Lucky Man: A Memoir

by Michael J. Fox

But in any subject that was based on fixed rules, like math or chemistry and physics, my grades tanked. I can remember the exasperated look on my mother's face at report card time as I'd try to explain this to her. “These are absolutes, Mom. They're boring. Take math, two plus two equals four, I mean, that's already on the books, right? Somebody's already nailed that down. So what do they need me for?” Mom would sigh and make sure to sign the report card before Dad got home from work.

I distinctly remember one person writing, “I went to the market this morning and the cashier asked me why my hand was shaking. I told her it was Parkinson's, and she was really interested. ‘Oh, just like Michael J. Fox.’ For the first time in years, I didn't feel embarrassed.”

The prospect of being considered bizarre, a freak, or an object of pity is enough to keep someone in the closet.

At one time or another, during times of personal struggle or loss, we've all heard people tell us they would “pray for us.” Just an expression, I'd always thought, until I felt the power of that sentiment when it is offered, and meant, by tens of thousands of people. The feeling is overwhelming; I have no doubt that being on the receiving end of so much spiritual energy has gone a long way to sustain me over the last couple of years. I no longer underestimate the power of prayer.

If stem cell research succeeds, there isn't a person in the country who won't benefit, or know somebody who will.