I didn’t realize how much, and yet how little, Brittany and I have in common until the kitchen scene. In this scene, after the shark attack, Brittany gets out an apple and tries to cut it, unsuccessfully, dropping the apple on the floor in the process. Being in the kitchen is a disaster. After she tries to take the twisty-tie off of a loaf of bread, she gives up, at least temporarily.
Although there is a great deal to admire about Brittany, I don’t have any desire to trade places with her (better the devil you know, I suppose). I hope that I would be able to cope with a similar experience with as much courage as she showed, but I don’t really want to know. However….
Some people might think it horrible of me to say that I might have been better off. I don’t really want to be somebody else—I like being me most days. But for many people with a hard-to-see disability, there is something to be just a bit envious of in this movie.
Wherever Brittany went, the support for her was almost universal.
This makes a great deal of sense. Anyone can see that losing an arm would be a major adjustment. No wonder people were impressed at her pluck in climbing back on the surfboard. That must have been incredibly difficult. And her family does a wonderful job of coping. They don’t over-praise her when she finally manages to make them all breakfast one morning. Neither do they become overly depressed at the fact that their daughter isn’t the same as she used to be. Aside from some quite understandable moments of anger and sadness, they mostly matter-of-factly go on with life, doing what needs to be done, and being grateful to still have their daughter with them.
Well, we all have our moments of self-pity, and I had one after I stopped laughing over the kitchen scene. Most people might not see the humor in that scene (and admittedly, I’ve sometimes been accused of having an ‘odd’ sense of humor), but I wasn’t really laughing at Brittany. It was the recognition of what we have in common. You see, one of the things I’ve had to work at over the years (okay, I’m still working on it) is not being a disaster in the kitchen. It was the recognition that, even though I was born this way, Brittany and I have something in common.
I’ve had a lot of trouble trying to learn to do some of the simplest things. It’s not easy in the kitchen when you don’t have good visual memory. You don’t remember where anything is until you’ve gone through a lot of repetition. You have trouble finding things. You open the wrong cupboard. Over and over and over again. You don’t see things when they’re right in front of you. You can’t figure out how to take apart the blender. A week later when you use the blender again, you can’t remember how to take it apart from the last time. People lose patience. Some days it’s a race to see who will lost patience first—them or me.
I generally try to stay out of kitchens other than my own, because I just don’t want to have to try to explain once again why I’m having so much trouble. This is what struck me about the kitchen scene in the movie. Nobody glares at Brittany when she drops the apple. They don’t express disbelief that she’s having so much trouble. Throughout the movie, they let her keep trying and trying at the various challenges she encounters, without once taking something away from her because she’s not mastering it immediately, or getting angry with her for having to do things differently.
It must be nice when people can see what’s the matter with you.
In my self-pitying moment, I wanted somebody to admire the persistence it took for me to learn to drive a car. A few months ago I drove to my kids’ friends’ house. By myself. I had to memorize the route there. I also had to memorize the route back, because, you know, all the turns are reversed on the return trip, and I can’t do that in my head on the spur of the moment. I was reasonably proud of myself. Didn’t really expect to get the Presidential Medal of Honor, but I was happy. If I have to go there again (I’ve gone twice now) I’ll have to have yet another look at the map, but I’m used to that.
Where is the admiration? I worked really hard at driving—something that seemed quite impossible a quarter-century ago. Instead, when I get lost, or don’t know where something is, I get disbelief. I’m urged to try harder, to concentrate.
It’s the same with a chronic illness. For instance, I keep the house stocked up with groceries as if there were going to be a blizzard year-round, so that when the next unpredictable bout of illness strikes, I won’t have to ask somebody for help in getting supplies. And going to the grocery store is quite an accomplishment. First I have to find it. Then I have to find all the groceries. Where is the praise for how independent I am?
How about that?
And where is the praise when I get dressed and get the kids ready and go out and put on a happy face, when I’m really feeling awful? Or when I’m having a truly horrible day (the kind where the self-pity might actually be warranted) and at eleven o’clock I’m getting dressed—just dressed—and it’s an amazing accomplishment. Wow, look at me, I dressed myself. It was really a challenge, but I did it. Maybe later, after I’ve recuperated….I’ll brush my hair!
And don’t get me started on wondering why Brittany didn’t have to attend public school, and why all the other teens in the movie didn’t tell her every day how ugly she was. That’s a whole other blog for another day.
All right, rant over, deep breaths….
I am so fortunate to have some people close by who encourage me, who treat me like I’m just another fellow human being. Some people don’t have that. These 'encouragers' aren't common enough, and I want to be more like them. I'm also lucky that many days I can not only dress myself, but I can do just about everything for myself, and quite a few things for other people, too. It's a good day when you can brush your hair, and make yourself a sandwich, and walk to the mailbox. Many people out there don’t have that, either. Life is pretty good here on the island.
One last thing….
Good job, me!
No comments:
Post a Comment