Attention Disorder
From the moment of his birth, they had gazed at him. He was a genius. He was wiser than his father. He was good. He did no wrong. They radiated delight. Such a special boy.
There he lay, three months old, on display in the middle of the room. They all sat watching, anticipating. He turned over. Instantly, they cheered. He startled, and in that moment turned away from his inwardness. The adulation of the crowd drew him away from himself. The delay of a tenth of a second before applauding would have been enough. The taste of accomplishment might have been his, but it belonged to them. He belonged to them. In that moment what could have been icing on the cake became the cake itself.
As he grew, they disciplined his appetite. Three meals a day allowed him to be free to attend to activities other than securing his next meal. If they had only known of the appetite for attention, that it was necessary for life, that there was a balance between attracting, giving, getting and exchanging it. They knew obesity was unhealthy, yet they gorged him with attention. He lived in a garden of delight, obese with self-esteem.
They meant no harm. He was the realization of their hopes, the fulfillment of their lacks, the abatement of their fears. They had spent their lives waiting in railroad stations, when the object was to be on the train.
The choice was his: remain safely with them in the station or ride with his perpetual becoming?