The first time I realized I was smarter than my parents, I was eight years old and I was watching “The Hunt for the Red October.” It was new on VHS, and the entire family had gathered in the backroom of the house where we kept that miraculous and expensive device known as the VCR. Knowing a family gathering was a rare event, I hurriedly turned off the lights, slid the pocket door shut, and waited for the previews to start. I took position on the thick brown carpet, with my chin resting on my hands, as the rest of the family filled the couch. I liked the feeling that we were doing something together.
Almost immediately the questions started. “What’s going on?” my mother asked from under her blanket. Bryan and Rachel sat to either of her sides, while my father sat by himself in the recliner, muttering about how he would much rather be sleeping. At that point in my life most of conversations with my father began and ended with him telling me how many hours of sleep he had had in the past few days between shifts at the mill… which was usually followed by an angry dismissal.
“Nothing yet. The movie hasn’t started.” I said. My mother grumbled something, so I got up and fast forwarded through the previews. I didn’t want anyone to make an excuse to leave.
“I still don’t get it. What just happened?” My mother asked again.
“Nothing. The movie’s just starting.” This seemed to please her.
Numerous questions ensued during the course of the film. “What’s Alec Baldwin doing?” This was not unusual. I was in the habit of walking everyone through the narrative of whatever movie we were watching.
“His name is Jack Ryan. He’s trying to figure out what the submarine commander is doing.” I replied.
“Well why don’t they know what he’s doing?” she asked.
I explained.
“Are Scottish people communists?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Sean Connery isn’t even Scottish in this movie.”
“Well I don’t know about that.” My mother pursed her lips and leaned back, not trusting her mental picture of what the movie was actually about.
Her words made me pause, doubting myself, and I decided I would agree with whatever either of my parents suggested for the rest of the movie. I did not leave home often, except to go to school, and my parents, by virtue of being my parents, were much older than I. They had the experience. If they felt that Scottish people were communists, and that Sean Connery was playing a Scottish communist captain of a submarine, then who was I to argue? I was only eight years old. Only this decision wasn’t as firm as it had been in the past. Something was wrong.
School was what was wrong. Before I started going to school I had never doubted anything my parents said as anything other than the absolute immutable truth.
I had only been at elementary school for a few years, and while I knew that I was different than most of the children, I was beginning to understand that different didn’t mean dumb. Oh, I was clueless in some areas. More than clueless. After two years, I still I didn’t get along well with anyone. There were people I talked to, but were there people I hung out with for no reason? No. But that wasn’t because I was dumb.
For one thing, I never had any homework. My teachers kept having to find things for me to do. Mrs. Hunter had seemed genuinely frustrated when I had gone through all the available work books before the end of the term. While other students were allowed to do group work with whomever they chose, I was saddled with the slow children to help prod them along. And I was still finishing everything faster than everyone else. For another thing, I almost never had to hear an entire explanation before I could piece together what was being asked of me. I was often finished with my work before any of my classmates even started.
I was beginning to sense that the reason I was so often in disagreement with my parents wasn’t because I was dumb. There was another possibility. Something no child of eight wants to accept.
“Haha, yeah right!” My father shouted. “More like they’re going to let everyone know he’s a traitor. Stupid Ruskies!” We were now at the climax of the “The Hunt for the Red October” wherein Sean Connery was doing his best to fool his crew into abandoning the submarine. Tim Curry, a Russian submarine officer who had fallen for the trick, had just suggested that Sean Connery was going to be bestowed with the “Order of Lenin.” It was to this my father was objecting.
“They can’t do that, dad. Even if they figured out he betrayed them….” I squeezed my eyes shut as I focused. “That would… that would mean the Russians would have to go to war with America.”
“So?” My dad asked.
I did not respond. It had finally occurred to me. My epiphany I had finally arrived. Why was I so often in disagreement with my parents?
“Because they don’t know what’s going on.” I murmured.
The implication was enormous. Bigger than any issue involving a stolen super advanced submarine. If I was better at figuring out what was going on around me than my parents… didn’t that mean I was the adult and they were the children? To be eight years old and realize that you are the most culpable person in your life, is terrifying. I felt the weight of the entire world on my shoulders. It didn’t end with the movie.
It was a feeling of dread that would return again and again. When my father insisted that Kevin Costner’s post-apocalyptic film “The Postman” took place during the American Civil War under President Starky. When my mother accused an elephant painting a picture of an elephant of having no intelligence but rather painting solely because it was bribed to appear intelligent. When my father “negotiated” for a time-share in Mexico, and was basically raped by the sales rep before my fourteen year old eyes. When my mother thought my sixteen year old self should replace the mall Santa that had failed to show up for work.
If I had had the words I would have screamed “Oh shit!” and passed out on the thick brown carpeting.
Instead, I got up, rewound the movie, and prepared myself for a world wherein anything was possible.
