A deacon went to visit an elderly church member at a convalescent home. When the deacon entered the old man’s room, harsh words and acid scorn greeted him. The deacon retreated swiftly and consulted with his pastor. The pastor reassured him that he had done nothing wrong. “That was the illness talking, not the man,” the reverend said.
I sometimes hold past hurtful situations too tightly. I wonder why Patty twisted everything I said into an evil plot. What made an aunt charge cold-sober-me with drunkenness at a funeral reception? Why did a clerk at Kinkos accuse me of trying to steal copies as I stood before him with wallet and copies in hand? Why did a group of grad students take me to a friendly dinner, gather around me as we left the diner, and threaten (without making a complaint) to beat me up?
Now I’m beginning to accept that it wouldn’t have mattered what I said and did at those times. Folks saw me through filters of their preconceptions and prejudices. Something triggered them to force-fit my speech and behavior into pre-set negative patterns. Their illnesses were talking.
The reverse has happened on a few occasions. I’ve met people who inexplicably think too highly of me. I know that the glow of appreciation hasn’t been earned and I’ll eventually fail to meet their inflated expectations. I’ve learned to step aside from the ego-rush felt during an initial wave of over-estimation. Waves eventually crash and withdraw–no use getting caught in the undertow.
I know that I have positive and negative triggers too. A student arrives late for a first class and leaves early with a disgruntled look on his face. I assume, based on experience, that he will cause more and more trouble as the semester progresses. Something about his appearance bothers me too…
Filters have already begun to color my perceptions of him. Illness chatters away inside my head.
I might be right about him, or he might have had one bad night. He could turn out to be a prince among men. Time will tell if I let it.
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