Homer, is that You?

Years ago when I was employed by a local independent living center, the center often used , what was called then, VISTA’s VISTA’s were “employees paid for by the Federal government. VISTA was established in the Johnson Administration under the Economic Opportunity Act in 1964 in his "War on Poverty" legislation. VISTA allowed rich college graduate kids to ‘roll up their sleeves’ and help America become better. These little liberals were dispatched like poverty storm troupers to the hills of Appalachia, lettuce fields of California and the sugar beet harvests of Idaho. In Utah many private non-profit agencies started realizing they could serve more consumers without cutting into the private non profits bottom line. It was this unique employment relationship which brought Ms Yung Moon to the independent living center where I worked in fact to the very office next to mine.

Ms Moon was actually from Korea, a 27 year old polio survivor, brought to America to study, she got her post graduate degrees and stayed in the “Great Society” of wonder drugs, rock and roll, disability rights and fashion. She was a hip Korean cool tool armed with Candian crutches and lower leg braces and a 1985 Honda CRX . She could not find work in her profession and ended up working in VISTA In the quasi professional setting of the independent living movement. Ms Moon was very “old country”. I would see her each morning and she would greet me as Mr Smith and I would respond by greeting her as Ms Moon. In the two years I knew her that is all we ever addressed each other by. This period of time was also the first time in my life I started to relize I wa slipping over to the “advanced age” bracket. I did not feel older and I did not feel I necessarily looked older but I could tell my the treatment I got from Ms Moon that she definitely regarded me as her senior.

I often tried to bridge this age gap we seemed to share but never seemed to happen. She always treated me with formal decorum reserved for the verneated seniors of her country. I was concerned one day, however, when she would look at me and then hide her face and burst out laughing. This happened all day finally I could not stand what felt like humiliation anylonger I demanded “wants wrong Ms moon why are you laughing at me?” and once again Ms Moon, hid her face and replied “Oh Mr. Smith I cannot help it…but every time I look at you, you look just like Homer Simpson.

Homer Simpson! I was crushed. I would never have thought of such a thing—in fact this is something I would have most likely compared someone else too but not me. I could not believe she could be so cruel. I rolled to the bathroom an gazed into the mirror and had to accept the truth of m moon’s statement. There indeed was a resemblance to the great Fox bumbler. The sooner I could accept this the sooner I could get on with my life. The photo bears it all—I could be Homer.