A Foothold in Life

A dozen children ran around laughing and playing in my friend’s yard, while we parents sat chatting and sipping cool summer drinks. The barbecue had been cleared away when our host announced a surprise. A huge movable rock wall was loaded in, which was about twelve feet wide, made of gray molded plastic with indented footholds that stretched straight up for what looked like at least a hundred feet. The enthusiastic kids swiftly lined up to give it a try, and with the complete fearlessness most children possess, scrambled to the top and rang the bell that hung at the highest point. There wasn’t really anything to be afraid of since they were belted into place. Three people could climb side by side and talk to each other, so gradually the adults tried it, too.

“Come on; let’s go get in line,” my husband Neil urged. “No, you go ahead without me.” I had all sorts of good excuses: I don’t have the right shoes; I forgot my sunglasses; I have to help the hostess. I have a unique talent for seeing unthinkable danger in almost every situation, and this scene seemed dangerous to me. I watched everyone else having fun, though, and finally convinced myself to try it.

With all the nerve I could gather, I started the climb. The belt wrapped around me like a diaper so there was no way to fall. Yes, I thought, this is fun and safe! Concentrating on each foothold, I slowly made my way up. I avoided looking down to prevent any sudden panic, and within a few minutes I made it to the top and proudly rang the bell.

“Woo hoo!” my daughters called up to me. “Way to go, Col!” Neil yelled.

I enjoyed my success and the enjoyable view of fields and farmland until I realized there was a line below me waiting for a turn. It was time to go down.

It was one thing to look out at the world in the distance, but it was a whole other thing to look straight down.

Finally, the two of us reached the ground.

It happened on one Sunday morning a few days ago. When I was about to have my routine cup of coffee along with a bagel, I realized that I did not have any bread at all. I have to admit that I am unable to enjoy coffee without some kind of baked food.

I decided to run out to buy something. However, all the stores were closed, but one. That store did not have any fresh pastries, and I ended up buying four slices of wheat bread. I was frustrated for two reasons: my favourite routine — Sunday coffee ruined, and the saleswoman charged me $3 for four slices of bread. I returned to the building where I lived on the tenth floor, stepped into the elevator, pushed the button, and got out. When I reached my apartment and tried to unlock the door, I could not turn the key. I made a few attempts but without success. I started banging on the door, hoping to wake up my daughter. I was not successful at that either.

I can’t explain how it crossed my mind to check the number of the apartment. The apartment number was correct, except for the first digit: the apartment was on the ninth floor, not the tenth. I was shocked to realize that I had been banging on somebody else’s door.

I still think over what might have happened if somebody had opened the door and what he or she would have said to me at 8:00 am on Sunday morning.

If a young girl had opened the door and said,     

After this incident I realized that...

When I was fifteen months old, I was a happy carefree kid until the day I fell. It was a bad fall. I landed on a glass rabbit, which cut my eye badly enough to blind it. Trying to save the eye, the doctors stitched (缝) the eyeball together where it was cut, leaving a big ugly scar in the middle of my eye. The attempt failed, but my mama, in all of her wisdom, found a doctor who knew that if the eye were removed entirely, my face would grow up badly twisted, so my scarred, sightless, cloudy and gray eye lived on with me.

And as I grew, this sightless eye in so many ways controlled me.

I walked with my face looking at the floor so people would not see the ugly me. Sometimes people, even strangers, asked me embarrassing questions or made hurtful remarks. When the kids played games, I was always the “monster”. I grew up imagining that people looked at me in an unusual way, as if my appearance were my fault. I always felt like I was a freak(畸形人).

Yet Mama would say to me, at every turn, “Hold your head up high and face the world.” It became a faith

that I relied on. I was told so when I was young. She would hold me in her arms and stroke my hair and say, “If you hold your head up high, it will be okay, and people will see your beautiful soul.” She continued this message whenever I wanted to hide.

Those words have meant different things to me over the years.

In high school I was successful both academically and socially.