forward, wherever our journey leads.

This is my wheelchair journey. Like many other Americans, my wheelchair is my anchor in a world that was not built with wheelchairs in mind. And I hope you remember, it is not about how fast you get there or even the path you take. As the saying goes, slow and steady wins the race.

Best of luck, my fellow wheelchair daredevils. Keep in motion until you find your tread, wherever it may take you.