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SMALL TOWN BY TERRIE W. STARR One of the nicest aspects of growing up in a small town, as an adult, is in knowing practically everyone in town. One of the worst aspects of growing up in a small town, as a child, is that practically everyone in the town knew me. That also meant that practically everyone knew my parents. This known fact meant that I couldn't get away with anything because somebody that knew my family would always be watching me. My parents warned me that no matter what I did, no matter where I was, they would find out about it. Those weren't just idle threats either. It took me far too long to finally realize that they were right. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, if it was wrong, you can bet that before nightfall, our telephone would start ringing with A well-meaning friend of my parents calling to tell on me. Is this what Hilary meant in her book, “It Takes a Village to Raise a Child” ? My villagers sure had their eyes on me. Those same eyes were on me as I grew up, moved away, married and moved back home to start my family. They were still on me when I divorced, enrolled in college and when I developed Parkinson’s disease. One has to take the good with the bad in a small town that knows you. No one in my small hometown had ever seen a young person with Parkinson’s disease. But then, neither had I. If they had, they didn't recognize it because its “look” can be very deceiving. There wasn't anyone to compare me to. There was only “Old Man Dodd”. All who knew him referred to his shaking palsy as “ Saint Vitas Dance”. His movements were erratic and jerky, causing his head to move in peculiar ways and his arms and legs to “dance” out of control. We all knew to get the hell out of his way, and fast, if we saw him driving down the road in his old, black Edsel. He drove much like he walked, with the same kind of “dancing” down the road. He would weave from one side of the road to the other. Often, he would end up either on the sidewalk or in someone’ s bushes. No one knew, at the time, that he and I actually were suffering from the same disease. Until my small town and I became better educated, there would be whispers behind my back – “She is on drugs, I hear”. “Does she have a drinking problem?” and sometimes, not so quietly, “She must be nuts!” It took a while for us all to become educated in the different “faces” of Parkinson’s disease. We fear that which we do not understand. The comfort level, for me, in my hometown, is that everybody knew me “before”. Small town living has its blessings, too. In 1993, I underwent the first of several brain surgeries to alleviate worsening symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. I was on every prayer list in every church in the county. I received hundreds of get well cards from Sunday school classes I never attended and from people I knew only by their family name. The local people couldn't spell or pronounce Pallidotomy nor could they explain the benefits it would provide for me. They cared for me enough to pray for me, though, because I was one of theirs. They cared enough to educate themselves through local newspaper articles written about me and by me. Once they had seen its “face” and could give it a name, Parkinson’s disease, I could return to who I always was behind the mask, ME. I live in a different small town now and have a different name, Terrie Starr. In many ways, it is much like my hometown. I feel the stares and hear the whispers behind my back. At times I feel like an alien. I understand the stares and whispers though... The people in this small town didn't know me “ before”… They know only what they see now. I guess they do not know the many faces of Parkinson’s disease. Maybe I should introduce myself. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- To sign-off Parkinsn send a message to: mailto:[log in to unmask] In the body of the message put: signoff parkinsn