Man, what an attitude. Worth writing again: "May kill me, but it ain't gonna beat me." Comes from Bart Mitchell, a blog reader who lives in New York City. He thanks much of his childhood for his better than positive attitude. To wit: "I have a part of my brain that views life from the perspective of my 8 year-old self who believes if things get really bad I'll be able to summon an inpenetrable force field to repel cancer cells." I certainly understand the idea. When I was a kid, I assumed like all children that I had spooks both under the bed and in the neighborhood, not to mention at school. Mainly guys I was scared of, or as we said back then "real scared." The kind of fear that kept me up at night after some bully says "Gonna get you tomorrow, Foster."
I lived the miserable life of a wimp until I was about eight. Then one day, "Jerry,"--in my quaking little mind a major killer of wimps--told me he was going to whip me after school, "just because I can." That was it. I was done. I didn't wait until after school (surprised the hell out of me, too). I just stood up in the lunch room and smacked him hard enough to dang near break my fist (that hurt worse than any fight). Jerry stumbled back with blood running down one eye, while the other was wide open with fright. I got two whippings anyway (dad and the principal; they weren't much into "time out" and suing the school back in those days). Turns out Jerry was prescient, but he didn't whip anybody that day, least of all me. I have been in a few other adolescent fist fights. But, far as I can remember, I never lost another minute's sleep over a bully.
Like Bart, I decided then and there nothing could whip me, at least not the Jerry's of the world.
With that confidence I became a much happier little guy and that allowed the imp in me to come out. Like Bart, it remains one of my good friends, much like an invisible pet. Sixty years later it can still make me make mischief, which makes my wife say things like "sometimes you act like a child." (Did I mention she says that often?)
Thank God. Once I found my strength at the expense of the right fist and Jerry's eye I also found that I didn't have to be quite so serious about anything as I did before that fateful day. Girls? Ask 'em out. Financial problems? Whip 'em. Personal issues? Put on a smile and solve 'em (so hard to be angry with a sixty year old man with a glimmer of mischief in his eye). Spooks under the bed? Who cares? Cancer? It may be real, may be in our bodies and not under the bed, but you know, my inner kid is 100% confident we can whip it as well. No crying, no whining, just get up out of the chair and knock it down. In fact, I relish the thought.
That is most likely where my idea of Warrior comes from. I am not fighting this war to lose it, nor is Bart. To whip us it has to get past the kid first. Easier said than done.
That doesn't mean that cancer might not kill us. That is Bart's point. Do your will, Cancer, have your way, but best bring a few band aids because you may take our lives, but you are not going to beat us any more than Jerry beat me.
That may sound simplistic, but I have a feeling most of us Warriors feel much the same way. It is a contradiction, but carries great truth. Thanks, Bart. Now I am going to go inside and do something to bug my daughter. All this walking down memory lane puts me in the mood to be a child, poor child.
your words of wisdom about this fearful fight makes this less fearing...we both appreciate your blogs because you're able to express the feelings we have but for us at this stage (one month) it's very hard to do...the one thing we have taken stock of is knowing we are not in this alone...
Posted by: kathy & coach | June 29, 2007 at 08:01 PM
What a fantastic post!!
You're a great writer. Hope others get inspiration from it.
Posted by: Andy | June 25, 2007 at 12:33 PM