The secret to my success, and by that I mean my continued survival despite the overwhelming and often daunting circumstances that make up my existence, is my imagination. No matter the abuse I suffered at the hands of savages, no matter the amount of degradation I was forced to endure, I could close my eyes and imagine I was somewhere else, someone else. There was no limit, nothing I couldn't be or do as long as my brain was still functioning. In my mind, even as the blows rained upon me, even as the spiteful words slipped into my ears, I was incredible. I was the coolest motherfucker to ever strut the streets of my neighborhood. The boys shook their fists in jealousy. The girls swooned as I passed by. I was a superstar. I was a warrior. I was the alpha, the omega and all the cool, sparkly shit in between.
Some might call it delusion. I called it necessary. Personal deception is a far better alternative to a length of rope or razors edge.
But I wonder, watching my son play on the floor with his technologically advanced toys, if the youth of today will be able to do the same. Not that I wish a similar fate upon anyone (well, almost anyone), but there will come a time when misery is in far greater abundance than joy. And when faced with this problem, when faced with a seemingly insurmountable dilemma, what will they do? Will they have the skills necessary to see a brighter future even when reality says otherwise? Will they be able to smile for the crowds without teeth?
My son has a toy bug. It has sensors in its antenna so it knows how to avoid obstacles. Should it come to the wall, it will turn in the appropriate direction to keep the momentum going. Clap your hands and it will react to that too, stopping short in its tracks and then retreating from the source of the sound. Call to it and it will move forward again. In all respects, my son has it "easy". The toy does all the work for him.
When I was but a wee hyperactive rugrat, I had to shove my hand up the bug's ass to see any action, had to twiddle my fingers to make the little legs move. If I wanted it to soar, I had to climb on the back of the couch and jump. If I wanted it to move in a certain direction, I had to throw it there.
Who had it better? I think the answer is obvious.
Remember, if you want to help me recapture my youth, feel free to send me money at [email protected] via PayPal. I would love to own even one of the things listed on this Tumblr Account.
