The Magic Trick That Changed My Life With Parkinson’s

My younger son is a magician. I know what you’re thinking, but it really wasn’t cringe-inducing: He never wore a top hat or called himself “The Great O’Connellini” or something. He wasn’t interested in the trappings of magic as much as the surprise.

When he was growing up, he loved to make cards disappear and reappear across the room, mostly for classmates and relatives. He used to practice making coins vanish in front of the full-length mirror in the hall outside his bedroom. His mom and I would hear coins hitting the floor, signaling a mistake, and we’d smile in amused sympathy. Inevitably he’d try it again until the sound of coins dropping to the floor became only a memory.

One day, when he was about 10, we were sitting in a local Irish pub having lunch when we noticed a neighbor at a table across the room. We had been to the man’s house for Cub Scout meetings and his big, cheerful St. Patrick’s Day family parties. He was always very gracious to me, maybe in part because he knew I had Parkinson’s disease.

I’d had it a little over five years. I felt pretty good that afternoon, but it was becoming difficult to hide the symptoms, such as my trembling hands, stiff gait and occasional difficulty speaking.

Of the three Parkinson’s patients I’d befriended, two had more aggressive forms of the disease and the other was dead of cancer, so I considered myself among the luckiest of the damned. Parkinson’s is currently incurable and progressive, so the outlook was grim. I constantly worried that, as my health deteriorated, I would go from being a steady earner to a drain on my family’s finances. This disease could leave me crippled and my family impoverished.

In the pub, I was trying hard not to think about my condition when my son asked if he could show our neighbor a trick. Although the situation seemed fraught with the potential for embarrassment, I couldn’t come up with a solid reason to object. So he ran to the table where my neighbor sat with a man I didn’t know. I watched from about 30 feet away as my son explained that he wanted to show them a card trick. The men exchanged knowing glances and prepared to act surprised no matter how amateur the performance. They must have thought they got what they were expecting when my son fumbled the cards and asked to start again.

But they’d been set up! Suddenly my son reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the card they had picked. First they stared in wonder, then they exploded in laughter and surprise, slapping each other on the back and clacking their beer mugs together until foam ran over the sides.

Jim O’Connell and son William practice a card trick.

Courtesy the O'Connell Family

In that moment, I realized something important. I understood that if my son could charge into life with enough confidence and savvy to easily impress men old enough to be his father, then my fight against Parkinson’s disease would not derail his own life. I knew — for the first time — that come what may, my family would be OK.

 AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.