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Sept 18, 2003 Sue was born without a face. Literally. She had a cleft pallet, she had no real nose to speak of, and she had only slits where her eyes were. To make matters worse, her mother, upon seeing this, decided that Sue's face was not a face that only a mother could love. She opted out. She sent the baby away. Sue's grandparents saw things a bit differently and adopted Sue. They then promptly moved away from their daughter, the one who thought that a baby was akin to a fish. You know, you could "throw it back." They decided to give an unfortunate child a life. They decided that there was hope and that they would do all that they could to see to it that Sue lived a life that any child would live. One filled with dolls and dress up and whatnot. And except for the multitudinous reconstructive surgeries, so it was. Sue was happy. The years passed. The surgeries came and went. Some were very successful, others not so much. More, it seemed, always needed to be done. In the 1960's reconstructive surgery was always touch and go. Sue was smart though. She was turning out to be an exceptional student, and she was, little by little, turning out to be a good looking kid. Then, after 17 or 18 years of sticking by Sue's side, her grandparents bode her farewell and off she went to college. Imagine, a throw-away kid some years before was about to enter the halls of higher education. Good for her. The work didn't stop of course. There was speech therapy and physical therapy and more minor surgeries even throughout those college years. But, alas Sue found success. She became a teacher. And a good one at that. She went to a small town in upstate New York and she taught kids. Those same small creatures that had no doubt been so cruel to her years before, she was now busy teaching. As so often happens, Sue met a guy. A motorcycle riding maniac who, one day decided that it would be a good idea to ride 90 mph on a small country road. Unfortunately, he never saw the 10-point buck that decided that it would be a good idea to occupy the same space as the motorcycle. Suffice it to say that the deer won. Easily. After riding down the road on his rearend for about a quarter of a mile, the motorcycling maniac came to stop. And so did a young teacher in a car, who saw the whole thing. It was love at first sight. There was a lot of pain as well, especially in the biker's hindquarters. Gary gave up his bike and decided that Sue was not going to send him riding for a quarter of a mile down rt. 21 on his hind-parts any time soon. They tried for years to have a child. For ten years to be exact. And then, well, they did. They had their first boy. (I say first because, as if someone had turned a high-pressure faucet on, they had eight children in the ensuing years.) Not long after their first child's birth they were asked to baby sit a snot nosed kid who went to the same church as they. The kid was about to go into kindergarten and he was a handful. He also spoke with a pronounced lisp. His name, Wes, always came out "Weth". Speech classes were in order upon his arrival at kindergarten. Sue decided that this would never do. She decided that she could help me say my name without projecting a tablespoon of spit in the general direction of whom I was speaking to. She also decided that I could get over my stuttering. (It used to take me quite a while to say my last name. It was like, "What is your name?" "Weth Mmmmmmmmmmillls" Charming isn't it?) Sue worked day in and day out with me throughout the summer. I would stand on a chair in front of a mirror and practice and practice saying my name without getting spit on the mirror. She sacrificed so much for a kid she hardly knew. Why? I think that she saw a bit of herself in me and wanted to spare me the cruelty that she went through as child. It must have been hard. She must have constantly had to have been reminded of the past that she suffered. Alas, she put self aside. And I, some twenty-five years later, still am profoundly greatful for the sacrifice of Sue. I make my living with my speech. I find my confidence in my ability to communicate. I have been recognized at my place of employment for my ability to speak and to lead. Why? Because of the sacrifice of Sue. I ask myself now, what good have I done that will be remembered some twenty-five years from now? How have I sacrificed? How have I set aside hurt or discomfort to help another? People come in and out of our lives and we sometimes take no notice of what they have contributed until years later. Sometimes we never get to say thank you. Sometimes we are ungrateful. The Good Book says that we at times associate with angels without knowing it. This is true I am sure. In this case though, I know it. ------------ About the author: Wesley Mills is a full time student and writing instructor at Empire State College in Rochester N.Y. He also does freelance editing and writing and has his own company, "Writng Resources" which helps writers of all genres to write better and also does "book doctoring" and editing of all types. Email Wesley Mills: wmills1@rochester.rr.com Comment on this column in the forum. Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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