What on Earth is That Person Juggling?

A THREE MINUTE READ - Mostly Non-fiction

When it comes to juggling, I’ve never been able to break even the one-minute mark with three tennis balls. Anyone seeing exactly what I was juggling could have made the call - “Hey, that guys a crappy juggler.” And they would have been correct. All three variables were right out there in plain sight.

But what about when they’re not?

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Alessio Soggetti - Unsplash

Twelve years ago, as an adaptive ski instructor in upstate New York, one of my first days of our annual training was alongside Don. He was a spirited guy I’d just met and talked to earlier that morning. I’d taken note of his Army cap which covered some short grey hair. Over the course of the day, as we traversed some of the steepest runs on the mountain, I conceded the fact that he was a better skier than me. At the end of the day, we resumed talking and made our way down to the locker room. While I effortlessly took off of my ski boots, I couldn’t help but notice Don slowly removing each ski boot along with a custom made, below the knee, leg prosthesis.

Don had left both of his legs in Vietnam. I trained and or volunteered with him for six years and never once heard him mention his disability to anyone.

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Going even further back, when we lived in a moderately large southern city, I was a volunteer at a telephone crisis center. We’d had maybe twenty hours of training on effective listening; then were turned loose with our list of community resources and well wishes. We were the suicide hotline of the day and every caller remained anonymous, as did the volunteers. I heard all too many heart-wrenching stories and didn’t always “let them go,” as was certainly advisable. It was difficult to keep my imagination in check.

Seeing a pre-teen on a bus with a disheveled mother, I’d go through my mental files. Could he be the thirteen-year-old boy whose father left home because his mother would never stop drinking? That would be the same mother who frequently left him for hours on end while she went out for a pack of cigarettes.

Waiting in line at the local convenience store, I would notice things like the completely uninvested cashier. A dazed look and no eye contact with anyone. And I would wonder, is she the woman in her “mid-twenties” who had called a few months ago? She would be the one who divulged that she hated her father but knew that was “wrong.” He had “loved her so much” that he slept with her whenever her mother was out of town - but she didn’t like to talk about that.

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Why such long faces on such a beautiful day?

We’ve all been there, unfortunately some of us on the wrong side of the observation. Everyone’s enjoying themselves, families chatting around the picnic tables, like at our local ice-cream place. All too often there are “those people” who just can’t be happy.

There were two at the nearby table - a sixtyish-year old woman, sitting speechless across from a middle-aged woman who had a gold ring on her hand. It’s not like they were distraught, but they were just so friggin’ somber. I was watching four kids pick through flavors at the window, but my ears perked up as the two women broke their silence at the table ten feet away.

I took a fleeting glance and caught the younger woman wiping her eyes as she slid an envelope across the table. Two minutes later it still sat un-opened next to a full bowl of ice cream. As the younger woman became more animated, I was able to hear her words, and then the crying. “I’m so sorry Mom,” followed by something about insurance, and then an emotionally laden, “They say Austin and I are just too old to try again!” Though the mom tried to comfort her, no one near them could escape their suffering.

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Life on this planet is certainly a challenge for everyone - but to widely varying degrees.

So many times, I’ve fallen into the trap where I find myself judging someone else for being in a funk or being so downright nasty.

And I ask myself - could it really be all that bad? Well, sometimes the answer is - yes.