He said focus. The word focus. I hear angels singing. Everything goes dark except for a light that beams down on Sean. It is a God-given sign- like when people see the Virgin Mary in their grilled cheese, except this isnât religious and Iâm actually not a big fan of dairy. I stare at the back of his head. His HEAD. Something I see every day but never really see because itâs been there forever. Since the first day of third grade.
I crumple up my web. I donât need it. Praise be, the Focus Gods have spoken.
I am going to write about Sean Griswoldâs Head.
According to her guidance counselor, fifteen-year-old Payton Gritas needs a focus object-an item to concentrate her emotions on. Itâs supposed to be something inanimate, but Payton decides to use the thing she stares at during class: Sean Griswoldâs head.
In the first few pages of Lindsey Leavittâs Sean Griswolds Head, I found myself thinking this was too young and immature for me, but it wasnât long before I was hooked into a story that has fold upon fold of serious and not-so-serious issues.
Payton, whose point of view the story is from, is a young high school girl who excels at everything she does. Thereâs nothing she doesnât do or handle well until she stumbles upon her mother giving her father an injection which they clarify isnât for recreational purposesâher father has MS.
They just change. Their body changes. Their abilities - the things they do that make them who they are - leave, sometimes temporarily, sometimes forever. Every day they wake up with that big what if?
And nothing is scarier than a life filled with what ifs - living by day without predictability and control. Some people end up losing feeling. Some have uncontrollable spasms. Some canât function. Some end up blind or in a wheelchair. Some end up bedridden and paralyzed.
Itâs hard to know who âsome peopleâ will be.
