Metalepsis (me-ta-lep’-sis): Reference to something by means of another thing that is remotely related to it, either through a farfetched causal relationship, or through an implied intermediate substitution of terms. Often used for comic effect through its preposterous exaggeration. A metonymical substitution of one word for another which is itself figurative.
“Hey, snow tire face.” There it was! I could not escape the moniker. I was famous as the “boy who was run over by a snow plow.” It was December, 1967. I had hollowed out a snowbank by the side of my street. It was my snow fort when I was ringed by snowball-throwing friends. It was sturdy. I had dumped buckets of water on it that froze, giving it a shell of ice. I called it Ft. Frosty.
I even went out in Ft. Frosty at night. I lit a candle and pretended I was an Eskimo—Nanuck—who we learned about in geography class. I asked our butcher when he was getting some blubber and he would laugh at me and throw me a slice of boiled ham.
So, one night I was out in Fort Frosty listening to Cousin Brucy on my little transistor radio. I was bobbing my head to “Leader of the Pack” when suddenly I heard roaring and saw flashing lights. I had an idea of what it was. It had been snowing all day and in addition to the roaring, I could hear metal scraping the street. “It’s a friggin’ snowplow!” I yelled “And it’s coming right at Frosty Fort. I’m gonna’ die!” I broke my head through the roof of Frosty Fort and started yelling at the snowplow. The driver heard me and veered away just in time, but not far enough. The metal plow blade missed me. Not so for the rest of the plow. It ran over my head and flattened it, leaving the imprint of one of the plow’s snow tires on my face.
I am a miracle modern medicine. I am grateful to be alive, but I’m one of the greatest oddities in the world. I travel around displaying my flat head and the snow-tire track on my face. I sell t-shirts and sell tickets to make a living. Last week, I was in Japan and was offered a role in an upcoming Godzilla movie. My head gets stepped on by Godzilla as he rampages through Tokyo. Then, we make friends and I ride on Godzilla suggesting things for him to destroy. I am like Godzilla’s mentor. We start production in July. I looking forward to it!
In the meantime, I just finished my tour of Canada. The Canadians are very polite. For example.one Canadian psychologist offered me 100 counseling sessions for free to help me cope with my flat head. That’s kindness! Also, a Canadian Mountie pushed me around in a wheelchair the whole time I was in Toronto. I told him I didn’t need it and told me not to “fret.” I almost cried. Canada is so different from the United States where they taunt me with “Snow Tire Face” and “Pancake Head.” These kinds of names are very hurtful—they remind me of the two permanent tragedies of my life. A plastic surgeon has told me he can re-spherisize my head and remove the tire tracks from my face. But, if I did that, I’d lose my livelihood.
I’m thinking of moving to Canada where I feel almost normal.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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