Yesterday I wrote a post on sulking. A friend wrote to say that I left out the down side of sulkers, that they often emerge from their tents in states of rage, prone to violence. The example is Achilles, who of course I mentioned. I also referenced Nixon, who, of course compiled an “enemies list” and adopted policies which lead directly to the wholesale slaughter of innocent people in Southeast Asia. It’s fair to say my poetic rumination on sulking was insufficient to the subject. My pal was correct.
My point, such as it is, is that disabled people are routinely disparaged; that we often must leave the room to repair our wits; that we return again, often wounded but renewed by virtue of patience and righteousness—for what else can I call it—the belief in personal and collective victory? Sulking can be a stage in the nautilus of growing. Or, it’s just Nixon.
I’ve made jokes about Nixon all my days. And in case you haven’t seen it, here I am, “live” at Prairie Lights Books in Iowa City, doing my patented imitation of the Kennedy-Nixon debate.
Sulk on, my friends, and then pack up your tents.