about the author:
Ricky Tsang was a pillar in our Duchenne community for years. From his website DearRicky.com, to his Facebook group We Are Dystrophin, to his first book, Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain, Ricky’s priority was helping and advocating for our community – well, that and romancing women.
Shortly before passing away in 2016, Ricky shared the manuscript for his second book with me. It was never published and we would like to share it now with our DMD community.
The Beginning… of the End… FOR YOU
“Inspirational: My Big Mechanical Derriere”
–Chapter 1, Part 3—
Besides biting my sister, Jackie, on the forehead after Dad “accidentally” (and I use the term loosely) asked me to bite her, I was born on May 20th, 1981 in Hong Kong at around 11:00 o’clock in the morning. It was a much of a relief to my poor mother, being the bit biggest baby bump ever. Just imagine: a tiny 5 foot 4 inch Chinese lady carrying an almost 9 pound baby, and who knows how much amniotic fluid… be honest, you don’t want to be vaginally constipated for 36 weeks with me, even if I’m freakishly adorable! Being “preggers” is serious business.
But she loves me anyway, despite causing her to have a Caesarean section. I guess she got me back by not breastfeeding (the doctors recommended she didn’t because of a previous health issue) which explains my preoccupation with women. I was deprived of the boob!
I often used my fantastic melon head as a weapon against other babies during elevator rides. It’s true what they say, how only your own mother can love you. For me, it resulted from being a danger to innocent lives. Jackie still laughs at our sibling moments when neighbors held their newborns in horror. As a toddler in the elevator, I also had quite the mouth, and when I finally encountered that superstitious woman who believed in opposites, you could say it was rather memorable. When she said she felt sorry for Mom for having such an ugly child, I said that hers must have been a miserable. She almost had a stroke while my sister was in hysterics.
At this point, you’ll either think me hilarious, or ill-mannered, but you can handle little attitude, right? I wouldn’t say it was completely my fault, considering the trauma my family put me through; from telling me not to swallow seeds because trees would grow on my head, to inserting strange fruits in the compartments of my magic set, while I was performing. Once during a birthday, I had an impossible time blowing out the birthday candles, so my loving parents decided to warn me about air leakage. There I was, holding on to my tiny bum while everyone laughed at genius me.
It’s no wonder I turned out to be such a smart-ass (oxymoron, I know)… not that I have regrets. This is the same attitude that has been a shield unto me since forever. Nothing gets to me all that easily. People used to call me “the smiling boy” as a small child, and Mom still does. I do admit to smiling out of nowhere from time to time, even laughing, which scares my friends and family, but I like finding the funnier things in life whenever possible. I’ve never lost that innocence, my ridiculous need to take things not so seriously. I choose to be happy.