It was always there. It was palpable. The feeling in the room added pounds to the air–especially the energy coming from Emily. She was smart, meaning she could read and write fine, but I guess she just didn’t want the attention. I loved the attention, especially her attention, and I think I also liked that I was protecting her a bit. So when the Sunday school teacher asked for volunteers to read the bible verse, my hand shot up quickest and highest.
And I was good at reading out loud, too. It was easy for me to tell because it was such an inspect-able task. Either the words came out right, or they didn’t. Plus, my teacher said I read well. Add to that the fact that everyone knew that Dan Rather—national news man—had no accent and grew up in Kansas where my life was unfolding, and it seemed like fate.
Clearly I had a gift.
This gift was mostly centered around reading out loud and participating in the churches youth activities when everyone else just wanted to chill out in the peanut gallery. Everyone else was only there because their parents were doing whatever the adults did at church.
So how does my able body affect my writing, you ask? Originating from a body with no physical limitations, my writing is at once full of hubris, and yet it’s been called endearing and humble.
For all I’ve achieved in life, and I’ve done great things, I can never escape the simple truth my life reveals with each passing day. As much as I love, as much as I grow, and as much as I laugh, I hurt people, I am unkind, I am inconsiderate, I am mean, and I lie. And I want to do these things.
(Okay, “as much” might be a bit strong.)