Campbell's Question

      Hello friend. I don’t know when or if you will ever actually read this, but I’m writing it anyway with the hope that it might mean something to you one day. I was friends with your mom before you were even born. We even traveled to Honduras together. She’s my good friend, so you and your sister are like two extra little bonus friends that didn’t get a say in the matter quite yet. You hold a special place in my heart, because I prayed for you to exist before you did. When your mom told me you were going to be born, I was mini golfing with the youth group. I’m not sure she was prepared for the amount of ruckus that occurred when she made her announcement. We were all so excited to meet you. I was at a meeting at church when I found out you had been born, and I was so overwhelmed with happiness that I cried all the way home. Now you’re a living breathing person, asking me questions and telling me stories like we’re best friends, even when you haven’t seen me in months. I know most of that is because you inherited your mother’s outgoing personality and would probably talk to any old stranger who showed up on your front porch, but I like to think some of it is because we have a connection. 

     The first time we met, you were two weeks old and for a second while I was holding you, you looked me directly in the eye. Many people will probably think that I imagined this because it’s not typical for babies to make eye contact that early, but I remember it quite clearly because that was one of the few moments when I thought that maybe I didn’t want to move to Alaska after all, because maybe I would rather stay close so I could watch you grow up. But moving to Alaska was the right choice for me, and so now I watch you grow up through Snapchat videos and only see you and your family in person once or twice a year.

    I was able to come see your family over my Christmas vacation, in a carefully planned outdoor visit. It’s wild to me that you are living through a worldwide pandemic that you will most likely not remember. It might be good that this will probably be a thing of the past before your long term memory has fully formed, because a lot of the way people have been treating each other during this time is nothing to be admired.

     Anyway, towards the end of my visit, it happened. I think I was actually getting up to leave when you said, “Why are you walking like that?’ and it hit me like a ton of bricks. By the time I’d regained my composure enough to answer your question, you had already lost interest. I gave you the same answer I give most children, about how my spine didn’t form the way yours did before I was born, so the way I walk looks different than the way you walk.  I don’t know if you really understood, but you accepted my answer and moved on to the next thing. The interaction was over in less than a minute, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I wish I had answered your question right away, instead of spending several seconds in silent shock, as if I haven’t heard this question from dozens of other children throughout my life. I’d just never heard it from you.

     Your  question felt like the end of something, and it was an ending I wasn’t prepared for. You’re no longer a baby unaware of the world around you. You’re old enough to make observations and ask questions. You’re old enough to understand that people have differences, and that probably means you’re old enough to start forming ideas and opinions about what you observe, and old enough to make judgments. Your parents are both good people, so I’m confident that you will continue to be taught the right way to treat others. I just know that like all humans, you will have plenty of influences outside of your home that will show you all of the wrong ways to treat people. So for that reason I wish I had a more poignant response to your question , but honestly I thought I had at least another year to prepare. I guess that little baby who could maintain eye contact at two weeks is continuing to hit her milestones early.

      As I reflect on my less than perfect response to your very legitimate question, I am hopeful that my words will be buoyed by other sources that will have a positive impact on how you perceive other people. Maybe you will be part of the first generation of people who are able to be fully inclusive. Maybe you’ll grow up in a world where treating people differently because they are different than you never even crosses your mind. That’s a lot to hope for, but there are lots of people working hard to create that kind of world for you to grow up in. I am not talking about a world where people’s differences are not noticed, because that doesn’t do anyone any good. I’m talking about a world where people make space for each other’s differences instead of seeing them as a threat.

     I’ve grown up being an involuntary “inspiration” to a lot of people, some of whom I’m not even particularly close with. The simple fact that I am able to live independently sometimes makes people fall all over themselves with admiration, and it occasionally gets tiring to be on the receiving end of that kind of energy. So what I’m hoping is that if I can inspire you in some way, it won’t just be because I was born with something that I have no control over. I hope I can inspire you to do what you were meant to do, even if other people don’t understand. I don’t know exactly what that will look like for you, but I hope you will spend far less time and energy than I did worrying about all of the people who don’t understand your life choices. I want to let you in on a little secret that most women don’t figure out until they are even older than me. When you grow up, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you choose to live your life, unless you are doing something that harms others. The choices you make about how to live your life are between you and God. Take advice from a few good friends and then, to quote one of mine and your mom’s favorite authors, “let the rest burn.” 

     Well, this letter is getting long and I’m still not entirely sure I’ve said what I’m trying to say. I guess if I could go back and answer your question, I would say pretty much the same thing. My spine formed differently than yours, and so I walk differently than you. It is simultaneously a simple fact and a big deal that helped shape the course of my life. But it doesn’t define me, and after some thought, I’ve decided it really doesn’t define anything about my relationship to you. I am who I am, and you are who you are, and I’m glad we know each other. I hope that as you get older and have more freedom to make your own choices, you will choose to keep me in your life in some way. No pressure or anything, but I am the reason you know what a musk ox is. You’re already one of my favorite humans, so just keep doing what you’re doing. I love you.