Sure, you can name the play-by-play announcer for the Pittsburgh Pirates back in the 1950’s. You might tell the following facts to anyone willing to listen: the name of the first man to conquer Mount Everest, know who played the movie role of Lawrence of Arabia, rattle off the capitols of each of the fifty states, can recall the man who, with just a smile and a fountain pen, pulled off the biggest billion dollar scam ever. You know lots of stuff, don’t you?

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Photo: Jessica Dimmock

I am always interested in different perspectives on what it means to be human, especially when they come from sources that are vastly different than your average Joe Sixpack. So, when I cam across a video of an autistic that makes an amazingly successful attempt at explaining what it is like to have autism, and how she views her life submerged in a sea of “normal” people, I was absolutely astounded. Here is an angle that I have never heard before, so I thought I would share this experience with all of you.

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Bobby John

No more than 200 people lived in that unincorportated area in West Virginia. And it was Bobbie John’s kingdom. For years, for as long as anyone could remember, Bobbie John was the arbitrator and, like President Bush, the decider. Under his command were 200 living souls. Why did they come to Bobbie John to settle disputes, have him suggest whom to marry, all that day-to-day “important” stuff for those 200 living, breathing souls?

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Bad Directions are indeed recipes made for disaster. You’re doing something, making something, repairing something, going somewhere, and you become confused, not completely lost, just confused, so you stop and ask for directions. Guess what? Duh! Nine times out of ten someone gives you the wrong directions or you give yourself the wrong directions. These kinds of directions are Bad Directions when used in recipes that make for disaster.

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Ah, the corporate life.

Okay, they, and I mean they, have fired you because they had to do that in order for the company to weather these bad times and more bad times next year, perhaps. Did the boss even allow you to clean out your desk or locker of your personal items — a trust issue — or did he or she have the company security cops escort you right out the back door? Whatever; Never mind: You lost your job — pink slip, e-mail pink slip, or a verbal: “Get out here!”

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WHY?!!

What happened? Why did it happen? Why did we lose? Doc, I want a second opinion. The facts, madam, just the facts. The weather as a scapegoat. Who did it? What malfunctioned? Why? Why? Why? When, exactly, did he snap? Where was I then at that precise moment? What actually happened on November 22, 1863? Answers, answers, answers, we demand answers!

A plane crashes and after an investigation the public is told all 97 passengers died due to a ruptured hydraulic line. That solves the mystery and everyone except the families can get on with their everyday stuff. Also, everyone in on the know can erase that mind slate and … what? Forget about it! So was anything really learned; what steps were taken to prevent a history of these things happening again and again? Does it matter? Not really. Only being given an answer to why the plane crashed matters. Any answer would have satisfied just as well.

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