Did you ever see that movie, more than a few years back, called Disney’s “The Kid” with Bruce Willis? For those of you who didn’t the brief summary is this. Willis plays a guy who is an “image consultant” who helps celebrities and other famous people repair their damaged images and he’s very good at it and made the big bucks for doing it. Over the course of a couple of evenings he sees some kid lurking about his house. When he tries to approach the kid one evening the boy runs away leaving behind a toy plane like Willis used to have when he was a boy about that age. The next morning Willis finds the boy inside his house rummaging around looking for his plane. It doesn’t take the two long to figure out that Willis is looking at himself at the age of eight or nine and both become dejected. The “boy” was everything Willis had spent his life trying to distance himself from. The boy was HUGELY disappointed to discover what he will become when he reaches Willis’ age and to top it off Willis didn’t become a pilot like the kid had hoped he would when he was an adult.
This leads the two of them on a time warp/odyssey adventure to figure out how and why the “kid” suddenly appeared on his doorstep NOW and during which Willis has to re-live some of his less than pleasant moments growing up none of which seem to be the “key” for why all of this is happening (or are they?). In typical Disney fashion though it all ties together neatly at the end but I won’t tell you how it all plays out in case you actually want to watch it.
Yesterday I had a similar moment and it sent a small shiver up my spine (proof I actually have a spine for all those doubters out there… and it’s bulletproof). Wendi, Yoda (actually Mr. Messenger Bag this time….I had a busy schedule) and I made various stops around the valley in search of confirmation that YES, I am still alive and NO, I am not certifiably crazy…yet. I’ve gotten to where I find perverse humor in listening to my doctor’s bicker amongst themselves about what I do and don’t actually have. It’s sort of a more expensive version of the “my dog’s bigger than your dog” we used to play as kids but instead of dogs its degrees.
In any event…I found us all sitting in the lobby of my shrinks office waiting to get my meds twisted sideways for the month. We were sitting and having a fun conversation with a group of people about the wonders of “soul food” (one of my favorite types of food) and the grief they were giving to a relative who had just gotten here from Cuba and had yet to experience those delicacies when out of nowhere an office manager appears and lectured us all about having too much fun and being too loud and we needed to knock it off…apparently humor in a shrinks office is not allowed…it might lead to something healthy I guess. But that’s not where I was headed in this little rant anyways so...
I had my back facing the “Magic Door” people go in and out of for their appointments to be cured of whatever mental midgetry they have been diagnosed as having. During all of the culinary good times conversation we were having a young boy of about eight or so came out from his appointment with his mother in tow and headed towards the door. I only caught him from behind and didn’t see his face. From the back he looked a lot like me at that age but, what caught my eye were his braces on his legs and the way he walked and I found myself going back in time myself.
I don’t really remember how long I wore braces but I don’t think it was a terribly long time. I’m pretty sure I was out of them before Kindergarten or, at least, during that time. I remember mine were wood and leather with sheepskin padding. This kid’s were fiberglass with a camouflage print and nylon straps…very cool. I don’t know how long he’s been wearing them but it seems longer than I had to wear mine. He walked with a slight limp like I do and held one arm in a, somewhat, effeminate way in order to feel balanced when he walks (no doubt more so when he’s tired or physically fatigued). A trait that will cause many people to mistakenly assume he’s gay most or all of his life regardless of whether he really is or isn’t.
Times have most definitely changed. When I was young my parents and our doctors were obsessed with having their children be as “normal” as possible to the public at large as quickly as possible. We were raised under the same expectations as everyone else was in the “real world” …just at an unnecessarily accelerated speed. In many ways we were driven harder to excel and be the best at whatever we did as well. Mediocrity or “average” was unacceptable and looked at with disgust.
You couldn’t really hide my brother’s deafness but everyone did as best they could to ignore it. Many thought he just talked funny. My sister and I had our own crosses to bear in much more subtle ways it would seem to the outside world but the expectations were there none the less.
“Normal” these days seems to come in a shiny new package with a see-through window for the whole world to look at what’s inside. “Transparency” is the new buzzword. Disabilities are now a fashion accessory to be displayed proudly in designer colors and patterns. Have a hangnail? Get a “Disabled” thingy for your car, I have one…and it embarrasses the hell out of me I need it!
I saw that boy walking out that door into the heat and I couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Was he there to learn how to cope with his disability and the cards dealt to him or was he there so they could make him feel better about having to try and lead a “normal” life after being told he couldn’t do this, that and the other thing from pretty much the day he was born when he kept falling down a lot? Are they medicating him into being normal or simply trying to dull his pain?
Part of me wanted to walk out after him and say “Hey kid…I’ve been there and it’s going to be OK. Trust yourself NOW and you’ll be amazed at how well things come out for you by the time you get to my age.” But I’m not sure he’d really believe me nor would he have any reason to…no plane. I’m not even allowed to drive much less fly a plane, but I do have a collection of cool canes.
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