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"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 ever
pass through a son. 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 that
can be seen, but what that 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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