A friend of mine in describing a man we both knew who had a surprising amount of chest hair, so much that it resembled ivy growing up a trellis and a love of wearing white tank tops, exclaimed, “He looks like a chia pet in a wife beater!” It was one of those moments when I laughed, the kind of laughter where you are actually doubled over, gasping for breath, that kind of laughter. Those words were said to me over 15 years ago now, yet I still remember it as though it were yesterday. I know, it’s not nice to make fun of people, but these are tough times, calling for tough measures. I’m on the front lines here, so this morning I decided to pull out the big guns.
Can we all agree? This is nothing short of hilarious. I don’t know which is more troubling, the fact that Donald Trump has insisted on wearing his hair this way for decades or the fact that I felt the need to actually go on the internet and download this photograph. Like I said, these are desperate times, requiring desperate measures. And might I just add? This man has done me a tremendous service. I cannot look at this photograph and feel sad at the same time. It simply is not possible.
Yesterday, while talking to Richard, I disagreed with him. (It doesn’t matter about what, and anyway I can’t remember.) He began to argue with me about why I was incorrect. I then raised my voice and accused him of going “global” and that this was a specific comment, not a broader condemnation of everything he’d just said. Richard looked at me with a look of annoyance mixed with amusement and then gave me the finger. He held it there, about four inches from my nose. “Get that thing out of my face or I’m going to bite it,” I said. But he didn’t move his finger for a few seconds, just to get his point across. I looked over at him and then we began laughing. Because really, what else can one do?
I don’t pretend to know how Emma experiences the world. I cannot speak for her. I can barely speak for myself. But I am grateful that she, too, finds arbitrary and seemingly random things funny – like zombies and Winnie the Pooh and her friends Charlie and Gabriel and Justus from her school. I am thankful for those things and the people who make her laugh.
“Who’s the best girl in the whole world?” I asked her this morning when she came into our bed and snuggled up against me.
“I am!” she shouted.
Yes, she is.
For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to: Emma’s Hope Book