Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Everyone greeted me. I hated the attention on me, so I was thankful when Tracy shifted the conversation from my arrival to the overall discussion. Everyone seemed to have their own strong personalities, and they laughed a lot together, too. I learned about how long they’d been dealing with their sight situations and how many achievements they’d made throughout their lives.
For the first time since my diagnosis, I felt a little less alone and a little less scared. Some of the things those individuals had done in their lives were truly remarkable. Tracy herself had run half marathons, and rock climbed. Another person opened up a bakery shop. Bobby was convinced he was the next Marvel actor in a few years. By his spunk, I wouldn’t have put it past him.
When the session came to an end, Tracy had everyone say a word or two to describe how they were feeling about their current situations. All sorts of words were tossed out. Happy. Disappointed. Stuck. Annoyed. Proud.
When it came time for my words, I swallowed hard. “Pissed off.”
“That makes sense, Milo. Do you want to talk about why you chose those words?” Tracy asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then that’s great, too. Thank you for sharing.”
The session ended, and I was happy I wasn’t pushed to share about why I was pissed off. But I was also proud of being honest at the moment. I was pissed off about my current situation. I knew it was awful for me to feel this because some of the people in that room seemingly had it more challenging than me, but I felt as if I’d been robbed of a part of my life out of nowhere. I didn’t get what kind of beef life had against me. I didn’t understand why it kept swinging at me, trying to knock me out, but I was pissed off about it. I was pissed off that my sight was already crappy and would only get worse over time. I was pissed off that there wasn’t a cure. I was pissed off that others could just get a pair of glasses and be on their way. I was pissed off that life wasn’t fair, and I was pissed off that Mom wasn’t around to give me some pep talk to make me feel better.
Maybe that was what pissed me off the most.
“You picked good words,” Henry said, leaning in my direction as he began to stand from his chair. “Pissed off. I feel like those are my words every damn day—pissed off.”
“Yeah. They seem to be mine a lot, too.”
“Listen, kid. You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m old and that’s what older people do because we’ve been through enough shit to know enough shit. So listen here. I know today you heard about all this amazing stuff that people did. Running marathons, opening shops, wanting to be superheroes, and crap, but let me tell you something. You don’t have to do any of that stuff, all right? You can just be yourself. And if yourself is some asshole who only likes sitting on your front porch and telling people to piss off, well, that’s good enough, too. We don’t have to be some success story to tell others to be like, ‘See? I’m not lesser than you! I can do these things, too!’ Because you’re not lesser than others. You’re human, you’re whole, and you don’t have shit to prove to anyone. If you want to be pissed off, then be pissed off for as long as you want, all right?”
It was as if Mom knew I needed a pep talk made just for me, so she sent Henry. “Thanks, Henry, I appreciate that.”
“Henry’s right,” Bobby said, joining in. “But you could always be Daredevil, too. The options for us are limitless.”
Henry grimaced. “Will you shut the hell up, boy?” he yipped at Bobby.
“Love you, too, Henry,” Bobby replied.
I snickered at the two of them. They were definitely the odd couple.
I exited the building to find Dad still parked in the same spot where I had left him. A sigh of relief rolled through me as I walked over to the car and climbed inside.
He gave me a lazy smile. “Are you good?”
I nodded. “Thanks for waiting.”
“Yeah, of course, of course.” He brushed his thumb across the bridge of his nose. “But you’re sure you’re good, though, right?”
My chest tightened a bit. “Yeah, Dad. I’m good.”
“Good. That’s good. All right. Let’s get home. I can order us a pizza or something.” He turned on the radio, and we rode home in silence, but I didn’t feel as pissed off as I had prior to stepping into the car with my dad.
He asked if I was good.
That was more than he’d done in a very long time. For a split second, I felt as if I were getting my father back. Sure, to the outside world, it probably seemed like the bare minimum of what he should’ve been doing, but to me, it felt like the biggest victory. Finding out your father still cared after doubting it for over a year felt like something to celebrate.