Tuesday, July 17, 2018

Thirty Summers

This is Michael. He turns thirty this year.


Michael takes his son to the playground most mornings.

Michael laughs at Lizzie's jokes and lets her interrupt his work to show him pictures she has drawn. (Lizzie sometimes feels guilty about this).

Michael, in general, does not interrupt Lizzie when she is drawing pictures or reading books or thinking deeply about what books she hasn't read but would like to. 

Michael's favorite meals are Chaboni yogurt, a cheese and tomato panini, or chocolate milk and quesadillas.

Michael eats the corn on the cob that Lizzie makes almost every night, even though it isn't his favorite. 

Michael likes all of Lizzie's Facebook posts, even though Lizzie only sees a few of Michael's posts, and only likes the ones she understands. (Lizzie recognizes she could probably understand most of them if she tried. She feels guilty about this).

Michael doesn't eat avocado because it makes his throat itchy and tense, but when he eats it anyway, he smiles.

Michael knows the way to In-N-Out.

Michael beats Lizzie at Scrabble every time.

Michael turns the AC on for cool air and white noise before Lizzie puts the toddler to bed.

Michael brings Lizzie lunch during class when she forgets breakfast.

Michael helps Lizzie find her glasses when they are on her head.

Michael helps Lizzie find the toddler when she forgets that she is holding him.

Michael tells Lizzie if she has a text so that she doesn't need to own a phone, which Lizzie appreciates very much.

Michael shares his favorite yogurt with the toddler.

Michael takes out the trash.

Michael doesn't mind that Lizzie doesn't take out the trash, or at least he doesn't say anything.

Michael compliments Lizzie when she does the dishes.

Michael compliments the lawn after Lizzie gives it a bad haircut with scissors. It is a very small lawn.

Michael compliments Lizzie when she gives him haircuts, and does not bring up the very bad haircut she once gave him.

Michael gives the toddler his vitamin in the morning.

Michael tells Lizzie that the toddler has already had his vitamin when the toddler asks for another before bed. 

Michael sometimes gives the toddler a chocolate sandwich in the morning.

Michael does not always tell Lizzie that he gave the toddler a chocolate sandwich in the morning. They are very small sandwiches.

Michael walks the same pace as Lizzie, which is more leisurely than average, except when Lizzie is anxious or running behind.

Michael takes many naps.

Michael likes hand massages from Lizzie.

Michael takes the toddler to the babysitter when Lizzie wants to sleep in.

Michael wakes up before the toddler, which is saying something.

Sometimes, when Lizzie does not want to get up in the morning, Michael brings her chocolate and slides it gently between her teeth.

Be like Michael.

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

On Understanding




One of my and Michael’s friends, Andrew, also happens to have Cerebral Palsy. Both Michael and Andrew speak differently because of CP. However, this does not mean that they can understand each other; in fact, while I understand Michael perfectly fine, and while Andrew’s wife Carrie understands him perfectly fine, and I understand Andrew pretty well and Carrie understands Michael pretty well, Andrew and Michael sometimes have hard time understanding each other, as Andrew (a stand-up comedian and screenwriter) pointed out to me so refreshingly a few years ago.

Which is pretty fabulous, when you ponder it, and true on so many levels.

Such as:

You are not just one more student or dropout or kid or teenager or patient or old person or parent or teacher or tourist or homeless person or voter or insomniac or pedestrian or shopper or photobomber or billboard sign reader or tooth brusher or restaurant patron or general cluster of cellular activity. You are, in fact, quite uniquely each of those things that you are; no one else brushes their teeth or photobombs their friend’s selfies quite like you do.

And—just as Michael and I can communicate more freely than Michael and Andrew, so I find I can often connect with those who are of a different religion or heritage as well or better than those more like myself. Such as how I can connect with Michael, the ever optimist, more than I can connect with others who tend to be cynical the way I sometimes am.

And—every once in awhile, I don’t understand Michael, and when I talk too quietly, he doesn’t understand me. But we love each other, and I know that Michael and Andrew love and respect and admire each other as well. And, of course, you know that your parents did not understand the fascination you might have had with chewing on twigs when you were five years old. (Um, let me clear my throat for a moment). But they loved you.

And—just like others can love you even when they don’t understand you, you can connect with others you don’t understand. If you don’t understand someone’s words, you can connect over attentiveness or shared experience or social media or deep mutual respect. If you don’t understand someone’s lifestyle or choices, you can connect with them by looking for commonality or by understanding that you have a different background and different life experience, and simply appreciating them for the valuable person they are.

And I’m pretty sure I haven’t even scratched the surface—so much good in the fact of two friends who can’t always understand what the other is saying.




Thursday, June 14, 2018

Illustrated Essay in Sweet: A Literary Confection

One of my favorite journals, Sweet: A Literary Confection, published a short illustrated essay I wrote. It's called, "On Book Curses: An Apology," and it definitely has a couple pictures of Michael (not, I'm afraid, the one below). Enjoy!




Thursday, February 1, 2018

Haircut Comic on Hobart

I wrote and illustrated a story about a time I gave Michael a haircut--not the only time I gave him a haircut, but the only time I have, so far, felt the need to exorcise the experience through writing afterwards (with afterwords?)--you can find it here at Hobart.


Ode to Old Glasses

A few weeks ago I found a page that looked roughly like this in one of my old journals. Dearest Glasses, Fortunately you were bea...