Growing up in the 1970s, GenXers watched a lot of television. Happy Days. The Brady Bunch. But The Banana Splits variety hour, starring Jan-Michael Vincent in a subset show, Danger Island? That’s the one I couldn’t wait to get home from school for. Years later, I’d watch him pilot Airwolf as Stringfellow Hawk, knowing I recognized him, but couldn’t place him. Then there was Little House on the Prairie. Laverne and Shirley. Good Times. The Jeffersons. And Star Trek. Land of the Lost and other Sid and Marty Krofft trippy television, throwbacks to 1960s psychedelia. Like H.R. Puff-n-Stuff and Sigmund and the Seamonsters or Dr. Shrinker. But Star Trek and Land of the Lost? Those shows left me with nightmares, especially of the Sleestaks, because the floor heater vents sounded like them. We watched movies too. My very first PG movie was Smokey and the Bandit, full of cursing and some sexual innuendo that went right over my head. Until I was older. We didn’t have a Betamax or a VHS yet. No, we had DiscoVision, a massive LP-sized digital disc that we were fortunate enough to get our hands on. At a price tag of $750 for the player, I wondered, years later, what Dad traded to get it. Then came Star Wars, and it all changed. But until then? It was just enough.

The Princess Bride gave us so much more of everything we thought we wanted. Chases. Sword fights. Escapes. A fire swamp. Rodents of unusual size. True love. Miracles. We watched Inigo pursue revenge, Westley outwit Prince Humperdinck, and Buttercup wait to be rescued. That’s probably why we fell in love with Rob Reiner’s adaptation of William Goldman’s novel. GenXers wanted a rescue.

We thought we knew the story. But did we?

It’s all about the grandfather who loves his sick grandson. He loves him enough to sit down beside him and read out loud. The same book that his own father read to him. Three generations. All wrapped up inside one story. When does it get good? Did we miss it?

We do this with people, too. Miss the real love story.

How often are we watching stories unfold right in front of us and missing the performance? Too busy waiting for the exciting part, we miss the action. Instead of living in the moment, we do like Prince Humperdinck does. Skip to the end. Wait for it to get interesting before we pay attention.

And that’s when we miss it.

Someone is hurting, and we’re watching their surface. Their performance for the world. I’m fine. Everything is okay. We’re waiting for alarm bells, a Bat signal we can’t ignore. One that’s obvious enough to justify stepping in. Until then, we won’t.

So what happens when you are the one being abused at home and then come to school looking for a reprieve, but instead get more of the same? What does that look like from the outside? Does anyone stop to notice? Or is it so unobtrusive, so invisible, so below the surface that unless someone really knows you, they’d never see it?

Looking back through candid school pictures, I came across a slide, yes, an actual slide, from my 8th-grade graduation. I was wearing a suit and tie. The rest of my classmates were excited and happy, smiling and enjoying the moment. I was not. In the picture, it is painfully obvious that I am not having a good time. I wasn’t smiling. I wasn’t in a good mood, even though I got a new Bible with my name embossed on the cover: Joseph Melville Class, III. My eyes. That’s what I can’t forget in that picture. The look of utter hopelessness in my eyes and expression. I’m holding up a massive graduation card that my friend, Tracy Videtto, needed help holding. So I offered to hold up the other end. She’s smiling, excited to move into high school. Me? I look sad and frustrated. Why? I was tired of being beaten up. Tired of Beverly telling me what a horrible person I was. Tired of getting teased and bullied at school. If I wasn’t getting it at home, I’d get it at school. I wondered why no one intervened or thought to ask me if I was okay. I wonder if they did, and I couldn’t hear them, drowned out by Beverly’s voice.

Today I know what that kid looks like. I know what an adult who feels abused, neglected, and ignored looks like.

I survived it.

Today, when I hear Beverly’s voice coming out of someone else’s mouth? That’s my cue. Time to move on. I walk away. If someone chooses to have a relationship with me and wants to talk things out, I’ll stop and ask questions. I’m not asking to solve problems. I’m asking to engage, to let you know I’m listening. What’s going on? What’s wrong? And if the person matters to you? You’ll ask.

We almost missed the grandfather in The Princess Bride.

Don’t miss the person in front of you.

Who in your life is holding up the other end of the card, right now?