January 23, 2013

The last time I wrote a daylog, I mentioned a fourteen-year-old girl. She has brain cancer. It's terminal.

They had a party for her, after hours, at her high school last night. She and her sister are both huge fans of Doctor Who, second-generation fans, so that was the theme. Guests entered through a TARDIS door. Fairy lights behind a dark curtain gave us stars in space. Episodes played quietly onscreen.

Through the help of some agency or contact or other, Make a Wish Foundation, maybe, she received a call from David Tennant. It's impossible to know what passed through his mind as he spoke with her.

My tiny contribution were the purple-lens glasses. Her sister wore them in a production I directed. Everyone wanted to try them out, at the time, and the young actor wanted to keep them. They suited the role so well I held them for the next year-- when a different performer in the same role also coveted the glasses. I'm not certain what the appeal is. In the end, they're just purple glasses, psychedelic cat's eyes.

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They went to the Guest of Honour last night, so now she can make her older sister instantly jealous, whenever she wants. Also, they do look very cool on her.

She has a small amount of hair left, blonde.

She's fond of wearing ties. Today, they're encouraging everyone at the school to wear a tie. More significantly, friends are assembling a team for a forthcoming "Spring Sprint" event that raises money for the Brain Tumour Foundation. Some local businesses are donating to the Sprint based on the number of ties worn.

She's determined to continue, just a little longer. And then a little longer. Last night, a bitterly cold night, they held a fun little party, with children, teens, adults, a community event for a remarkable young person, who, barring a literal miracle, soon will cease to walk among us.

A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
--Stephen Crane, 1899.

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For the first eighteen years of your life, being correct is all that matters to The Authorities. If you know the facts, you will succeed. Pass the test. Make the grade. Keep these numbers large and these numbers small. You are a winner.

It can be difficult adjusting to the real world, where The Authorities may or may not be interested in facts and logical conclusions. Where blind, idiot personal prejudice trumps your correct answer every time. Where arbitrary ego steps on your neck and what's more, there is nothing you can do about it.

There is no appeal. There is no review board. There is nobody to tattle to. There is no textbook to point to and say "I'm right, give me the points back." And even if there was, it wouldn't matter.

You will be faced with a boss, a supervisor, a customer, or someone else whose decisions will directly impact the material facts of your life - and that person will do the demonstrably wrong thing. It will hurt your wallet or your promotion prospects or even just your pride, and there will be absolutely nothing you can do about it. There will be no comeuppance, no moment of triumph, no Hollywood moment where everyone realizes you were right all along.

Don't dwell on how unfair it is. There is no solution. You will eat yourself alive.

For a bright young person, being able to let other people be wrong can be the most difficult thing there is to learn. Learning to choke down the consequences and ask for more is something you may struggle with your whole life.