D J Rout

When I was 10 years old, before a measles vaccination had been developed, the adults knew an epidemic was coming, and sure enough, I got sick, very sick.

Among my many bad memories of measles was waking up one night in a pool of vomit while hallucinating from a high fever. I remember my mother coming to clean me up, and as she cleaned up the bed, I sat on a bench in the corner of my room.

While I waited, Snagglepuss, a cartoon character I liked, a pink lion, came to sit and talk with me. He was comforting, calming, even a little funny, and he genuinely made me feel better and feel safe.

A few days later, as I thought about it, I appreciated Snagglepuss talking so soothingly to me when I really needed comfort, but the whole thing was obviously a hallucination. (I had other, very unpleasant hallucinations that night, too.) What puzzled me was the way I had imagined his personality, very unlike the TV persona. Normally he was a smart-aleck, even.

Much, much later, I realized that yes, I had been hallucinating, but not the way I thought. Through my mental haze, I hadn’t recognized the kind person providing such gentle, loving care, but in retrospect I could distinctly identify his personality. He had been my father.