Two Little Girls

The skin on my face is softer than it’s ever been. I used to have acne; now it’s all gone. In theory, I fit the flattering description of “tall, dark, and handsome.” The tall and the handsome are definitely arguable points of taste. And the dark is very much in question.

            The amount of white on my face is amazing. It’s hard to see me anymore. This is bad. Would you ever think that this is the face of a four-time Emmy-winning television journalist? This is the face of a guy who goes to work in the public eye, only to return home and then debate the pluses and minuses of going to the mall. Sometimes that debate resulted in a decision not to go out of the house the entire weekend. So many times, I thought I should just quit and go hide somewhere. Other times, I just hid out. There are times of weakness. But I have vowed to stay engaged in life no matter what. I had no idea “what” would mean watching myself turn white. I never envisioned this. I call it the phobia of me. I look like a monster.

            I’ve recently come to a brand-new conclusion that is just plain weird: I’ve become afraid of small children! It’s not the snot or the coughing. It’s not the loud play or the infinite energy. I actually love kids. They are the most honest people on the planet. And that’s where the fear begins. Their honesty can put me in awkward situations. Because they say things that leave me speechless and embarrassed, standing mute in a crowd of gawkers.

            Imagine dozens of children. They were loud and happy and full of life. Blonde-, brown-, and black-haired bundles of energy and honesty. Their eyes were bright, and they were ready to do what all kids are eager to do: Play! Lucky for them, they were about to test-drive what was supposed to be the safest, most kid-friendly new playscape. It would be the prototype for playscapes of the future. And I was there to report on the future of frolic. It was one of those feature reports I look forward to because kids are fun and unpredictable.

            For the story, we brought a whole group of kids to test the playscape and see if the company’s predicted future for this new product was real. Or at least to see if all of the PR people for the company were accurate in their assessment. As the kids were getting off the bus and heading into the building, I was certain that they could not see the white spots on my face. My makeup does an excellent job of making my whole face appear naturally brown.

            But the kids could see the spots on my hand. As they romped off the bus and into the play area that we had designated to shoot the story, the teacher said, “This is Mr. Thomas. He is a reporter.” Now, these kids were little. Preschoolers, ages three to about five. When they looked at me, their reactions were mixed. Some pointed. A few looked a little scared. Others even laughed. They’re kids, I could deal with it. Then I saw one golden-haired little angel who wasn’t really paying attention. And as she turned around to see what all of the other kids were looking at, she almost bumped right into me. Teetering, she was about to take a tumble. Now, I’m six foot two inches tall and huge compared to a little one like her. I extended my hand to stop her from falling. She looked up, stared at my hand ... and burst into tears! Horror distorted her face as she stood, paralyzed with fear, bawling. This little angel was petrified of me. And I didn’t know what to do. I stood frozen in momentary shock.

            I was sorry. I wanted to hug her or help her. But she ran to the teacher. She ran from my hands. I was dumbfounded. The teacher distracted the child and soothed her fears and her tears. The adults stared for a short eternity. Then they did what we all do best—act like nothing happened and ignore the situation in the hope that time will make it disappear. No one said a thing to me about what had happened, ever. Instead, after an awkward moment of silence, we all got back to work. As I went through the motions of the story, my insides were full of sadness and shock. I scared a child just by reaching out my hands! What if the little girl had seen my face!

            I finished my job and the shoot went well, but the story left a much bigger impression on me than I’m sure that report did on the viewers. I retreated to the solitude of my house for several weekends. I refused to go out in public without makeup on my face. I didn’t want to scare children or feel like a helpless spectacle. I didn’t want the pity. But I promised myself never to wear makeup when I was not at work. So, I just didn’t go anywhere, except to work and back home. That became my routine for a while. I would get my groceries right after work, so I still had on makeup. I would not accept speaking engagements on the weekends, because I really didn’t want to put on the makeup. I was in a self-imposed prison, because I was scaring children. Try and get your head around that. I couldn’t.

            After a while, I started going out again, without makeup. This was my way of slowly blending back into a normal life. I know you can’t hide forever, but you can take a break to regain strength. And I had. But I limited my excursions to places where people were used to seeing me: My gym, my favorite health food restaurant, my grocery store.

            During one quick trip to the store, wearing no makeup, I was perusing the soup aisles.

            Let’s see, I had already gotten some minestrone soup from the top shelf. It is my favorite organic blend besides tomato soup. Next from aisle number two was the rice cakes. The ranch flavor are my favorite. So now it was a quest for rice cakes. But I didn’t see them. There they were, at the back of the bottom shelf. I got on my knees and reached back to find them. They are worth all this effort. Just as I stretched to obtain my treat, I looked up into the cutest brown eyes. I was suddenly face-to-face with the most adorable, concerned little face I had seen since my niece was a toddler.

            This little girl was probably three years old. And she had something to say to me.

            “Ooo got a boo-boo,” she said with a voice that demanded a smile. And not only did she have her little brow wrinkled with concern, the little girl was reaching out to touch my face. And she did it without fear. She just extended her pudgy little hand, placed her fingertips on my cheek, and said it again.

            “Ooo got a boo-boo.”

            I froze. Should I run? Stand up straight? Stay frozen and hope she doesn’t run in fear? I just hoped she wouldn’t cry.

            As I started to stand, she actually reached out and touched me with her other hand.

            “Does it hurrrreet?” she asked.

            “What?” I said.

            Mom translated: “She wants to know if it hurts.”

            She was asking me if I was hurt. What a big heart for such a little person! That little girl didn’t know what a great thing she had just done for me. With one touch of her little hand, like a miracle worker, she had healed a grown man’s pain. She just reached out to share in what she thought was my pain. But she actually reached out and without even trying, touched my heart.

            Her mom just smiled and said, “Sarah, leave the man alone.”

            “It’s OK,” I said quickly. Then I told the child, “No, young lady, it doesn’t hurt.” I touched her on the head, then stood up. She stood there, just looking at me like she had more to say.

            “It doesn’t hurrrreet?”

            “No, cutie. It doesn’t hurt.” I smiled at her. Confident that I was all right, she grinned and said, “OK.” With that, she was off to continue her exploration of the fascinating world of the supermarket. It was like she was not afraid because I was not in pain.

            I doubt the little girl or her mom realized what had just happened, but that little hand and that big heart dramatically transformed my outlook about going out in public. Right there in Holiday Market, down from the bread and Wheat Thins, next to the rice cakes and soup, I regained my freedom. I found myself comfortable outside in public again without any cover.

            That day changed me. How could someone so little and innocent have helped me so much? The innocence of children is golden and they speak nothing but the truth. They don’t have a filter.

            Both little girls helped me to understand myself. They helped me to clarify what I call the duality of me. They exhibited the two extremes of reactions that I get every day—plus everything in between—in relation to how people feel about seeing me with this shocking, visual disease.

            One reaction was based on ignorance. And that’s not a negative thing. The little girl had never seen anything like me before; sometimes ignorance can cause fear. But the other little girl in the grocery store thought she knew what was wrong. Because of that, she had no fear. She had compassion and concern and displayed a kind heart.

            Since then, as this disease has worsened, I’ve gotten many kinds of reactions from children and adults. Some are unaffected. Some can’t look away. Still others just can’t look me in the eyes. I understand them all and embrace their humanity. Because to be honest, sometimes I want to scream when I see myself in the mirror. I want to cry until it’s all better. Other times, I don’t even notice it because my mind is somewhere else.

            From the innocence of children I’ve found my understanding. And I want to give thanks to the two little girls who will probably never even remember meeting me. Two young ladies who changed me forever. They freed me and helped me to understand myself more then they will ever know.