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Colin Brady '10 envies most of his fellow Brown students. He watches them go about their days without the sorts of worries he has come to accept as unavoidable, and he wishes he could join them in a life that must be infinitely easier than the one he has been fated to lead. The sad reality, however, is that Brady is not like other students. Ever since a horrific "craftastrophe" in the fourth grade, Brady has led a life chiefly characterized by emotional trauma and glitter.
Despite the incredible pain it brings him to relive the incident, Brady tells his story to prevent others from suffering the same fate. He works hard to maintain a cool demeanor, but deep-seated insecurities about the glitter that speckles his hairline are evident in his broad smile, outgoing personality, and forced confusion about the subject of our interview.
The bravery with which he downplays such a crippling disability is profoundly heartwarming. However, Brady's description of the incident, which has been described by me as a "glitterocity" and, also by me, as "the glitterocalypse" in my recent book Arts and Crafts in a Post-Cold War Era, is gut-wrenching and painful to listen to.
"Kelly Parkinson [Vanderbilt '10], who sat across from me in Ms. Morrow's art class, sneezed and blew a combination of snot, glue, and glitter all in my face. It was embarrassing then, and I couldn't get the glitter off for a while, but I'm really, really over it."
Brady's assurance that he suffers no detrimental residual effects is surely a calculated attempt to spare his loved ones the misery that knowing he suffers would surely bring. The readers of my book will surely recognize this brave decision to bear his burden alone as a testament to
Brady's strength of character.
Brady declined to comment on my allegation that his mother has been unable to look at him without crying since the incident. He also neither confirmed nor denied claims that his father won't speak with him, as sources suggest that the elder Brady refuses to believe that the craftastrophe was an accident. He allegedly insists that his son is "a fruit cake" and that the glitter is either an elaborate gay-outing ritual or "part of one of those queer costume parties."
Brady's only reply to the charges against his father was to say that "he is a great man, and we are very close [despite any differences my father and I may have]."
"It really wasn't a big deal at all," a frustrated Brady finally shouted at this reporter, "and I'm sort of offended by your proposal to add glitter to the handicap signs all over campus. No, I don't think that's politically correct."
The tough front Brady puts up belies the emotional baggage he carries with him as a result of the craftastrophe.
