Differences.

This is a topic which has been touched before but lately, I have been thinking more about it… especially late at night when sleep is, at times, difficult to come by.

Those who know me will attest to the fact that I am willing to accept any view (albeit some a little more comfortably than others), including those that are contrary to mine, as long as they come served on a platter of thought out arguments… even if they are wrong…

There was a time, during my upbringing, when I was told often that different was not good… Even when we, my sister and I, were the product of a broken marriage which in that place and time, was as different from mainstream as could get. I used to question these innuendos (didn’t know what the word meant then…) by simply asking “Why?” Yet, there were few who had an answer and fewer those who were willing to give it. Those were times when children were to “be seen but nor heard”, much less importune adults with “silly” questions.

Only two people whom I remember did provide answers to my constant “why? (yes, I was a headache then…perhaps I continue to be now) questions. My grandfather would often answer them by example rather than words. He was, and still is, as mentioned elsewhere in these ramblings, my lifetime role model. He lived his life with love, care and hard work. He was preparing our road to a future which, unfortunately, did not come to pass. 

The second person I remember as willing to answer my questions, was himself an “outcast” of sorts. My great uncle Eusebio, a man I met one summer; a man every adult in his family –except his sister, my grandmother- would have preferred had not existed. Yet, his accounts of a very hectic life were incredibly rich and full of lore, adventure and the truths of a day to day lived and fought life which help mold a mind. He was not afraid to answer my questions; in fact, he did so with a patience which bellied his gruff appearance. I think that being the only one who was not only willing to listen, but wanted to hear his stories, opened the door to his honest storytelling. He has been featured elsewhere in these posts… In fact, his existence was so well guarded that few in the younger family generations knew about him… I was lucky to be one of those.

In those years, there were others who showed me that “seeing a difference” is in the eye of the beholder. The twists of life that brought me to work in the family business which had been located, by one of those quirks, in what was to later become the “red light” district of my hometown. The people I met during my short tenure there, were considered to be “different” by society at large. They were the outcasts, the ones who made a living by selling their bodies, those who by age 18 had already lived a lifetime of demanding experiences and graduated with a Suma Cum Laude from the university of hard knocks. The kind of education that the well to do products of society rarely get to know or appreciate, but are quick to criticize. They taught me much; about perceptions, about true friendship, about understanding some of the more pressing realities of life (their life), about being different and surviving these so called societal differences.

Then, much later in life, while traveling around the world I came face to face with another type of “difference”; a compendium which separates cultures and people: traditions, religion and heritage. These are differences which are more readily identifiable… Where we can point a finger and say “well, that’s different”… Each country (and often, different groupings within these countries) has its own traditions, to be held unique and truer than anyone else’s; each religion has its own covenants, to be held unique and truer than all others; even when they all say pretty much the same… In most smaller societies (including some in Europe) whoever is coming from the outside to look in, will find a difficult barrier to overcome so as no to be too different.

We as individuals every so often convince ourselves that we are “different” and, if asked to pinpoint this difference, we are hard pressed to really identify it. For, in the end, it is more of an identity crisis than anything else. If you are old enough, you will remember those posters which showed a vast sea of equal looking penguins… and way over there, in the back, there was this little guy with a hat, dark glasses and a red scarf on, jumping up and down and yelling… “look at me… I’m different!!”  Yes, I had one of those posters because I thought I was very different than everyone else.

As life trundled on, I came to understand that those differences are really not that vast or deep. We are all indeed unique in our make up and in the baggage we carry as the result of our lives; yet, at the core of each one of us lies a human being, hidden sometimes way down there but coming from the same original mold and with the same original contents… Most of the differences are of the cosmetic (physical and cultural) variety… and due to the experiences lived. Each view is valid; each person is entitled to express and support his/her view. 

What you must understand by asking that I listen to and respect your views, you open the door to having to, in exchange, listen to me and equally respect what I express as my views.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

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