What do we really see?

I was out walking with a friend, it was a lovely sunny afternoon. We were on a forest walk that bypasses a small village, there is a large meadow that runs up to the cottages. We decided to take a breather and sat on a log.

A funny little dog came lolloping up to us, dropping a stick by my feet. I threw it and off he went to find it. His neck was bent at a slight angle, and one of his legs was shorter giving him a wobble as he trotted. He had a black patch over one eye, the other rimmed with black like eyeliner. He reminded me of Jack Sparrow the pirate. As he wobbled back to me with his stick he had the happiest grin on his funny face, his tail wagging so hard his whole body wriggled. What a picture of joy! I threw the stick again.

My friend sat next to me horrified.
"You shouldn't be throwing a stick so far for it. Look at it, what a shame poor little thing. I wonder why it looks like that? Obviously the runt of the litter. Maybe it would have been kinder to put it to sleep. "
"Jack" wobbled back with his stick, his eyes radiating happiness. I rubbed his belly as he wriggled ecstatically and bade him farewell as we ambled on.

A young boy ran through the trees
"Jack! Where have you been?" He saw us, "Ah, you've found some new friends."
Yes, he really was called Jack. My friend asked him if he should be out running the poor dog, and asked his background. The boy explained that Jack was born twisted with one leg shorter. All the other puppies had found new homes, but no one wanted him. Jack was by far the happiest pup of the litter and always tried his best to keep up with the rest, even out-running some. Since he wasn't in any discomfort they decided to keep him.
"Aww, poor wee soul, so wrong, bless him". My friend quietly said as we walked on.

Jack as I remember him.

When I was young I had a friend who lived a couple of doors away. When he was born, he had a spinal deformity and a muscular wasting disease.. Muscular Dystrophy.. His father could not come to terms with his failure to produce a perfect son and left home. His mother blamed his father's genetics and also abandoned him. A wonderful couple (neighbours) fell in love with his infectious giggles and happy character. By then he was six years old, and he shared my love of books and drawing....what not to like!

I was always round at his house, sketching in the garden or else whizzing him along the street in his wheelchair. He had a wicked sense of humour and we were always laughing. I'd rush home from school and tell him all about my day. I helped him with his reading skills, and soon we became fixtures at the local library around the corner. His fosterparents have a couple of children's books that he wrote and illustrated...unfortunately he passed away at seventeen years of age. Muscular Dystrophy had a poor prognosis then.

I never saw him as "disabled" or deformed. He was the happiest funny person I had the privilege of having as a friend. I didn't see Jack as "poor" or defective. He is full of life and tenacity. I see the potential and the pure "joie de vivre" in both. I guess appearance is meaningless to me. The soul is how I identify with them.

So many people are obsessed with perfection on the outside, they can't see past that. My friend pitied Jack, seeing only something "wrong" with him. Something that should be fixed.

What do you feel about this?

Have a great day and