The foolish part of me pretends that he forgot. Three years ago Benjamin was hospitalized for his tumultuous outbursts. It was Christmas Eve, and the pain of slamming the door just as his siblings were arriving to celebrate was acute.
But recently John noticed a Google review by Ben of that facility.
"This place was like the Pit of Despair from Princess Bride.
Lady felt like that when she got taken to the pound.
For those of you who rated this place 1 star, I agree
because this place was a nightmare. Friendly dogs feel like this when they're at the pound."
His empathy runs deep. Ben understands the suffering of animals behind bars. Dumbo is another character he connects with.
I am someone who can run dry of compassion for actual humans... like the tidal wave of refugees in the news, or the Southerners whose homes are drenched in swamp water. But Benjamin feels the feels of furry creatures who only exist on the screen. When I watched the series Call the Midwife, I had to abruptly mute the sound every time a baby was born. He cannot bear the crying.
It is all made more mysterious by the fact that Benjamin rarely weeps. Rage comes seamlessly, as does singing. Praying, even, is in his tool box. And humor.
"Where are the Great Plains?"
"I don't know, Ben."
"In the Great Airports."
By the tenth time his audience broke into peals of laughter he admitted something.
"Sadly, I don't know what it means." We explained the homophone, and the landscape of Kansas.
There is a wide expanse of circumstances about Benjamin that I cannot comprehend. But other things are plain.
I am grateful.
