“Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked.
When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the
fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly
and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.
Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only
his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and
flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to
be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy …
called me a freak.”
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his
fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed
a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you might mingle with other
young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart. The
boy’s father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done? “I
believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured,” the
doctor decided.
Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such
a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Then, “You are going to the
hospital, Son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But
it’s a secret,” said the father. The operation was a brilliant success, and a
new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college
became a series of triumphs.
Later he married and entered the diplomatic service. “But I
must know!” He urged his father, “Who gave so much for me? I could never do
enough for him.” “I do not believe you could,” said the father, “but the
agreement was that you are not to know … not yet.” The years kept their
profound secret, but the day did come … one of the darkest days that a son must
endure. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly,
the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to
reveal that the mother had no outer ears. “Mother said she was glad she never
let her hair be cut,” he whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought Mother less
beautiful, did they?”
Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the
heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but what that cannot be
seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done
but not known.
No comments:
Post a Comment