I stick out my chin when I'm angry. Wrinkle my nose when I'm not convinced. I'm told laser beams shoot out of my eyes, or something like that, when I'm outraged or at least supremely annoyed. I've tried to catch a glimpse of myself doing this, as it seems to garner an effective response when employed, but the habit is entirely reflexive, not prone to re-enactment or pretend.
Mind you, I'm not particularly fond of the existence of any of these attributes. My desire is to be so slow to anger that my chin would merely dimple upon exertion. That I would be so ready to believe that my nose would remain perfectly alligned. And it would seem patience would damper the aforementioned laser beam device. Partially, this is a growth problem for me. I think, though, that genetics may also play a role.
My family, in particular the "Runion" side, is known for its... passion. My husband, having sadly been the target of a couple of flying shoes, might label the emotional tendencies differently. And although this "passion" can be problematic in personal relations, (well, okay, in ANY type of relating), I've found it can be very effective when facing a non-human opponent, such as a supposed "insurmountable task" or, more recently in the Runion side of life, cancer.
Today, my uncle, Mark, is having a gamma knife procedure on fifteen cancerous lesions on his brain. Again. He underwent the procedure, which involves having a helmet literally screwed into his skull while laying wide awake and motionless for four to seven hours as the surgeons zap away at his brain, just before Christmas also. He has endured two knee replacements, lifetime doses of chemo and radiation, a steel rod inserted into his leg to strengthen a broken hip, jaw surgery, pneumonia, and, oh, a stroke, over the course of the past four years after discovering he had lung cancer. He's fifty-four. And he's a little put out over it all. You might even call him cranky. He'd be REALLY ticked if he knew I was writing about him.
I can't help myself. He's always been special to me. He started (and maintained, much to my mother's chagrin) my first record collection, consisting of REO Speedwagon, Kiss, Donna Summers, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band. He brought me a trophy when I won my first accordian contest that said, "Anything boys can do, girls can do better."
He always smelled good.
I thought he and his friends were the lost tribe of Fonzi's crew, or at least the seventies version of the Outsiders. They were cool, tough, and always ready to give my uncle's little niece a push on the swing in the apple tree.
I can not remember a dinner at my grandma's (and there were LOTS) where his... tempestous energy wasn't used to mash a giant pot of potatoes, where he didn't bump his head on the low ceiling on his way to the table, where he didn't finish off a gallon of milk (left sitting out on the floor by his chair), where he didn't pick a fight with my Uncle Norm, where he didn't kiss my grandma and tell her thanks for dinner when he finished.
He would tell anyone off in a heartbeat, if they deserved it, if he mistakenly thought they did, if he was just in a foul mood and THOUGHT they SHOULD deserve it... He would, all choked up, apologize from the bottom of his flip-flopped feet later, but only if they truly deserved it.
His grin is infectuos. White teeth and neatly trimmed mustache in place for as long as I can remember. His moustache is white now too, although the rest of his hair is gone. He is still smiling.
And, did I mention, cranky?
But you want to know a secret? Sometimes, when the heart is breaking, and the will is tired, and the strength is just about all used up, all you can do is stick out your chin, and wrinkle your nose, and blast some dumb cancerous thing to pieces. And not everyone will understand, and probably no one will give you a trophy, and you just might not be as grown up acting as somebody might think you should be, but you just, you just might make it because of that.
A picture message came through on my cell phone as I was writing this post. It's Uncle Mark, fitted in his Darth Vaderish gamma knife bug zapper cap. Guess what? He's smiling. I think I see him sticking out his chin.