A man I know of, who shared in a portion of my DNA, who was quite
brilliant, valliant and educated went to college, earned his law
degree and being the patriot that he was, went to war.
Never mind which war. War is hell. Doesn’t matter which war.
This man I know of came back insane. He never used his education
except when the circus crowd came to ask him questions and when he
anwered with great authority and surety, they marveled at his genius
and would later laugh at his insanity. The people who remember him
in the little Oklahoma town where he lived told me they “loved him”.
He was a welcome abstraction in a normal, otherwise average place.
A woman I know of, who shared in a portion of my DNA, who was quite
a brilliant artist, whom I used to sit for in her upstairs parlor as
she painted my portrait, went insane.
Never mind which war. War is hell. Doesn’t matter which war.
I watched her go insane over the years. I was not her enemy. Didn’t
matter. Insanity doesn’t always see things aright.
Being young and hopeful, I kept waiting for her to return from that
place where voices called to her.
She did not return.
The stunningly beautiful woman who was my mother never returned. The
artist went away. The funny, brave woman who taught me that art and
music were wonderful, just went away. The sweet voice which sang to
me became silent.
Woe unto me that I caught the insanity to a degree. Low self esteem
and what have you. It often works that way. Not by genetics but by
proximity and seclusion.
A woman I know of who shares my DNA went insane.
Oddly, she returned. She was no longer “retarded”. She could paint. She
could write. She could play the violin. She could laugh. At herself. At
her surroundings. She grows a garden every year. She loves her children and
grand children. They love her. She works. Very hard.
She cannot answer all questions posed to her. Sometimes she forgets to clean
house. She forgets to color her hair. You know, she ain’t all that and a bag
of chips.
And she doesn’t quite care so deeply about the world anymore. She isn’t so
naive. Isn’t so easy to manipulate.
Found the physician inside her and proceeded to get well.
She is composing a melody for her violin teacher for a performance in a couple
of days. She’s a little nervous. Pigged out on a huge grilled chicken salad
tonight. Had a little too much Irish coffee.
I have a feeling she will do just fine. Now, if I could just find my bow.
