FEET OF CLAY.

It would be easy for me to forget how normal I am because either people treat me as if I am so very special or very different from themselves.

In order to remind me all I have to do is to think back to my school days and a girl whom I’ll call Jill and remember the day she was picked on by a group of girls including me.

I know now why people bully. I knew then that to do so was wrong. I also knew however that, though I was not top of the class it was recognised that I was reasonably bright even though I was also considered to be developmentally way behind other children even blind ones. There were other things I realised too, one of which was that my Catholic upbringing, together with my affection for my Nan and wish not to incur her disapproval meant I was unwilling to experiment sexually. This made me least likely to be the chosen girlfriend of any boy. For this reason I was self conscious, clumsy and awkward and while I fully understood, unlike one girl, that babies weren’t created as a result of a boy sticking his big toe in a girl’s belly button, I certainly didn’t know what they do today at far too young an age or even what they knew then as teenagers. My need to raise my profile with my peers when joke cracking didn’t work meant I willingly joined a group of other girls who for a reason I can’t recall now picked on poor Jill.

Jill had learning difficulties, residual sight and a placid temperament and I’d always got on with her till then. However this day, we broke her glasses which rendered her totally blind; damaged her radio; scratched her; hit her and made her cry. Eventually a teacher with a strong Liverpool accent, who stank of perfume and cats, appeared and told us off. She dispersed the group and comforted Jill but as I was slinking away she called out:

“And you, June x, I’m surprised at you”!

I was surprised at me as well. I realised then what I also know now and that is that I am thoroughly normal. Like everyone I like to be liked and feel insecure. I worry about what others think and about hurting them as I’ve said before and feel isolated and scarred by rejection. What I also learned then was that without a sound or an injury being caused to my body, I had fallen with a loud thud from the pedestal my grandmother had put me on. I didn’t dare go home and tell her what I’d done to Jill. Yes. Her adored blind granddaughter had feet of clay after all.

Maybe the next day or soon afterwards I sought Jill out and asked her forgiveness and whether I could once more be her friend. Without a moment’s hesitation and a magnanimity of spirit she readily agreed. Where were the questions like:

“Why did you join in”?

Or:

“How could you have? You were meant to be my friend”.

Where were the accusations of betrayal of trust and the wariness in case I should do it again and, something I didn’t think of at the time, where were Jill’s glasses?

I knew then that the fact that we all do wrong things is inescapable and part of the human condition but that does not mean we are just to accept it and not feel remorse for it. Instead we should strive all the harder to care for others worse off than ourselves and stand up for the weak and disadvantaged. It may cost us dear in terms of popularity and doing the right thing will never be easy but just because our feet of clay may cause us to slip in the mud, that’s no excuse for keeping our bottoms firmly on the fence.

I’d like to think that, being more intelligent than poor Jill, I have learned to cultivate the art of forgiveness and have honed it as finely as hers was but I’m afraid I haven’t. There are some people whose conduct I can’t forgive, either for what they’ve done to me or to those I know of but don’t know personally. Jill’s forgiving nature is every bit as valuable or perhaps more so than my intelligence. I only hope the world has not further wronged her and scarred it and washed it all away. I also hope that not only can I better learn to follow her example but also that I may have the moral strength never again to court popularity at the expense of the weak and vulnerable. One thing I know for sure is that it is much better to be respected by everyone than liked by everyone which may go some way to explaining why I’m so outspoken and intolerant of those who hurt the disadvantaged or exploit them.