kids from a path of ambition. Nonetheless, I think itâs pretty common. We just donât hear very much about it because these adult kids never leave the freaking house.
Rock on, NakedUnderMyCape3000!
Or . . . what am I saying? Donât rock on, NakedUnderMyCape3000! Bust outta there, for heavenâs sake. Grab some chopsticks and dig a tunnel under the washing machine. Is it too late for you? Itâs never too late. Find a way to change yourself. Donât settle for not speaking up.
Maybe give someone a sign.
Give me a sign, at the next Family Association dinner. After all, we are both hiding in plain sight.
I might be sociable on the outside, but I feel like a separate person inside. Itâs the only way I know how to be. As I think about you, Allison, maybe we are more alike than I realize. We are similar animals in a shared landscape. I see you crouched there in the sagebrush. You see that I see you. I see you because Iâm coiled behind the rock, at your same eye level. We spy on each other from this low vantage point.
But I donât think weâre concealing ourselves for the same reasons. In fact, whoâs hiding and whoâs hunting is indiscernible. Weâre both as still as stones, calm as unrippled water. We both appear as if we have all day to wait here, but either one of us could bolt at any moment, if we have to.
Shy Allisons of the world, hiding in your Chinese American enclosures, I see you, and you see me. We are two fuzzy creatures, one behind the fence, another out in the meadow. The houses are just beyond, and I wonder if we have an unspoken pact; I wonât let anyone know that I saw you, even if I get captured.
Iâll watch where you get taken. Signal me if you can.
Youâve been crouched there in the sage for a very long time. Iâve been observing you. Youâve got one eye slightly larger than the other. When you are weary, Iâve noticed that your right eye gets squinty.
I know youâre thinking what Iâm thinking. Even if no one knows, even if no one recognizes it, I can see that you have very serious aspirations. Even if you are the only player, the game is still on.
You feel the blood gurgling in your throat. No matter how captivated the world is with entertainmentâs distractions, for you the internal world still remains. Just as it remains and waits for me as well. We tune in to it. We can still hear ourselves think, even if we donât share our thoughts with anyone. People drink alcoholic beverages to drown out their inner voices, the humming and birdsong. Can you still discern the deep growling, and five-year-oldsâ laughter? Some childrenâs eyes have only seen innocence, and a part of that remains in you.
But you are afraid of breaking out of your routine. You know thereâs danger in the shallows. You can still drown in two inches of bathwater.
If you wonât give someone a sign of your desire to change, no one can help you. Allison, give me a sign. Iâll be waiting.
Likewise, on my dadâs side of the family, Uncle Bill was a Tiger Runt, for sure. My grandma Ruby was the eldest of seven children, and he was the last born of her siblings, and the most timid. If the meek really do inherit the earth, Uncle Bill must own prime real estate on all seven continents. He wouldâve made Walter Mitty look like a rock star.
Uncle Bill had wanted to marry a girl named Christine. I am not sure if she had Down syndrome or any other specific ailment, but the general consensus from what older relatives will actually tell me is that she was not in perfect, A-plus, gonna-play-at-Carnegie-Hall condition. But Bill and Christine were inseparable. They even went to the same Health Farm for Misfit Broken Toys in Santa Rosa in the 1940s because they were both asthmatics.
After Uncle Bill died, I found a lovingly cared-for photo album with pictures of the two of them chastely feeding pigeons and enjoying each
Rock on, NakedUnderMyCape3000!
Or . . . what am I saying? Donât rock on, NakedUnderMyCape3000! Bust outta there, for heavenâs sake. Grab some chopsticks and dig a tunnel under the washing machine. Is it too late for you? Itâs never too late. Find a way to change yourself. Donât settle for not speaking up.
Maybe give someone a sign.
Give me a sign, at the next Family Association dinner. After all, we are both hiding in plain sight.
I might be sociable on the outside, but I feel like a separate person inside. Itâs the only way I know how to be. As I think about you, Allison, maybe we are more alike than I realize. We are similar animals in a shared landscape. I see you crouched there in the sagebrush. You see that I see you. I see you because Iâm coiled behind the rock, at your same eye level. We spy on each other from this low vantage point.
But I donât think weâre concealing ourselves for the same reasons. In fact, whoâs hiding and whoâs hunting is indiscernible. Weâre both as still as stones, calm as unrippled water. We both appear as if we have all day to wait here, but either one of us could bolt at any moment, if we have to.
Shy Allisons of the world, hiding in your Chinese American enclosures, I see you, and you see me. We are two fuzzy creatures, one behind the fence, another out in the meadow. The houses are just beyond, and I wonder if we have an unspoken pact; I wonât let anyone know that I saw you, even if I get captured.
Iâll watch where you get taken. Signal me if you can.
Youâve been crouched there in the sage for a very long time. Iâve been observing you. Youâve got one eye slightly larger than the other. When you are weary, Iâve noticed that your right eye gets squinty.
I know youâre thinking what Iâm thinking. Even if no one knows, even if no one recognizes it, I can see that you have very serious aspirations. Even if you are the only player, the game is still on.
You feel the blood gurgling in your throat. No matter how captivated the world is with entertainmentâs distractions, for you the internal world still remains. Just as it remains and waits for me as well. We tune in to it. We can still hear ourselves think, even if we donât share our thoughts with anyone. People drink alcoholic beverages to drown out their inner voices, the humming and birdsong. Can you still discern the deep growling, and five-year-oldsâ laughter? Some childrenâs eyes have only seen innocence, and a part of that remains in you.
But you are afraid of breaking out of your routine. You know thereâs danger in the shallows. You can still drown in two inches of bathwater.
If you wonât give someone a sign of your desire to change, no one can help you. Allison, give me a sign. Iâll be waiting.
Likewise, on my dadâs side of the family, Uncle Bill was a Tiger Runt, for sure. My grandma Ruby was the eldest of seven children, and he was the last born of her siblings, and the most timid. If the meek really do inherit the earth, Uncle Bill must own prime real estate on all seven continents. He wouldâve made Walter Mitty look like a rock star.
Uncle Bill had wanted to marry a girl named Christine. I am not sure if she had Down syndrome or any other specific ailment, but the general consensus from what older relatives will actually tell me is that she was not in perfect, A-plus, gonna-play-at-Carnegie-Hall condition. But Bill and Christine were inseparable. They even went to the same Health Farm for Misfit Broken Toys in Santa Rosa in the 1940s because they were both asthmatics.
After Uncle Bill died, I found a lovingly cared-for photo album with pictures of the two of them chastely feeding pigeons and enjoying each
Similar Books
