In minor ways we differ, in major we're the same

My last post got me to thinking a little more about Maya Angelou's words on the human condition. I decided to post her beautiful poem. The picture is one I took at the creek today. I think it is fitting, except that they are ducks.

Human Family, by Maya Angelou
I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived
as true profundity,
and others claim they really live
the real reality.

The variety of our skin tones
can confuse, bemuse, delight,
brown and pink and beige and purple,
tan and blue and white.

I've sailed upon the seven seas
and stopped in every land,
I've seen the wonders of the world
not yet one common man.

I know ten thousand women
called Jane and Mary Jane,
but I've not seen any two
who really were the same.

Mirror twins are different
although their features jibe,
and lovers think quite different thoughts
while lying side by side.

We love and lose in China,
we weep on England's moors,
and laugh and moan in Guinea,
and thrive on Spanish shores.

We seek success in Finland,
are born and die in Maine.
In minor ways we differ,
in major we're the same.

I note the obvious differences
between each sort and type,
but we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

we are family.

My brother came to visit a couple of weeks ago, and we all had the best time. (He's coming again this weekend) I think he had fun. We cooked out, and Tyler got to get his "roll on", rolling his wheelchair all over the courtyard; it is not usual for him to get that much freedom, one of the downfalls of a handicap like this.

Other than the fact that we refuse to live in the suburbs (you either get this or you don't), finding something that worked well for our special situation was probably the biggest factor in the apartment/community that we chose to live in. I wanted something that was obviously handicap accessible (which is not as common as you may think), and then I also wanted a really safe neighborhood where I wouldn't be worried to take him for walks alone. You might be surprised how vulnerable you feel when it's you and then a 170lb individual who is 100% wheelchair dependent. It was different when I could lift him on my own; now that he's outgrown me, not so much. I also wanted a place with a great courtyard, so that we could let him do his own thing, something he hardly ever gets to do. So, yes, we pay too much and it is a giant step up from the 300 sq ft basement apt we had back in KS, but it is worth every penny.

It is good for me, too, expands my mind some. I used to be such a judger of people who wanted conventional things (fancy schmancy cars, boob jobs), and let me tell you, my neighborhood is full of that. But, who am I to judge? Worse than any 'judgee,' I can tell you that. True, I have the most fun in like-minded company, but, like the Maya Angelou said, "We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." How can I want peace, yet not BE peace? "Be the change you wish to see in the world," Mahatma Gandhi said. Be the peace. Even to the plasticy ones.

Anyways, it took Tyler a long time to fall asleep. He just laid there, smiling at me when I came to check on him. Usually, I don't have him spend the night, but I believe I always will from now on because it was very special. I lay with him for awhile, and ran my fingers through his hair, like I did when we were little kids. Of course, he does not speak, but he smiles when I do this. As I've mentioned before, we were separated in childhood a couple of years after our parents divorced. The summer that it happened, we both went to visit my dad, as usual, but only I returned to Kansas. Every summer I came to visit, and leaving was the hardest thing to do. I remember my dad telling me that Tyler would wheel his chair around the house, looking for me after I had gone back home. I can't tell you how much it really felt like part of my soul was missing during that time; I was so used to him needing me, and then he was gone. He still needed me, I just wasn't there. I don't know why I felt so guilty, but it was overwhelming. I remember having dreams of his funeral, and I wasn't invited. Somewhere along the way, I healed; but it was still natural for me to come to him. I think that is just what we do for family, if they need us. Sure, it's inconvenient at times. Sure, it stands in the way of some of my dreams of running off to a lesser developed country to make my life by the beach. But, maybe the new plans, the plans that life is always throwing at us, are better than what I had invisioned in my finite mind. Like Joseph Campbell said, "We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us."