Early Gifts

Here is a link to the audio  version of this blog, if you would prefer to listen: www.youtube.com/watch?v=KI7-5g0fSmo

    I have often wondered if being identified as having a gift at an early age means that you have been doing nothing but essentially re-gifting, all of the years that followed? The reason I’ve asked myself this is because I was told as a child that I had a gift for making others laugh. It came naturally to me, and I loved it. One of my greatest memories was while in Mrs. McDonald’s third-grade class. I performed little impromptu pantomimes in front of the class that followed the same underlying theme every week. The idea is that an old man is slowly falling asleep and jerking every few seconds to keep himself awake while at the same time gradually sliding off the chair. Upon landing on the floor in a full-blown state of slumber, the old man would explode in a flurry of confusion and exasperation. This little skit never failed to entertain and would weekly bring the house down, (and by a house I mean twenty-five sweaty third graders and a desperate teacher in a small classroom). I think that particular memory stays with me because it was prophetic. You see, this has become a reality. I am now that old man and the chair has become my world.

    My friends use always to tell me I was funny and somebody would inevitably always write something to that effect in my yearbook.  Now, most people with siblings have that one who makes it his or her mission to make sure you remain…..shall we say, humble. My brother would zero in on that comment and tell me to say something funny. I would respond with the very poignant, “uh….uh…..” to which he would respond, “ you are NOT funny.” But I would always get the last laugh because my dad had provided my two older brothers and me with boxing gloves, which were always available when we wished to express our love and support for one another. When this particular brother would talk me into boxing with him, as he quite often did, the only way I could survive would be just to start laughing. This would cause him to laugh, and I then had free reign to punch away. Try it for yourself sometime, it worked wonders for me. In fact, as an awkward kid, it was my only play. The same brother would always sweet talk me into playing football with him, which always ended the same. I’d get royally creamed, and then we’d watch a good game on television a week later, get all ramped up, I’d forget the last blaze of glory, and the cycle would repeat. He would also talk me into playing catch during baseball season with promises that he would not throw hard this time, and I always bought it, and like a person who just spent one-thousand dollars on a useless piece of modern art, would always regret it. Another example of my total sports domination before I wrap this whole thing up. Like most adolescent boys, I went out for little league. I spent the season in right field and striking out. Except for one time. One time I had bugged the coach enough that he let me try to pitch in a game. This may sound like an exaggeration, but it isn’t. I wound-up, and…….threw the ball over the backstop, which was probably 10 to 15 feet high.

My older two brothers and myself (my youngest brother is not pictured).

    I mention all this not only because it’s fun for me to remember such a wonderful childhood but also to emphasize that my early life was somehow marked by pre-Ataxia. No, it is not a proven fact, but it is an unyielding impression or theory even. I do not mean to overstate this belief, so I am going to move on from the pre-Ataxia life and in later writings talk about life’s realities in the present. I’ve told enough true tales from my past…..okay, one more, and that’s it. I was in the sixth grade and attending a roller skating party. I fancied myself to be a very suave little man and was carrying a glass container of a cheap, but highly potent, cologne in my front shirt pocket. Having an incredible sense of balance, that I have previously established I had, I quickly and deftly laced up my skates, stood up, and promptly fell forward into the short wall surrounding the rink, shattering the bottle in my pocket and drenching me in a cologne-induced funk. Skating was never quite as fun after that.
This is a link to the audio version of this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KI7-5g0fSmo