Sighs and Hallelujahs Stories and thoughts about the adventures of life without arms

What Happened?

Now, there's a question I get often. Hardly ever from adults, though. It's usually the kids that ask that question, often followed by a look of disapproval from a parent or another adult. Kids just have this way of addressing the obvious and wanting to know more -- it's what we call curiosity. It's also called discussing the elephant in the room!

As we grow older, I think many of us adults lose the curiosity of our youth. Lost to kindness, to political correctness, to internal processing. Or, even worse, lost to a sense of not noticing the other. We rush past one another barely having the time to hear someone's response to, "How are you?" It's like we never cared to know in the first place. I'm as guilty as anyone in this area.

Lately, though, this word keeps coming to mind. Curiosity. It's a recurring theme for me. We hear it in common phrases like "curiosity killed the cat" or "I was just curios." As a child, the stories of Curious George were very important to me (Curious George Goes to the Hospital was one of my favorites -- far too many hospital visits growing up!). Think about it; a monkey (of all things!) goes around getting himself in trouble because of his curiosity and sense of adventure. Where has that curiosity and risk gone in us?

Granted, some of you folks are very curious people and I applaud you for that. We all know the type -- you spend an evening with them and you feel like they never said a word about themselves because they were so busy asking about your life and your passions. These people light up my days when I'm around them. Thank you to those who excel at being curious! But, there are too few of these people out there.

Instead, we pass one another on the sidewalk and look the other way. We work side by side for years, but I rarely engage enough to know your story or even your spouse's name. We can chat about sports and can shoot the breeze for hours, but I find it difficult to ask you about issues of your race and you reciprocate in regards to my disability. We ride the elevator with each other often, but the most you can do is stare or make awkward comments about how I hold my keys on my shoulder ("You need hooks on you," for example.)

Why is this so hard? Sometimes I wish we all had kids with us everywhere we went. At least that way we'd be forced to address the obvious and engage in the apparent. And, we'd ask questions.

On a recent trip to California I traveled to Brea to visit a former co-worker and his family. After warming up to me, his four year-old son started asking rapid-fire questions, most about my lack of arms. His parents were gracious, but also allowed him to address what was right in front of him (kudos to them!).

Over the course of a few hours he'd pretty much exhausted his list of questions for me. We'd talked about how I did most everything and he seemed satisfied. But, as we got out of the van at the park near the end of our time together, he looked at me earnestly and asked, "So, God made you this way?" I responded with a laugh and said, "I guess so." With that affirmation, he became bolder. "God made you that way!," he declared. "Yep -- and Him and I still have discussions about that every so often," I answered with a chuckle.

You've got to love the curiosity! How many of you have I not told this part of my story? And, how many of you were too afraid to ask? Admittedly, I've never been an open book on this topic. But, it's the obvious question, right?

Well, here's the short version of the story. I was born without arms; no dramatic shark attack stories here. I was simply born like this. God made me this way. After having my brother three years earlier and delivering a fairly healthy boy, my mother gave birth to me on March 10, 1977. After announcing that she'd delivered an otherwise healthy baby boy, the doctor added that there was just one problem -- that my parent's newest child didn't have any arms. After years of doctors' research and a legal battle over a morning sickness pill my mother took during her pregnancy with me, there are still no clear answers.

Admit it, some of you have always wanted to know!

Back to my earlier point -- be curious! Engage with those around you. Ask the checker at the grocery store how their day has been and really listen to the answer. Introduce yourself to strangers, maybe even to the homeless guy on the street corner. Know what brought your co-workers to this point in their career. Ask for a family story to be told (or even re-told). Know her favorite flower so you can brighten her day. All of us can do this.

Heck, be curious about me if you have nothing else to consider. What do you want to know? What questions have you been afraid to ask? Believe me, I've been asked most everything at this point in my life. Bring it on! I want to engage, so ask away.

No wonder I loved Curious George! Matter of fact, I still do.