I was shooting an event over the weekend when I first noticed this little girl, maybe two years old. I can try to describe why she caught my eye and never let go of my attention, but I'm not sure if it would make sense. She was pretty, with impossibly big eyes and a serious expression. She didn't play with the other kids, but she played, lost in an internal world as she danced and ran happily but alone, in a room full of people. When she wasn't in that realm of her own making, she watched, carefully studying the actions of everyone around her. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing broken or amiss. And yet, she was different from any kid in that room, but not from any kid I'd ever seen, which was why I couldn't stop watching her.
She reminded me of Schuyler. Not Schuyler now so much, but Schuyler a few years ago, before we knew her monster's name or nature, but after she had already embarked on her life's path, a path that she would travel alone.
I pointed her out to the photographer with whom I was working. I didn't know exactly how to describe what I was seeing, but when I opened my mouth, I suddenly knew exactly how to say it. "Whatever planet Schuyler comes from, that little girl comes from there, too."
Which, as it turns out, is exactly how her own father described her. A visitor from another world.
I feel a little self-indulgent in telling you all this, but I suspect my own behavior isn't all that different from that of any other parent of a child who is different. I'm not just talking about kids with broken bodies or broken brains or broken spirits. I'm talking about any parent who knows, for whatever reason, that their child is going to have a life full of obstacles that other kids don't have.
I'm talking about any parent who gets overwhelmed in a way that ninety-nine out of a hundred other parents around them won't ever get.
So yeah, I feel weird talking about what happened next, but maybe a hundred of you will read this and one of you will say "God, me too."
The thing that happened next was that as I watched this little girl run and play and walk through this world without ever leaving her own, and watched how some people reached out protectively as she passed, I realized that in watching someone else's ethereal kid, I was seeing how the rest of the world must see Schuyler.
I'd never seen that before. Not really. And it was more than I could deal with.
I'm not going to get all maudlin or dramatic about this. I simply took the first opportunity I had to step out of the venue and go outside past the reach of the lights, and then I lost my shit for a few minutes. That's all. Sometimes the way broken parents of broken children get through it all is to step into the dark and lose their fucking minds, to cry hard and insult God as the bully that he undeniably is, and just stop being the brave little soldier for a while.
That's how it happens. You exhaust yourself of the frustration and the unfairness of it. You empty out that part of you, the little pit in the center of you that stores away the fear and the anger and the protective fire that you can use against child molesters and internet bullies and mean bitey dogs but not against God and Fate and a child's brain.
And then you wait for it to slowly fill again, I guess.
When I returned to the event, I bumped into the little girl and her father outside, and I took her picture. I told her, and her father, how much she reminded me of my own little girl, and while I don't think the dad noticed how emotional I was, she did. She opened up to me and followed me around for a while.
Later, she danced with her father, who looked at her with the same intensity that I find myself watching Schuyler, the one that shows that we have a visitor's pass to their world. As father and daughter moved past me, she caught sight of me over his shoulder. As I raised my camera and took my favorite photo of the evening, she smiled her mysterious little smile and reached out as if to touch me.
I don't know if this entry makes any sense. I'm not certain this world makes any sense, either.
37 comments:
Makes you realize that there is right in this world. Even if we aren't good enough to see it, someone is.
Beautiful story. Now excuse me while I go hug my own kids and grab a tissue.
Tears are flowing here. I sometimes wondered why I read your journal so faithfully. After all, my kids are grown and gone, with children of their own. After the birth of my last granddaughter last December I knew. She was born with Prader-Willi syndrome, a genetic defect of the 15th chromosome and we don't know what her future holds for her other than a struggle. She can't feed on her own and is on oxygen. I, too, have to step away occasionally and cry and rail against the unfairness of it all just so I can be strong in front of her parents. Some days are worse than others, but we love our little blue-eyed darling with all our hearts and only hope that this can be enough.
echoing the tears. especially after a frustrating day with my husband's family, who just don't get my son. they want him to be like the other kids, they want to have discussions with him. they want to tell him things that will stick and he'll remember. and he can't. he doesn't. and it frustrates them and i know they'd rather spend time with my niece and nephew.
and it makes me cry.
and you make me cry.
fuck you and the making me cry. man.
I'm betting it makes perfect sense to anyone with a broken kid. It sure made sense to me.
Knowing that it's impossible to understand this stuff is never going to stop us from wanting and seeking the truth, the whole truth, the real deal and the key to the fucking lock. A friend's mother killed herself last week and, despite knowing that there ain't no way any of us is ever going to figure it out, the one thing we all know for sure is that we'll never stop trying.
I don't think many of us will create works of art (I'm talking Schuyler, your writing, your photographs, and all of the good things that come of your sharing all of your masterpieces with us) as part of our quest for the answers, though. Thank you, always, for letting us in.
Dam you Rob, I have to stop reading your page at work. They're all wondering why I've got tears in my eyes.
Rob, I have been reading you for many, many years. This was the most touching and richest story you've written.
Thank you, Rob.
My son's monster made him step off the top of a high building in 1992.
He was always, in some indefinable way, not of this world the way my other kids were/are. He was always also somehow "more"- even after the monster came and he got sick:- more loving, more creative, more funny, more empathic....more beautiful, as well somehow-when he played Bach, even at seven, people would cry- I could go on.....having him wasn't something I would change for anything-not any of it-(his monster was schizophrenia, the ugliest word in the language).When he was sick, he wrote of this 'other world'-I have his journals- and it was a very beautiful place....
I look and look at Schuyler's beautiful face, her beautiful hands.
There are those of us who get it, Rob.
Thank you for sharing yourself so eloquently and so TRUTHFULLY with us.
Love to all of you,
Grammacello
Beautiful Rob, raw emotion, but wonderful. I can' wait for the book. I'd like to see the pics of the beautiful alien girl.
Yeah, unfortunately I won't post photos of someone else's child, not without their knowledge and permission and CERTAINLY not a photo that was taken during a professional photo shoot.
Well, I say "unfortunately", but I actually don't think it's unfortunate at all. All I have to do is imagine for a moment how I'd feel if I found that a stranger was taking photos of Schuyler and posting them online without my knowledge, even if it was done with the best of intentions.
Everything you say makes sense. And I don't say that about a lot of people.
Margaret DeAngelis
http://www.silkentent.com
this does make sense. even though it doesn't have to. moving, evocative, amazing work. my wish for you is that you never stop writing.
I understand completely about the pics, just being wistful.
Beautiful post, Rob.
I urge you, though, to start sending essays like this out to paying markets. You don't need to wait for the book to be finished or sold. You could build some momentum for it by getting your byline in magazines and picking up some cash at the same time. There's no reason why you couldn't place something like this with a national parenting magazine.
It's been a long time since you've written something like that. I've missed it and I'm really glad you're back.
It made sense to me. I hope you know that for every asshole out there that says something about her, there are at least ten of us who think she has a beautiful soul and she will grow up to do something incredible in this world, just as she's incredible now just by being herself.
And I don't have kids, but some of us mostly-grown-up "kids" seem to know what it's like to be on the broken spirit end of things; maybe one day, we'll find our own wings.
Beautiful post. As a person who is different, there are very few people outside of my world who make an effort to reach out and understand my world. I'm glad that you were able to connect with that little girl, even for one brief moment. I strongly believe that my favorite magazine Mothering would love to publish your writing.
www.mothering.com
And out of the shabby blog world, there comes an entry that harkens back to the diary entries of Darn Tootin' and I shadnt wonder that this entry gets posted there too (?)
I think that I shall treasure all the wonder and mystery of my own children who live both in this world and out of it.
Thank you for that reminder and that glimpse.
The world doesn't make any sense. That's what makes it so sad. And yet, I guess that's what makes it so beautiful and wonderous, too. These children, these otherworldly beings, can show us that side. All of us, not just their parents... if we just take the time to reach out to them.
A beautiful post. I can't wait to read your book (and tell everyone, "I know Rob! ...kinda!")
That was gorgeous. Sad, wistful, angry and perfect.
Dude, it's not like you needed to buy back your street cred after the "I'm a Princess" Wiggling Incident.
You didn't HAVE to write something haunting and profund. (But like everyone else, I'm glad you did.)
That was such a beautiful post---one of my favorites. You have a way with words, and I hope that things work out for you.
That's beautiful.
I know a girl who comes from that same planet and while she's not a child she echoes that same etherealness. More so now after a brutal trauma sends her more and more into her "other place" one where the speech of this planet holds no meaning to her. She paints and writes but won't or can't speak yet like the S and the other little girl her eyes speak volumes. It's not the same thing exactly since she's not a broken child nor am I her parent but your entry has explained her more than any of the doctor's words of brain and emotional trauma ever could. And like you I feel like I'm only there on a visitor's pass. As if I've been given a temporary visa to a most unusual and amazing land.
I hope your book comes with a free pack of Kleenex. Thank you for touching me (in an emotional way, of course).
Reading this post made me suddenly cognizant of the fear you and your wife must endure, day in and day out. Yet you do it with courage and dignity, judging by the joy and strength through which your little girl moves through her often-hostile world.
No, this world does not make any sense, but that was a beautiful post. My son's problems were emotional/sensory in a very odd combination. I only once, when he was already well on his way to outgrowing them, saw another child behaving the way he behaved. I went right up to the mother who looked stressed the way I was when mine was younger, and said, "I have one exactly like yours." I still remember that moment.
Thanks for a truly profound bit of writing.
Looking forward to buying that book. When do you think you'll be done with it?
" I can imagine her fluttering happily back to wherever she came from, whatever place that is where bug fairies speak in laughter and where sad, broken fathers aren't welcome."
One of my favorite sentences that I've ever read from you. You, my friend, have a gift.
Mark G
Visiting from Lisa's site...
This is a spectacularly beautiful and moving post. One that I will NOT forget the next time I see a child who is unique in some way...
Thank you for writing this.
Very moving and beautifully written. I can relate in so many ways. Thank you for verbalizing it so perfectly!
ah friend, it makes all the sense in the world. sounds like it was a hard moment, but at the same time good. although the harder must have outweighed the good.
thanks so much for sharing it...
Dammit. Making me cry. Cut that out.
I'm the other side of this. Most of my fathers interaction with me today is telling me about how he saw me in the way you're describing, constantly reminding me I almost didn't make it. I get this sick twist of feelings reading you write about her. Like a special girl but also horrible that any kind father ever has to feel that his daughter is a borrowed little martian and not wholly his in make and to keep.
Bastids. Must stop with the crying..
I love this post the most, just wanted to show my support with the others.
I just learned what a blog was not to long ago ... Tonight is 1st time venturing out ... and somehow ended up here. wow. I really mean wow. (tears) Thank you stranger,,I'm in awe... I'd say you just dont understand how deeply this story touched me ,,but, you may actually.......
ps. my daughter has wanted to dye her hair manic-pink since she was 3yrs old!!! ;)
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