My Name Is Bob
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Prior to the wifey’s mental breakdown I’d never really had any dealings with mental health issues before. Certainly several of my teachers in my childhood and youth had clearly been ‘bats in the belfry’ albeit the behaviour of their students may well have been at least a partial cause of their imbalance psychologically speaking.
Chemistry teacher Mr Bell would hold long and in depth conversations with a sugar pig whilst ostensibly knocking the mysteries of chemistry into out thick skulls.
Physics teacher Mr Hodder insisted on advising his students that “I prefer my boys in short trousers” even when said students were 14 or 15 years of age – now that was a worry.
English teacher Mr Heales would remove his false teeth and ‘clack’ them at students who wouldn’t stop talking – he once inadvertently ‘clacked’ too close to one boys ear and it took several minutes to release the false teeth that had embedded themselves in the students ear lobe…..
……and they were some of my saner teachers.
So, demented teachers aside, prior to the wifey going gaga mental health was someone elses problem.
We have new neighbours. Very nice people too. Their son who is, I believe, about 30 is tuppence short of a shilling – a sandwich short of a picnic – 3 slices short of a loaf of bread – etc et al.
The lady introduced herself to me the other day with the son in attendance.
Lady: “Hello. We’re your new neighbours”
Me: “Hello back. Settling in?”
Son: “My name is Bob”
Me : “Hello Bob”
Lady : “This is our son, Bob”
Son : “My name is Bob”
Me : “Yeah, I got that, Hi Bob”
Son : “My name is Bob”
Me : “Yes Bob. Bob. Got it”
Son : “My name is Bob”
Lady : “I’m sorry. He has the mental age of 4. Sometimes he goes like this”
Me : “Oh”
Son : “My name is Bob”
Lady : “We had to sell our last home. The neighbours accused Bob of all sorts of awful things he wasn’t even capable of doing”
Me : “I’m sorry about that”
Son : “My name is Bob”
Lady : “Bob likes animals, especially cats. Do you like animals?”
At that point I took Bob’s arm and brought him indoors to introduce him to our cats.
Bob : “Like cats. Like you. Like cats”
I seem to have made a friend.
Don’t be afraid of mental illness – unless it’s a school teacher with vicious false teeth.
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We used to have a neighbor named Ed. Everybody new him as Wobbling-head Ed because when he walked, his head would loll from left to right and back again. Ed was no kid. When I knew him a dozen years ago, he was in his fifties, but… well… let’s just say he was young at heart, and leave it at that.
Ed’s pride and glory was that they allowed him to push a broom, for a few hours each day, at the local Cable TV office. I can’t think of a college professor, a surgeon or a lawyer who would beam with the same plume as Ed would, when informing someone of his employment. It was the need. They needed somebody to clean up, and they chose me. I often envied Ed for that. He received what was essentially a charity, but what he saw was a critical necessity. Ed was glad and proud to make a contribution – to serve.
In Ed’s eyes however, I was someone beyond special – because I had a motorcycle. I might just as well have been an astronaut or a jet pilot. I had a motorcycle. So that meant, not only was I the coolest cat on the block, but I was also his best friend.