too much perfect

outside the local grocery store a guy in a motorized wheelchair once tried to communicate with me. i don't always understand when people speak czech to me out of the blue, so when someone who has difficulty speaking addresses me, i sort of freeze. and that day, i did. i just didn't know what he wanted and i didn't know what to do, so i turned away and climbed the stairs to the post office. which allowed me to see someone else heading through that walkway moments later who stopped, listened to the man and, to my shame, took simple action.

all he needed was for someone to use his key to open the outer door of his building. the door opens out, not in, so he's unable to do it himself. i watched the other man unlock the door, hand the man in the wheelchair back his keys, and both continued on their way.

i didn't see the man for a long time, and then a couple months ago i saw him asking passers-by for help. now, this is a high-traffic walking area. the grocery store is right there, the post office and a bookstore are upstairs, there are a few smaller shops about 10 meters away, and the metro station is very close by. so it wasn't for a lack of people that he wasn't being helped, it was the same fear i experienced with him showing up in others. i saw him ask a couple people for help before i reached him, and they all sort of ignored him and moved on past. just like i had.

but this time i wasn't afraid. i knew what he wanted, and i knew i'd be able to communicate with him. his keys were in his hand, and i asked if he wanted the door open. he smiled and said thank you. i think he has cerebral palsy. i'm certainly no expert, but he strikes me as the kind of guy whose body just doesn't do what his brain is telling it to. it must suck to have a rebellious body. mine does pretty much what i ask it to. not that i demand much from it, either, but it's nice to know that i can stand up when i want, lift my arm to grasp something when i want, type cleanly and write legibly whenever i'd like. i have no idea what it's like to be at the mercy of a body that follows its own directions, with a mouth and tongue that don't cooperate the way they're told. this man is probably smarter than i am. and he lives alone--at least he doesn't have a caretaker with him all the time. hence his need for help from strangers.

it took thirty seconds of my day to open the door. maybe less. i asked if he needed anything else and he said no. i have to admit, helping him out brightened my day tremendously.

i saw this man again today. i was on my way to the post office to pay my rent. and i saw someone edge past him when he asked for help. as usual, i guess. so i went right over to him, smiled and took his keys. asked if it was the one with the blue rubber thing or the other one. the other one. i loved how happily he thanked me. Děěě-kuuuuu-juuuu, he sang. and a huge smile. took me a bit longer than thirty seconds this time. the key wouldn't turn. i started to try the other one and he said noooo even before the lock rejected it entirely. back with the other one. it won't turn! i tell him. he waits patiently and finally the key turns and he can go in. another thank you and the door closes behind him. how is it possible that my interactions with him make me feel so good?

i don't want to be self-congratulatory for helping this nice man out, especially because of my first experience with him. but i genuinely feel better for having done such a small thing as opening a door.

it must be very hard to be helpless in this country. or at least unable to open the outer door of your building. he has to humble himself and ask strangers for help every time he goes out! this, in a country where, to be a stranger is one of the worst things you can be. strangers are suspicious. strangers are outside (oh, by the way, the word for foreigner doubles for stranger). strangers aren't trusted. on top of that, he's in a motorized wheelchair with limbs flung every which way and he talks funny. no wonder they're scared.

one of my best friends is due to have her third child any day. her youngest is 12, so this will be sort of like starting over, i expect. during some tests last month it was apparent that the baby's head is larger proportionately to his (yes, his) body. they have informed the mother that there is a 10-20% chance that the baby has Downe's.

i was talking about babies with my physical therapist, šarka, this morning. šarka has a very soft heart. i mentioned my friend and the possibility of Downe's to her. she was startled and asked, didn't they do tests on her? i said well, yes, they could, but it's so close to birth, what would be the point. she'll just find out when he's born. šarka told me that here in the czech republic, pregnant women are tested twice for Downe's. aha. i then asked if most women terminate the pregnancies if the test is positive. her first answer was interesting: she said very quickly that it was a private decision for the woman. i said yes, but did she know if most women terminated. then she said yes, she thought so.

during the communist years, she said, children born with disabilities were shuttled off to institutions and kept out of sight. for all anyone knew, they didn't exist. now things are different, but only sort of. i see very few Downe's children here. very few. i could count on one hand the number i've seen in the seven years i've been here. she said it's different here than in the US, where they are assimilated as much as they can be, and a visible part of society. there are more articles in newspapers and documentaries on tv about families with Downe's children, but it's very new.

and that made me think how sad to live in a culture of perfection. my body doesn't look very perfect to me and i know most people live in that state of mind, but my body functions perfectly most of the time. but don't we lose something as a society if we don't include those who aren't perfect? people with Downe's have big hearts. they are enthusiastic, open, loving people. far more innocent than the rest of us. i have heard people say how tough it is parenting a Downe's child, but that they wouldn't change it for anything.

it seems to me, the imperfect people around us remind us most clearly of what it means to be human. helping readily. listening carefully. thanking cheerfully. laughing freely. forgiving deeply. we have to be people of mercy and grace when we interact with those with imperfect minds and bodies. but if we don't have them, all we are is a bunch of impatient people who can't believe they picked the slowest line at the grocery store. AGAIN.