Cathy at 6 and at 66
It probably started when I was a little kid, this ability to dismiss reality. In the back of my mind, I still harbor beliefs in the power of dreams. But it’s been tempered by 67 years of life.
So in the 50’s, televisions were starting to populate homes. It’s hard to imagine anyone not having a T.V. I remember when they brought ours into the house. I was around five. It was a big old thing, almost the size of a refrigerator box and the picture on the screen was black and white.
Walt Disney had a lot to do with it. I grew up thinking that if you wished upon a star, anything you dreamed would come true. And my parents never set me straight. They barely talked to me. They were probably dreaming their own dreams. And they were smart! They just didn’t know how to talk to their child.
So I grew up, naive, willing to believe in fairy tales, in a dreamy world of fantasy where nothing bad would ever happen to me. Ever.
But in 1986 something bad happened. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. The doctors told me my four-year-old daughter was profoundly retarded.
I finally stopped believing in fairy tales.