What the World Needs Now is Peace. Don't Let Hate Win !!
As i sit down to write this post, the world is becoming a dangerous place. It's slowly being consumed by hate, prejudice, stereotypes and most of all religious fundamentalism. A week ago there was a siege in a Sydney cafe. The world was appalled by the incident. Seventeen people were taken hostage and three were killed including the hostage-taker – Man Haron Monis, a fifty year old man born in Iran and settled in Australia. The Prime Minister of Australia -Tony Abbott has described Monis as "a deeply disturbed individual with a long history of crime, a long history of mental instability and infatuation with extremism." The man has over forty cases concerning sexual and assault related offences and a history of religiously motivated activism. During the siege , Monis displayed an Islamic flag.
Do you have certain thoughts when you see an elderly person slowly getting out of the car in the handicap spot at a store? What do you do when you see an elderly person in a store having to use a walker to walk with? What about those with obvious disabilities?
If you were to think about it honestly, you probably don't give it a second thought. That's who is supposed to be using those parking spaces and walkers, right?
I recently changed my Profile Picture back to my real photo. I was hesitant to do so because I was worried it would take away from the impression one gets from my writing. I know how when I read someone's work the image used does sometimes add or take away from what I am reading but eventually I no longer even see the person as I read more and more of their work.
Now, look at my picture. You see a man that's 6'1", fairly clean cut, broad shouldered, some say rugged looking. I think rugged means someone who has been out in the rugged weather to much and is worn out looking, but okay, I can agree with that. When I wish I can assume the role of a bulldozer in crowds, politely so and people tend to get out of my way. This has usually occurred in the past when someone has held onto my shoulder and others are holding onto them in order to follow me through the crowd. Teenagers love me for this.
The rugged guy is leaning on a rail over a beautiful river, and somewhat smiling at the camera or at least not frowning. In other words you see the picture of contentment.
I'm the one that gets out of the car slowly from the handicap spot. I don't use a walker in the grocery store, I lean on the cart instead. I'm the one that walks slowly forcing anyone with me to take their time. I'm the one that people have to get things from the bottom shelf for.
I'm the one that people look strangely at as he gets out of the car. I'm the one they look strangely at as he shuffles through the store. I'm the one that gets left behind as people walk on ahead. I'm the one that can't get anyone to help get things from the bottom shelf.
I'm the one leaning on the rail for support. I'm the one hoping he doesn't fall into the river as spasms of pain shoot through his body. I'm the one holding his dark glasses so he can have a normal picture of himself while hoping the earplugs blocking out the sounds don't show up. I'm the one hoping the smile reaches the eyes in time before the click of the camera happens.
But what do you see?
Do you get yelled at as you get out of the car because you 'look' healthy? Do people stare at you as you shuffle through the store because they think you are on drugs or drunk? Do store employees chuckle when you ask for help as they walk away believing you are in jest?
Did you have to spend two hours of pain in a car . . . one way . . . to have your picture taken over a river? Do you have to hear the grinding of neck bones and the snapping and cracking of back bones every time you take a step?
Do your fingertips ache and hurt and feel like nails are being hammered into them every time you hit a letter on your keyboard? Is that keyboard your only escape and healing and chance at distraction and happiness? Do you pound the nails deeper or give up happiness?
I didn't write this as a complaint about some of what I go through. I wrote this to show you that you don't know what is on the inside of a person. I don't go around wearing my illness and pains on a t-shirt or make it obvious. Just know that when you see people that there is a reason they are the way they are. Maybe it's not a physical thing, it might be they are shy and don't want to be bothered. There is a reason for it. Respect it. I walk slower, I move slower, but I 'look' healthy. And I am fine with that.
A relative, knowing about my amnesia telling me to not forget about my family and then saying it was his attempt at a joke.
Two things made me think to write this, one was a comment recently and the other was a thought I had.
© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 21, 2014.
The film crew didn't really know what to do at that point as Rod finished. The crowd that had gathered was cheering and that seemed to give the crew a clue. They and their slum dressed star slipped away as the bus started to slow down. Rod was a hero. A hero in our small block of the town.
He half dragged himself across the street, shoulders sagging under the long coat. Two girls moved several steps away.
We exchanged nods and closed mouthed smiles as he glanced my way. The bench shook slightly as he let himself drop. "Been a long day," he said.
"But we made it through," he smiled.
He saw the girls, both with their phones out. One had a finger poised on her phone screen while the other talked to someone. They both kept glancing our way. He ran a large hand over his short tight hair. The nails were perfectly trimmed and the skin was smooth, smoother than mine even.
"You know what I need?" He asked.
"I need me a woman," he said. "A young one," he continued and looked at me.
I could see the muscles around his mouth fighting for control. Looking forward I could see the two girls out of the corner of my eye move closer together. I nodded my head in reply.
"Nothing like finding a young one and just sweeping them away and training them up the way you want them," he said staring at the street.
The girls began to move away. "Dr. Farra!" We both looked at the woman racing across the street. He stood up.
"Jerry is getting a taxi now. You have to get to the hospital. An elderly lady fell and hit her head and they called for you," said the woman in floral printed scrubs.
Dr. Farra was no longer tired as he ran across the street.
The girls glanced at me and I smiled back. They turned away, ashamed at their thoughts. Shame can be a great lesson.