It's a Dad's Life / Adam Brophy:Is there anything more emotive than the image of a sick child? In 1984 news footage of malnourished Ethiopian babies with bloated bellies too tired to brush flies from their faces drove a musician to despair and then to action.
From that came one of the most recognisable Christmas No 1 hits of all time and a series of global concerts spanning 20 years, all attempting to end world poverty. All spawned by the sight of sick children.
Is there anything more antagonising or enraging than the abuse of children? Physical, mental or sexual torture of minds and bodies not yet fully formed arouses a fury in us that relates to all our memories of childhood, a time when we are not in control of our circumstances, a time when we are reliant on others for survival. A time when we can be wounded more deeply than any other.
We were all hurt as children, to varying degrees. It might even be fair to say that the scars of our youth influence our current states in far greater ways than the love we received or the joys we shared. Sadness and pain for some reason colour the human experience at a deeper level than the high points ever could. Most of us have to remind ourselves to smile, whereas we have no problems being miserable.
Just think of Monday mornings. Where did we learn to be this way? Physically, I have had no adult experiences of pain to compare with those as a child.
In my pre-teen years I was hospitalised on a handful of occasions due to asthma attacks. I can remember gasping for breath, not knowing if I could fill my lungs and wondering why my parents couldn't help, why these all-powerful beings couldn't stop the pain until we reached the emergency room and someone stuck an oxygen mask on my face.
Fortunately, only one of my kids has ever spent a night in hospital. It brought back the horror of illness taking control away from the members of the family. That time, I was the powerless one as my child screamed for relief and I had to run for help. The pain passed for her and relief came to all of us.
In the hospital with the Elder, we stayed by her side and she improved rapidly. All around us were parents who weren't in it for the short haul, they were there for the foreseeable future.
As my own anxiety eased, I experienced, first of all, gratitude and then a feeling of guilt as I realised my child was, thankfully, only a visitor in a place that many kids called home. There is nowhere like a children's ward to reinforce the suspicion that the world isn't fair.
Last year, I ran the Dublin marathon, which went some way towards reminding me of the true heights of pure pain. When I run long distances I feel closer to the environment I live in than on any other occasion.
There is simply you and the elements, one pushing against the other to the limit of your personal ability. There is no paraphernalia involved and no team-mates to lay the blame at for poor performance. It leaves you raw but aware of yourself in more ways than just physically. It can be lonely but exhilarating; the agony can become ecstasy.
This year, I have signed up to run the New York marathon and figured I would try to raise money for something that seemed pertinent to the pain that will involve. I am running for the Children's Medical and Research Foundation in Crumlin Hospital. If any of you would like to support me, please don't hesitate to contact me at the e-mail below.
