In every real man a child is
hidden that wants to play.
- Nietzsche, F
His name was Michael, and he couldn’t have been
much more frail for a ten year old standing on two feet.
He was a little notable as we queued up
together on that sunny California morning last week. Together wouldn’t be exactly right…there was
a woman between he and I as we both embraced the day.
The kid was cute, with short blond hair, a
dark grey two-toned zipper jacket – open in front. His tee shirt had a picture of John Cena, a
world champion wrestler in the entertainment world of Professional wrestling. Because this activity goes on year round,
more people come to these live events than any other sport on the planet. Cena at 6’1” (1.85m) and 251lbs (114kg) could
not provide a greater contrast to this youngster, but of little doubt he was
Michael’s hero!
The boy had thick rectangular shaped
glasses that slid a bit down his nose so that looking at him was like looking
at one of those pictures where the camera is partly under water and partly
out. The top rim of the glasses cut
directly through his animated blue eyes, giving him a strange appearance…the
bottom of his eyes seemingly twice the size of the top!
For a tiny fellow, it appeared he had big
ambitions. In his left hand he held a
couple of small books. You have seen the
kind before – ¼ inch thick (.63cm), six or so inches square (38.7cm) with
glossy cardboard covers displaying bright pictures. These two books were about fighter jets - one
the Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor, and other was a General Dynamics F-16 Falcon.
Michael seemed to know a fair amount about
these fighter jets, but as youngsters do, he chattered away about how great it
would be to have one of them. “I mean, if I had one of these F-22s, I could fly
to school, hop out and wouldn’t even have to find a place to park. Cooooool!!
I could fly anywhere I wanted, and if anybody tried to give me a hard
time – KABOOM! I would wipe ‘em
out!” While he was looking at the woman
behind him, he wasn’t really talking to anyone…his excited imagination, vision
and animated monologue coming from a place known only to him.
We
weren’t alone…
There were a variety of other folk with us:
a fellow in a tee-shirt and shorts who had lost his left leg and most of the
use of his right arm, and a 40s something fellow who drove up in a black
Mercedes 600 series…windows down…music blaring…overly large Bluetooth ear
piece. When he got out of the car, he
tried to cut into the line, but a few hard looks – from a few hard looking
people – and a 25:1 ratio not in his favor, suggested even to him, discretion
would indeed be the better part of valor.
He had the look of the bully with no one to dominate, and slipped to the
back of the line with the ‘common people.’
The most unique of our little tribe was a 6’3”
(1.9m) 300 pounder (136kg)…a few teeth missing, an unshaven face and long grey
hair tucked under an AC/DC (rock band of the 70s) black baseball cap. The cap had a civil war cannon on the right
side of the bill. He was big and
otherwise would have drawn little notice, except…well, except for the pink
fluffy rabbit ears that fluttered in the cool morning breeze.
Michael was the only one who had the
courage to ask the fellow why he wore the rabbit ears on his hat – quiet, but
nervous chuckles filled the air…gotta love those kids! The fellow replied, “To
dispel the myth that rabbits lay eggs!” Michael
gave a curious look and asked again…same answer. The boy’s expression was…what??? Exactly! I didn’t get it either.
A
reason for this line?
I turn 65 this summer. In this country, at this age, a person registers
with the Social Security Administration. Social Security has many other functions and
provides services for many other reasons, but for me it was registration
because of my age.
It’s one of those markers one reaches with
mixed feelings. Of little doubt, the
journey to date could not have been more interesting, yet as surely as the sun
begins its increasingly gentle slide to the horizon of the western sky, I am
reminded the bulk of my years in service far outweigh the days ahead. Many
people look forward to this…I’m not so sure…I mean is anything really secure??
One can register via the computer online,
with the small technicality that you have to prove who you are.
There are two options:
1.
Mail your identification papers
(e.g. birth certificate and passport) to the office of Social Security hidden
in some bureaucratic building in the bowels of Washington, DC – OR,
2.
Hand deliver the documents to a
local branch office where they are copied and immediately returned.
Are you kidding? The choice seemed pretty clear, so it was off
to the local branch office!
Back
to the queue…
So here I was with 25 other hearty – maybe
less than hearty – souls waiting for the Social Security office to open, and
hence Michael!
This boy’s completely unbridled enthusiasm
reminded me of a time when I had a ‘…no limits period…’ imagination…a time when
reality is simply not part of the equation…a time when the dreams and energy of
youth collide head on with a complete ignorance of the road ahead. Life modifies much of this, but without it,
where would we find vision? What a gift
and marvelous time of life!
Another
brief step-away…
I was just about this youngster’s age when
I announced to my father I was going to be a professional athlete. “Really?” he said. “Yes sir, “ I replied with
dead seriousness, “In the spring and summer I am going to play baseball for the
Cleveland Indians…in the fall, football for the Cleveland Browns, and in the
winter basketball for the Boston Celtics.” We had come to this city 20 years or so before
the Cleveland Cavaliers basketball arrived, AND Robert Joseph (Bob) Cousy of
the Boston Celtics was my hero on the court – so I would play for them!! Yes indeed, there were no limits…then.
My father could have chuckled and told me they
were foolish dreams – he did not! He
knew the chances his child would be an athletic prodigy were slim, but he would
let me find that out myself, in my own way, in my own time. He and my mother
would, love, support, encourage and never say I couldn’t do something. They would allow me to find my place, with my
dreams, in my life. Their commitment was
to be supportive and not create roadblocks.
They knew there would be enough of those without a contribution from
them.
Michael
and the line…
I was reminded of this as the doors opened and we made our way into the Social Security offices to each take care of
the business for which we had come. In
some ways, I was a little envious of the unbridled imagination of this young
boy.
Michael handed the books to his grandmother,
who was a hemi-plegic with foam handled aluminum cane decorated like the most
elegant images of Native American Totem Poles.
She took the books and slipped them between her useless right arm and her
body to keep them safe.
Then Michael turned toward the door and shuffled
forward a little at a time pushing the walker a few inches and catching up with
it for the next cycle of slow deliberate and difficult movement. The ankle/foot orthotic that kept his left
foot from dragging was wrapped in a bright horizontal striped sock and tucked
into the padded slipper on his foot. As
he entered the building, he chuckled and said to the big fellow with the rabbit
ears, “Hey mister, why did you say you were wearing those rabbit ears?” He still didn’t get the meaning of the man’s
answer.
As I drove home and for a fair amount of
the day, I thought about this young boy and the challenges I was certain would
face him. I hoped, as he grew, his
family would let him find his place, with his dreams, in his life. Mostly I hoped he would never lose the
freedom he felt to ask about the ‘…bunny ears of life…’ that seemed to make
little sense. I fantasized a little in
my mind’s eye, fast-forwarding twenty y ears or so. Maybe that kid would never fly one of those
fighter jets, but maybe he might just design them…that brought a smile.
- ted
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