A Ramble About Being
Wicked
Probably my favorite
musical of all I’ve seen is the musical “Wicked”. For those who
don’t know, it’s based on Wicked:
The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by
Gregory Maguire, although it is a much more family friendly version
of the story than the original novel (which is a well written,
extraordinary work of fiction, but is also definitely not for
minors). The storyline centers around Elphaba who would later be
known as “The Wicked Witch of the West” and it recounts her early
life as well as interweaving with events from The
Wizard of Oz.
In
the musical as in the book, Elphaba is born different from everyone
else, and it is revealed in the book that she was assumed to be
sinful and somehow worthless by her parents from a young age only
because she was green. All affection is withheld from her and given
to her sister whom her parents dote on. She is only able to attend
university because her father in particular wants her there to look
after her sister which is wheelchair bound. Throughout her life, she
has demonstrated “unusual” abilities which she has been shamed
into hiding but which come out when she is frustrated or upset. In
the musical, one of these displays on her first day at college brings
her under the wing of Madam Morrible who teaches sorcery and magic.
She is given the hope that she could rise within the system and
eventually serve under the Wizard of Oz himself, thus getting the
approval, recognition, and even affection she had been denied for
most of her life.
Sadly,
it was not to be. Elphaba is a compassionate, sensitive person with
an ethical code. She is horrified when one of her teachers, a talking
animal, regresses into a bestial state. It is her hope upon finally
meeting the Wizard that something can be done in order to reverse the
regression of not only her professor but all the animals who have
become mere beasts, and the discrimination rising against them. She
comes to learn that the man she had put all her hopes on, the man she
idolized, was the one actively responsible for the abuse and caging
of the animals, including her dear friend.
In
shock and anger, she turns away from the Wizard and when she runs,
she is labeled “Wicked” by him and his government as an enemy of
the state. In that moment plays the song which has come to represent
the play, “Gravity”, where Elphaba declares “If anyone cares to
find me, look to the western skies! As someone told me lately,
everyone deserves a chance to fly! And nobody in all of Oz, no Wizard
that there is or was, is ever going to bring me down!” It is her
moment of self realization, and her understanding that in truth,
while the Wizard had no magic and no miracles of his own, she had a
rare and undeniable power within herself her entire life and now she
was going to act on it.
Several
weeks ago, I was listening to “Gravity” on the way home from
class. The song had always resonated with me, and I was never
entirely sure as to why. But as I was listening to it, and dwelling
on a conversation my wife and I had earlier in the day, it hit me.
I
was Elphaba. And I was still trying to prove to myself and those
rejecting and disapproving authorities in my life that I wasn’t
“Wicked.”
Like
the Wicked Witch of the West, I too was born different. I was born
with Autistic Spectrum Disorder. At the time in the late seventies,
eighties, and early nineties no one, however, recognized my behavior
and presentations as being autistic because the only version of
autism which was recognized by the American psychiatric community
(until
1994) at
the time was classical, hand flapping, non-verbal autism. On
top of this, my parents went through a divorce in the early eighties
and I grew up without any kind of a stable father figure.
With
my resulting behaviors, I was quickly labeled “the bad kid” for
most of my childhood, and somewhat into my college years. No one knew
what to do with me, or how to “control” me. I could not relate
normally to virtually anyone, and in my frustrations I would often
lash out violently towards either other kids or adults. Thing is, I
didn’t want to be that way, especially as I came to understand that
I was
different as I grew older. I didn’t want to be the bad kid, but
everything I did to try and be “normal” and “social” kept
backfiring on me. I still remember when one after school daycare
worker, after my mother had come to pick me up, responded to her “who
would want him?”
This
led to a period in late junior high and early high school where I was
most at peace when I was at home by myself without having to deal
with anyone else. I was absorbed into my own fantasy worlds where I
felt “safe” without having to deal with the condemnation and
rejection of other people.
But
starting in High School, after God and I came to an understanding of
our mutual relationship, I began to try to do everything “right.”
I went to church every time the doors were opened, I started paying
attention to, and passing my classes. I wanted to go into the full
time ministry as either a pastor or a missionary.
I
realized that night as I was driving home in my van, that a huge,
subconscious motivator for most of my adult life had been trying to
prove that I wasn’t “the bad kid” anymore. But no matter how
hard I tried, no matter how much I tried to “toe the line” with
my church, and later with the schools I attended, somehow I always
ran afoul of those authorities in my life from whom I was seeking
approval. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop being
“Wicked” in their eyes.
I
continued to seek after truth. Perhaps this is what got me into
trouble the most. Being autistic, I didn’t want to be wrong or on
the wrong side. So I continued to study, and when I was painfully
rejected by one group, I subconsciously sought acceptance by another.
I kept studying and studying and studying. And with whichever group I
fell under, I rigorously sought to defend and uphold their doctrines
and policies, even if they caused pain to either myself or someone I
loved. I was trying desperately to not be “Wicked.”
But
none of it made any difference to
whether or not those people I had sought approval from gave it. They
did not, but instead kept themselves and their approval apart from me
as though I was a project that still needed guidance at best.
I
realized in the van that night that this subconscious need to be
legitimized by some “gatekeeper”, by some father figure perhaps,
was what was keeping me from reaching the “Gravity” moment
without guilt. And every time I share my conclusions from my studies
and reflections, when they differ from the various “party lines”
I had been taught to keep to, somewhere in the back of my mind are
the voices of those men whose approval and affection I sought
shouting at me, as with Elphaba, “Wicked!”
And
I still don’t want to be.
The
truth is that I’m not entirely sure where to go from here into the
rest of my life. I think it a good thing that I have come to
recognize this within myself, but what the fruit of it will be I
don’t know. I suppose only time will tell. I only write this now,
because I believe that there are others out there like myself who
have someone screaming at them “Wicked!” in the backs of their
minds. It often demands that we give one of two responses. We either
fall in line with the disapproving voices, or we rebel wholeheartedly
against them, as Elphaba did. I’m not sure that either is really
the appropriate choice.
I
think maybe a third option exists. Maybe we reject the “Wicked”
label, but instead of being in open rebellion we see the ignorance,
arrogance, and pride of the people behind those voices for what it
is. To
see that, in reality, the hold they still have over us only really
exists within our own minds. And like the elephant tied to the stake
in the ground by a mere rope, learn that we too can leave our bondage
any time we wish.
