Musings of a Botak Daddy

hi friends! most of you would have already known that I took my hair off for the Children's Cancer Foundation. Well, the hair's growing out fine. Soon, I'll have to make my trip to the barber to get the sides trimmed before i start looking like a hedgehog.

As Sally pointed out, I've got good comments and I've got weird comments and I've got bad comments. And guess what some of the worst comments came from kids. I just read an article on "Stumbling after Jesus" (The Christian Life was never meant to be a cakewalk) by Stan Guthrie. I'm pulling an excerpt for you to read here... you can finish the rest of the article at this website (http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2007/july/15.52.html).

Recently, my eight-year-old son left Sunday school frowning. It seems a couple of his classmates had been making fun of me. (I have moderate cerebral palsy, a birth condition that causes my erratic gait.) That afternoon, I sat down with him over clear plastic cups, each filled with two scoops of Reese's ice cream, and asked if he was embarrassed. No, he was angry. I took a deep breath. At me? At God? No, at them.

"What did you say to them?" I asked. "'If you do it again,'" he repeated, "'I'll tell your dads!'"

The innate cruelty of children needs no documentation. And their loud questions, stares, and snickering are almost to be expected when they see me wobble across a room. Little materialists, they cannot grasp how God might be working in and through me. My son, however, probably taught his two fellow Sunday schoolers something of the fierce but unseen love of a boy for his father.

After reading the article, it really got me thinking about the various comments I get from Meg and Joe's school mates. A couple of them will run to me, point at me and laugh ("Joseph's daddy is a botak") and run off. Some will just do it at a distance - haha! botak! In fact, that's what Megan's best friend YQ did. In 10 secs, I tried to explain but obviously that it didn't get into that head of hers.

Of course some aloof parents did not help at all. I'm very sure some of them heard their kids commenting about my new hairdo but instead of chiding them for laughing at someone's expense, they just quickly said - shoosh! and whisk their kid off and I'm not sure if there was a proper debrief/teaching and alas - missing a good opportunity to impart knowledge and wisdom. I do however appreciate a few parents asking me about my new hair do, thus allowing me to explain. But the rest - nah! let me get on with my life and just explain it off - the kids are young. Young they may be - but I'm sure if we take the time to teach and explain, they will understand. If we don't start teaching them about manners, about being considerate, that laughing at others at their expense is wrong, when will they learn? Who will they learn from? From their peers?!? It'll be a nightmare!

Many times I wish I have had the opportunity to explain to these kids why I did what I did and I wish that the teachers - if they've heard the comments - to take the opportunity to educate and impart values. I certainly hope they do.

Having this new hair do, experiencing some of the unkind remarks, also makes me more sensitive and aware about people who are suffering from cancer, who are disabled - the discrimination they faced, the lack of support from the general public, the stares from other people as if they are an exhibit (I guess Childrens Cancer Foundation achieved that goal) :-)

Some weeks back, Sal and I and the kids were at Junction 8 walking off our dinner. We saw a man (probably suffering from cerebral palsy), on a wheelchair outside BreadTalk, inching himself slowly (with his legs). On him were 2 packets of things. 1 from Breadtalk and another his waist pouch. But no one came to help. We saw and Sal said, "Dear, you go ahead and help him. I'll take care of the kids". (Let me qualify - We're not claiming to saints here... just wanting to help another person).

He didn't communicate much initially. (I don't know his name but let's just call him Jon for easy reference). Jon was attempting to make his way to the other side of the mall, towards the direction of the bus depot. With his pointing finger as a compass, I pushed him to the taxi. And boy, my lesson on discrimination/injustice/the terrible disease called "nonchalance" in Singapore started.

We flagged and the taxis came by and said that they're changing shift, not in that direction, etc. Loads of rubbish! 1-2 taxis went passed and I started to boil. It's so obvious that they simply do not want to fetch a passenger who is disabled! The 3rd taxi came by:

Taxi driver: how come the other taxi not fetching?
Me: This man is going to Singapore Cheshire Home in Serangoon Central.
Taxi driver: how come the other taxi not fetching?
(This went on a few times)
Me: (I'm fuming here and my voice is getting louder and so is the taxi driver's) Just tell me whether are you fetching or not fetching? This man is going to Singapore Cheshire Home in Serangoon Central. (Jon showed me a card)
Taxi driver: "I'm changing shift. Going somewhere else."
Me: "But you did not put the sign up that you are changing shift nor say where you are going. (I caught his bluff there)" Then he changed tactics and raised his voice and started accusing me!
Taxi: "Why are you raising your voice at me? how come the other driver is not fetching? (going back to the same argument again)"
Me: "It doesn't matter why the other driver did not fetch. Are you are are you not fetching??!!?? (in my head - I'm thinking - you silly Nincompoop! and many other terrible remarks/comments going in my head that are "un-mentionable") If you are not fetching, I'll lodge a complaint against you!"
And the taxi driver drove off. (Comfort Cab by the way).

Then Jon started telling me "Don't care about them. They cannot reject and not take passengers like us. Next time, just open the door and help me in. If they don't want to take, we'll complain". Alright! I learnt something new today.

All these time, there were like 4-5 other people in the taxi line and no one helped.!!! The very red faced me turned around and looked at them and I saw the facial expressions - they almost seem to say: "wow. good show. but it's none of my business. I think you got it covered". Sigh. I was so so so so so so angry - at the taxi driver, at the people in the line, at myself. I should have known about that fact - that taxi drivers can't refuse any passenger and I should have just opened that door and helped Jon in.

The next taxi came along - a CitiCab. This time round, I did what Jon recommended. Opened the door. Put my arms under Jon, lifted him up and helped him into the cab, buckled him, and made sure that he's safe. All these before the taxi driver could say anything. Taxi driver came out - looking at me (too late to reject) and started helping me (with another kind soul who was puffing at a corner) to close the wheel chair and put it in the boot. Inside, I helped Jon to show the taxi driver the name card (of Singapore Cheshire Home), and directed the taxi driver. And the taxi driver started asking "Will there be anyone there to help him? Will there be anyone there?". Jon and I had to assure him that there will be staff to help and then he finally drove off.

When I met Sally and the kids, they knew immediately that something went wrong. I probably looked like Bob the Tomato - looking really flushed. I was fuming mad and I could almost burst into tears of anger! But it was more than anger that I felt. After processing my feelings, I realised that what I felt was discrimination, huge sense of injustice! I felt like an outcast, shunned because of inconvenience I will placed on others, cast out just because of a disability. This is probably what many of our friends who are disabled felt. Many of them, probably have been laughed.

Sally and myself took a long time to talk to the kids, to explain why I felt that way, why we need to help. There will always be the underprivileged, the challenged, the fatherless, the poor in our midst. Many have stories that were not told and we have no idea what kind of ordeal they are going through unless we take time to ask and find out.

So, next time we see someone who looks different, have botak head, disabled and have no means to control some actions, let's not laugh but instead, let's extend our help and be the tangible manifestation of God, of loving someone else and help them. Which brings me back to the article and I extract another several paras for you:

I'd like to think that the disabled soften the sharp edges of society, teach us kindness and humility, force us to look upward, and pull us away—if only temporarily—from our besetting narcissism. I believe my kids are learning tolerance and mercy, not because of anything I say or do, but merely through my unsteady presence.

and...

No, disability is not good in itself. Jesus never celebrated affliction (though he did tell us to rejoice when we suffer persecution for being his disciples). Defeating the ugly shadows of life with the light of his coming kingdom, Jesus healed the lame, gave sight to the blind, and preached Good News to the poor. As Christians seek to be like him, we must not abhor those who suffer nor fear the trials that inevitably come our way. They are, to borrow an old phrase, means of grace.

Only through suffering, disappointment, and death—and the rude remarks of children—are we weaned from the love of this world. There's more to life than happiness.

These last few months have taught me great lessons. Though it didn't felt good but I truly thank God for this experience. For the valuable lessons He has taught me - lessons I hope to impart to and teach my kids. In the meantime, for all the parents reading this, remember to instill into our children (start when they are young) - the value of "considerateness" and of mercy and grace.

Botak Daddy signing out.

Blessings!