I take a deep breath and pause before responding. I make every attempt to remind myself that, by nature I am a diplomat. I fully understand that it is possible to tell a man to go to hell in a hand basket and have him be happy to pack his bags and be on his way. I've done this before, my brother can attest to it. He has seen me do it. Still, some assertions have been made here which cannot be entirely true, and now there are more then 50 people who agree with it and argue against me.
It was stated that "everyone can chose to be happy."
I make my arguments using neurological studies that I find on the web. They continue with these assertions, and then claim the studies are false. I inquire if any would chose to be happy if a spouse were to pass away. This is a big joke. One of them tells me that if his wife were to pass, there wouldn't really be any other choice but elation. It sounds to me like he's miserable with her, or maybe its the other way around? He retreats slightly and claims that it was all in good fun, it was simply another jest. We're all so damned enlightened. I bet they always walk around with their heads held up high, knowing that they have chosen to be happy. I watched the news this evening. They no longer comment on the Katrina victims, the price of gas is going to go up again, one in twenty home owners are having their houses repossessed, they are still shipping the dead bodies home from Iraq, and I hope they're happy. Assholes.
I remind myself that I am a diplomat, before I accept the fact that I am about to completely fail in this role. I've had a really bad week and I am growing tired of this. I have been trying to avoid doing this, but I feel that I have no choice in the matter. I fully intend to clarify the issue, right here and right now. It was stated that everyone can chose to be happy. By using the term 'everyone' we leave no room for exception. One example is all that is required to prove this assertion to be false. I mentioned this before, yet they still feel that this truth holds. I have plenty of examples that will illustrate my point, and none of them are pleasant.
I'm taking my gloves off.
I was first introduced to Jonathon on a Tuesday morning at 10:00AM. He had a 10:15 appointment with a psychiatrist and I had been designated to take him as his regularly assigned staff had been in a car accident and was not going to be working again for several months. Upon seeing Jonathon, I was filled with a sense of disgust. His head was severely deformed. His brow was jutting forward as if it were designed with wind resistance in mind. He literally had no forehead. The area of his face that should contain his left eye was filled with a set of skin flaps that must have been once been eyelids. They were carelessly sown together and nearly resembled a second mutated mouth. To make matters worse, his right eye was caked with sleeping sand and his nose was running like a spigot. He was carrying a stuffed rabbit and I tend to think that the brown fur it bore was once a pristine white. He held it to his face and made noises into it. The animal functioned as an unintended snot rag. It took me a moment longer then it should have to realize that the noises he had been making were sobs. He was crying.
I introduced myself to him and explained that I was there to take him to his appointment. I was the new guy, and was therefore novel. He dropped the stuffed animal and hugged me. In doing so, he buried his face into my shoulder and soiled my clean white dress shirt with his sobbing. I stood as firmly as I could and briefly tried to remove his hold on me. My efforts were to no avail. I felt my skin crawling and it took nearly all of my concentration to keep from noticeably gagging. My disgust moved to anger as I realized that I would spend the remaining ten hours of my day wearing someone else's mucus. I pull myself together, and pull him off of me. On the way out the door, we passed the coffee machine. I explained to him that I had been running late and hadn't had my morning coffee yet. I put 35 cents into the machine and it drops a wobbly styrofoam cup onto a little black platform. The coffee steams as it drops into the cup. Coffee condiments are located on a small table next to the machine. I add cream and sugar and then I take him to his appointment. He never stopped crying.
My day passes along what seems an endless line up of people determined to remind me that my shirt has been soiled. By the time I arrive home I feel filthy. I don't want to touch anything, I just want a shower, some clean clothes and a few beers to stop my head from spinning, or to at least get it spinning in the opposite direction. I breath a small sigh of relief as this was a one time gig. Next week, someone else will take him, and he will no longer be my concern. My first week on the job does not exactly go so smoothly. There are points that force me to consider if I am in the right place, if I shouldn't perhaps be working somewhere else.
The following Tuesday I arrive to work at 9:00AM. I go through my list of appointments for the day and begin to process some of the paperwork that I have accumulated. The phone rings at 9:30. I pick up the receiver, state my name and ask "can I help you?". Its my supervisor. She wants to know if I can take Jonathan to his 10:00 AM appointment again. I hesitate. I tilt my head downwards to gaze upon what I already know, once more, I am wearing a white button down dress shirt. I tell her that I have a 10:00 appointment already. She tells me that Robert will cover my 10:00. I have that sinking feeling in my chest as I realize that there is no way out. She has already thought about this, and she has already planned for anything that I may or may not state as an excuse. Then she adds "Jonathon has been asking about you all morning." My heart sinks and I agree to take him.
I grab the keys for the transport vehicle and I walk to the program. When I arrive I see Jonathon standing near the corner. He's still sobbing into that stuffed animal and he's holding a styrofoam coffee cup. Its contents have spilled over the edges making the cup appear almost as brown as the stuffed rabbit. His day staff approaches me and he tells me that Jonathon has been asking for me all morning. He typically arrives at the program around 8AM, and thats when he started talking about me. He insisted upon buying me a cup of coffee at 8:05 AM. He has been holding that coffee for nearly two hours while waiting for me to arrive. I ask if he ever stops crying. The staff cooly tells me that he has been working with Jonathon for the last ten years, and in all that time he has never seen him stop. He further tells me that when Jonathon was 3 years old, he spilled juice on his father's new carpet. His father punished him by literally beating his brains out with a baseball bat. I feel sick.
Jonathon sees me and rushes over. He hands me the coffee cup and tells me that we're running late before proudly telling me that he bought it with his own money and that he added the cream and sugar all by himself, which explains why the coffee has the consistency of syrup. He hugs me and tells me that he missed me, and once more my white button down dress shirt is soiled by his sobbing. I have to peal him off of me again. He points to the cup, "try it, I did good."
I look at the cup again. The rim is covered with a mixture of coffee like syrup and mucus. I don't think I can do this. I really don't think I can do this. The door is 30 feet to my left, I could leave. I could run for the door and I could never come back. Anything would be better then this. He is still looking at me and he insists that I drink the coffee that he purchased for me and he is so proud of himself. I repeat to myself that I am not going to vomit, I am not going to vomit...I am not going to vomit, as I place the cup to my lips and attempt to ingest its contents. My mouth is instantly coated with slime and the coffee slowly rolls onto my tongue. I force myself not to gag, and then I swallow the mixture. I am going to be sick.
His staff laughs at this before saying "you might just make it after all."
"...In the job?" I ask through a sugar coated throat.
"No, as a human being" he states.
I am angered by this, not at the staff and not at Jonathon, but at myself. I have been self absorbed. I have been an asshole. Later I find out that Jonathon's average weekly paycheck is just over a dollar and a half. That cup of coffee was nearly a third of his wages. He spent a third of his wages......on me.........
A large portion of Jonathon's brain was damaged inside of a few moments with an angry father and a baseball bat. He has been crying non stop for well over two decades. He receives artificial tears at various points during the day as he drains his tear ducts faster then they can replenish themselves. Nearly every drug known to man has been attempted to curb his depression. None of them work on Jonathon. He sees counselors twice a week to talk it through. If asked he will tell you that he would like to be happy. He would give anything to be happy. He just cant get there. We have tried everything that we can think of, and when new treatments are placed on the table as options, we try those too. To date, nothing has worked. There are people who chose happiness. Honest to God I wish I could agree with these assertions. I'm sorry, but choosing is not enough.
Every Tuesday I walk down to the program and every Tuesday Jonathon is waiting for me, holding a cold cup of coffee syrup. Every Tuesday I drink that damn coffee syrup. Its the most vile experience that you can imagine. Its also the best cup of coffee that I have ever had.
The next time you call someone a retard, the next time that you stare at someone who doesn't look normal, the next time that you accuse someone of riding the short bus to work, the next time that you want to make fun of someone who you assume to be lesser then you......I want you to remember that you are one baseball bat and thirty seconds away from being just like Jonathon.
Happiness is not always a choice and I never wear white button down dress shirts on Tuesdays.
