“Can I see my baby?” the happy new
mother asked.
When the bundle was nestled in her arms
and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The
doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had
been born without ears.
Time proved that the baby’s hearing was
perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from
school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing
that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the
tragedy: “A boy, a big boy… called me a freak.”
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune.
A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but
for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you
might mingle with other young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a
kindness in her heart. The boy’s father had a session with the family
physician. Could nothing be done? “I believe I could graft on a pair of outer
ears, if they could be procured,” the doctor decided.
Whereupon the search began for a person
who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Then, “You
are going to the hospital, Son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the
ears you need. But it’s a secret,” said the father.
The operation was a brilliant success,
and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and
college became a series of triumphs. Later he married and entered the
diplomatic service. “But I must know!” He urged his father, “Who gave so much
for me? I could never do enough for him.” “I do not believe you could,” said the
father, “but the agreement was that you are not to know … not yet.”
The years kept their profound secret,
but the day did come … one of the darkest days that a son must endure. He stood
with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father
stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal that
the mother — had no outer ears.
“Mother said she was glad she never let
her hair be cut,” he whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought Mother less
beautiful, did they?”
Real beauty lies not in the physical
appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what can
be seen, but what cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known,
but in what that is done but not known.
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