The Kindest Gift

Most everyone I know feels invisible from time to time, some people more than others. I think it’s easy to be made invisible when you’re different.

When you’re different, people sometimes think that the things that make you different also make you defective.

It was about 1970 when I was briefly in Student Government at my high school, the first public conservatory in the United States, I was sent to represent the school at a prestigious leadership conference because my performance schedule as a writer permitted it, whereas other majors like drama and music had performance schedules that didn’t.

The conference, held at a restored plantation, bunked us in cabins. I returned to my room to find a most interesting cabin mate: a nun. After the lightning didn’t strike, she turned out to be my strongest advocate.

You see, when the organizers--on the last day--discovered I was merely a high school student, they wanted to dismiss my contributions. It was she who stood up and pointed out they liked my contributions until they knew how old I was.

Symbolically, where they erased, she restored. Where my difference made me invisible, she used it to paint me into reality. It was the kindest gift.