Dear Boo and Bubble,
It seems that so much of our societal dialogue these
days focuses on differences—race, gender, religion, political persuasion, orientations. Rather than seeing
these differences as fascinating and opportunities to learn, they tend to
become barriers to our abilities to know and understand each other. Quite
frankly, it takes a lot of work…sometimes uncomfortable work…to get to know
someone who’s different from you. Our tendency is to hide behind the curtain of
comfort that homogeny provides. We feel safe and secure surrounded by familiar
environs, but I would proffer from my own life’s experience that your world
broadens, and you gain strength of character by diving into the waters of the
unfamiliar.
I understand that so much of our hesitancy rests on
the flimsy superficial excuse of the visual. It could be the color of skin or the
not so pretty face or perhaps someone’s weight that deters us from going further or digging deeper. Think
of Christmas presents under a tree, all deliciously wrapped in elegant shiny
paper with huge, festive bows…but for one exception which is haphazardly
swathed in newspaper, barely taped together. In the mad scramble to get things
open, I would imagine this less attractive present with no outward appeal would be
the last. Curiosity might serve as its only salvation. What a surprise, however, when
its contents prove to be the most interesting gift of all—something with a
value lasting longer than only into the afternoon of Christmas Day. How sad it
would be to have never opened it, letting its difference be the barrier.
This reminds me of an experience Captain and I had several
years ago when I was writing articles for Carolina Mountain Life Magazine, a
local publication that covers the goings on in our area. My assignment (with
Captain being my photographer) was to interview a man who had been burned over
95% of his body when the Louisiana oil rig on which he worked blew up.
Miraculously, he survived not only the initial incident but the aftermath of operations
and skin grafts that followed. He had moved to the mountains because his body
no longer had any sweat glands, and he needed a climate with lower temperatures
and humidity in which to live.
Even with the foreknowledge of his circumstance, it
was very difficult seeing him for the first time. Because of the grafting, his
skin had no flexibility and wrapped around his face and arms like taut cellophane.
He had no nose, just nostrils…and his eyes were only slits without benefit of
lids or brows. He explained that periodically he had to endure ongoing surgeries
to cut Z patterns into his skin to relieve the tightness. His arms were so
covered in scars, it seemed like someone had taken a switchblade to him.
We talked for several hours as he described the
wrenching details of the accident, his months in the hospital, the agonizing procedures
necessary to keep him alive, and the long slog to some semblance of recovery. Towards
the end of the interview, my questions pivoted to his present life…how he
had acclimated to the mountains and, perhaps more importantly, how the
community had accepted him. To answer, he told us a simple story with an ending
so profound, both Captain and I remain affected by it.
“I went into McDonald’s the other day to
get something to eat. There was a table full of children on my right as I
walked in. At the sight of me, they stopped eating and talking and began
staring in fright. Of course, I couldn’t help but notice.
Instead of heading straight to the counter
to place my order, I decided to go over and talk to them. I told them what had
happened to me and rolled up my shirtsleeve to show them my arm. We talked
about how important it was to stay away from fire…how dangerous it was and how
something could go wrong in an instant. They asked if they could touch my skin
and I let them. By the end of our conversation, we had become friends.
You see…when you get to know me, my scars
disappear.”
Perhaps this mantra should be rephrased to broaden its
application and say, “When you get to know me, our differences will
disappear.”
