Girl Scouts Service Unit 8
Acceptance
(The full value of partaking in a service project may not be realized until many years
later - read about one local girl's 8th grade reflections.)
As a nine year old, going to Girl Scout meetings and doing service projects was not at
the top of my list of things to do. I would much rather have spent the time at a
friend's house putting on make-up and painting our nails. My mother, being the
leader of our noble troop, had a different idea. She explained to me that she wanted
me to learn the value of community service which at the time went in one ear and out the
other.
Green Pastures is a group home for developmentally disabled children. About three
times a year for four years, we'd plan a party of some sort to throw for the disabled
children. I hated it. I hated going to their home. I hated seeing their
crippled bodies writhing with unmanageable excitement as we entered their home. I
hated to hear them struggling to communicate through non-obedient lips. I hated the
pungent smell of the endless disinfectants used to sanitize the house in order to protect
their weak immune systems. But no matter what I did whether I feigned being ill or
simply voiced my reluctance, my mother was consistent with her response. This was
one of the few things in my life I had no say over. I had to go.
Their misshapen bodies frightened me. Trevor was my age, but he was nothing like
me. His eyes were placed unevenly across his flattened face. His nose clung
awkwardly off to one side. Projecting farther than any other feature on his face,
his teeth were crooked and grew randomly from his gums. Half of his skull was
missing, so he constantly wore a helmet. Katie was five and lived in a body over
which she had no control. Unable to speak, she expressed herself through animal like
noises. Somehow, music calmed her flailing arms and legs and softened her frustrated
face. She would sit quietly, looking peaceful and content. I did not
understand her. I did not understand any of them. Their very existence was
foreign to me. Isolating myself from the deafening roar of insecurity and
differences, I'd stand near the edge of the room, huddled amongst a group of familiar
friends.
It wasn't until our last visit to Green n Pastures that Brandon forced me to interact.
The minute I stepped through the door, Brandon recognized my face and approached me
in his wheel chair. I cringed. Please don't talk to me, I begged fearfully.
Brandon was a quite odd-looking seventeen year old. His oblong, oversized
head was completely out of proportion to his thin, frail body which was no larger than my
own. Unlike the other children, Brandon could speak but his disease kept him from
forming words clearly. With a grin that spread from ear to ear, he asked me with
genuine curiosity how I was doing. "Fine," I muttered timidly. I made no
effort to carry on a conversation. I wanted to be invisible, to disappear through
the cracks in the floorboards. Brandon was not so easily discouraged.
"Where you go to school, Jenny?" His slurred words were difficult to
distinguish.
"I go to Bullis." Bullis was the elementary school I attended at the
time. I searched for some kind of escape with a quick glance around the room.
"You like it?" he persisted.
I gave him a quick answer and turned to leave, but he grasped my hand in a friendly
manner and would not let go. Realizing I was trapped, I gave in and decided to talk
with him. Reluctantly, I returned his question, "Where do you go to
school?" His face lit up. Through animated gestures and rambling
sentences, I learned that Brandon was a student at Gunn High School. He was a junior
at the time who seemed to have many friends and be popular. Brandon spoke of his
interests and ambitions which, I was surprised to find, were not much different from those
of a typical seventeen year old.
Throughout the rest of the visit, I noticed Brandon for the first time. He loved
to participate. When we'd sing he would swing his arms and pretend to be a conductor.
His enthusiasm bubbled up through his distorted body and shone brighter than his
severe deformities.
Until our last visit, all my limited vision could ever see were the children's
grotesque physical appearances and their differences form me. Because of my unjust
fear, I never took the time to actually get to know any of them. I always felt too
uncomfortable. Brandon helped me to see past my fear. Through this experience,
I have completely changed my outlook on people. I try not to ever judge someone
before I get to know the person. I am very accepting towards everyone and feel very
strongly against prejudice and hate as a result of ignorance. Brandon reached out to
me that day. He showed me that he, Trevor, and Katie were people. They weren't
just dilapidated dying bodies. There were human beings. They had souls,
feelings, thoughts.... everything.
Five years later, looking back on my experience at Green Pastures, everything falls
into perspective. Last month, I learned that Brandon had died. I feel an
incredible love and gratitude toward him because he taught me a lesson that some people
never learn in their entire lifetime. Somehow, I would like to teach others what he
taught me. I want people to realize that every single being on this planet has a
soul and has the potential to be wonderful. We are all truly equal, although it may
not appear this way. Think of each person as a diamond. We have thousands of
facets covered with dirt and grime to clean. Each tarnished facet represents a
lesson that needs to be learned. Every time we improve upon ourselves, or learn a
lesson, a facet is polished and the diamond radiates form beneath. Each person has the
potential to gleam magnificently once every weakness is overcome. Beneath the mask
of humanity on the surface of the diamond, each soul is perfect, and absolutely equal.
When all the facets are cleaned, all the sides shine brilliantly and the diamond
returns to the wonderful source of light and love it originated form. This knowledge
is the gift Brandon gave to me, and that I, in turn, would like to pass on to others.
Acceptance