Not Adoring Dory

          Let me begin by saying that I love animated movies.  I know, St. Bob and I are sitting there in a theater full of little kids, but I don’t care because I’m sort of a little kid, myself.  I loved the recent Jungle Book, Zootopia, and look forward to each new batch of cleverly animated shows, sweeping us through the forest or the ocean, impossibly realistic and often surprisingly tender.

          But as I sat watching Disney’s Finding Dory recently, I felt uncomfortable.  I even caught myself scowling.  And then I realized why.  It wasn’t because this was some inferior product, or a boring story.  It’s because this is a movie about ME! 

          Sure, Dory calls it a “short-term memory problem,” but anyone watching who has to chant a jingle to remember the three things they need in the supermarket, can see this is a euphemism for ADD. 

          In Dory’s world, it isn’t “Oh look—a squirrel,” it’s “Oh look—a sting ray” but the upshot is the same. And she has to follow shells to find her way home just as I have to memorize what letter of the store sign I am parked beneath, to find my car again.

          Dory cannot remember a long string of directions, and I share her pain.  I compensate by writing everything down, even my daily schedule.  But poor Dory is a fish and lacks not only opposable thumbs, but any fingers at all, much less a pen and paper.

           What were we talking about?  Oh, yeah.  Dory.         
           Over and over I watched Dory suffer through her disability as everyone else swam by, which is exactly how I feel in dozens of everyday settings.  Seeing it on the big screen was amusing for everyone there with a normal brain, but I wonder what the ADD people thought.  There had to be others there with this condition.  Or, maybe they’re like me, and were able to walk out and say, “Hey, popcorn and candy!” 

          I guess there are certain compensations.

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