I have always thought about how it would be living in someone else’s shoes for a while, perhaps. Imagine if something happens to you that changes your life forever, like an accident, permanent injury, or a medical condition that can disfigure or transform you physically. This is a story about someone forced unexpectedly to change forever. Remember, it is all about one’s lived attitude and willingness to excel as a human being, no matter what.
The story goes like this…
I’m going to be 48 next year. I have been a successful business person and sales representative for a manufacturing firm for 25 years, selling to some of the largest retailers in North America. Good, solid guys and some ladies, too. We are like a club of the most professional W.A.S.P.’s, with a bit of intermingling of color to make our dream team better. I am married with two great kids and going to college soon enough. You could call me a success story whose parents came from Eastern Europe with nothing to their name, working hard for themselves and their kids to make a name for themselves. What did I need or want these days? Very little.
About a year ago, I noticed dark spots/patches developing around my private areas, underarms, and inner thighs. The family doctor said it was nothing to worry about, so I didn’t worry. A little medical cream was applied, and it was to disappear in time. That is what they said. The darkish dread did not stop but spread all over my body, first where I could hide it with some clothing, but then my arms, hands, legs, and feet, ultimately spotting on my neck, throat, and face. My face! I felt like some weirdo, working from home a lot more, having others do my visitation to clients, shopping for food at night or early in the morning. Few of your neighbors out there are doing the same thing. I was quickly hidden.
My doctors found specialists who did tests upon tests to figure out what was going on with me. The darkness of my skin was getting deeper in areas while the doctors found nothing else wrong medically with me. My professional, personal, and social situation could not continue this way for long. My wife was concerned at first, socially conscience at worst, upset about how I had been screwing up our well-planned social and private lives. My kids thought it was strangely fascinating, asking their Mom, “Why is Daddy becoming a Black Man”?
I was becoming the talk of the town, and this notoriety was deadly to my professional and social standing. The professional business club I was so proud of being a member of responded to this change in my appearance in a financially devastating manner. Men I knew for decades became defensive, politely shaking me off or not returning my calls or emails. Sales over the next six months fell into the pit of disaster. My employer asked that I go to a therapist, paid by them, and ultimately, a management firm that specialized in separating long-term employees from their historic employer. I was sacked. Politely asked to retire, leave, and never come back. The freak was not wanted. All because I looked different, mottled, and blackish.
The doctors called me up, giving me hope there was a way to return to my former life. S.A. genetic illness within me affected some cells, changing the body’s messages about what skin tone my body should have. It often happened to others, having their cell structures and purpose change in time, just like mine, so entirely black in skin tone. Many millions of people have various forms of Vitiligo, the condition that changed my life. Most people live with it and pursue procedures that can help them, including cosmetic surgery. Some people are willing to deal with it, not having any other option emotionally. They live with it, with what they look like, never a concern to the opinions of others. Can I do the same?
I had to think of the financial concerns of my family, my debt, and the possibility of finding a good-paying job. And what of my family? My wife moved to another bedroom to sleep. My kids are the only ones who show me some love and concern and give me hope. They do not realize how difficult this situation is, yet their hugs, conversation, and smiles make each of my depressing days better and worth living. So far, the health system has no answers about how this happened and how it could be reversed or treated. Cream, that is about it. Money from the government? I have to prove to them I have suffered a medical disaster, difficult when I am otherwise healthy and able to work. Finding a good job is the hard part. Very soon after this change, I realized how hard it is for non-white people to shine in this marketplace. I am presently looking for affordable housing, as my wife divorced me and took the house, but thank God, not the children. The jobs I find do not allot what I need to pay rent, medical bills(many health plans do not pay for this condition), food, the children’s clothing, etc. I am already telling them to study much, as only a scholarship will get them into a good school in the future, or perhaps I will win the lottery someday 🙂
John Howard Griffin wrote “Black Like Me,” a novel in which a white person goes through skin pigment medical processes to change the color of his skin deliberately voluntarily. No one asked if I’d like to make that choice, decide to change my appearance, my apparent race.
Here I am, born a Caucasian, but appear to be a Black Man, forever unemployed, and why? As soon as I get a good job offer, they see my former photo and develop the idea I am either a troublemaker or a deviant socially and medically. Death at my own hands has been a thought, but the kids make me move on with this weird and challenging life. Appearances do mean a lot. I always thought one’s appearance was not influenced by how others responded to you. Furthest from the truth. 1St thing one sees is the person’s appearance, which shapes the observer’s response. Here, I appear to be from the Caribbean or Southern U.S.A. I cannot recognize where I am from when I speak with no accent. People prefer to avoid being challenged by living in a comfortable routine. My existence now challenges others.
I am from here, folks, and I have been a neighbor for many years. Why do you not recognize, validate, and announce me as important to the community? I was when I was White. I have not changed in the least, except for the color of my skin and the way I now must live with my two Caucasian Children. There is no racial mix here, folks. I am all white meat wrapped in a very dark meat coating. Christmas Celebrations went severely, too, with not one family member visiting or calling.
My new pastor, originally from Trinidad, visited with some of the congregation. A thrill welcoming people who seemed to give a damn about my situation and the kids: the pastor gave me some acceptable words that energized my heart and soul. He reminded me that all life began in Africa and that in every person, no matter whether they are White, Asian, Indian, or Indigenous, there is a minimal but powerful source of the Black Sub-Saharan African Ancestry that needs to be recognized and made whole. Bishop Tutu once said, “His humanity is all bundled up with yours, but both cannot be human without the other.” I found my home, the place I needed to be. It had not changed; I needed to recognize it with the kids and my new community. Others are always welcome in my new Black Community.
and then 