Curiosity is OK
A couple of years ago I heard a story between a father and daughter on Story Corps.
It was about vitiligo.
It was a good story and gave a warm tribute to the relationship between these two people who share the skin condition that I have. My problem with the story was about how frustrated and angry they were with having other people stare. I didn't really understand that frustration.
We are born with the gift of curiosity.
Learning is a joy, and we do it by noticing things and asking questions or making observations.
We encourage curiosity in almost every instance, except for when the questions or observations are about things that make us different than others. It is good to notice that a Monarch has a different color pattern than a Swallowtail, or that a cardinal sings a different song than a meadowlark. It is bad to notice that my skin is completely different from nearly everyone you know.
It isn't bad.
It may feel bad if I don't like my skin or if I've been ridiculed or ostracized because of it. But asking me about my skin really isn't something only hurtful or ignorant people do. It is something curious people do. If I explain my skin, it becomes a non-issue and even sometimes a bonding point as we laugh about our differences and similarities.
In fact, some of the most fun conversations I've had with children have been when I've overheard them ask their parents about my skin, and their parents try to hush them. After I explain the difference in pigmentation, they sometimes even tell me they think my party-colored skin is pretty. And from then on, they aren't afraid to greet me or tell me about something when we meet.
It was about vitiligo.
We are born with the gift of curiosity.
Learning is a joy, and we do it by noticing things and asking questions or making observations.
We encourage curiosity in almost every instance, except for when the questions or observations are about things that make us different than others. It is good to notice that a Monarch has a different color pattern than a Swallowtail, or that a cardinal sings a different song than a meadowlark. It is bad to notice that my skin is completely different from nearly everyone you know.
It isn't bad.
It may feel bad if I don't like my skin or if I've been ridiculed or ostracized because of it. But asking me about my skin really isn't something only hurtful or ignorant people do. It is something curious people do. If I explain my skin, it becomes a non-issue and even sometimes a bonding point as we laugh about our differences and similarities.
In fact, some of the most fun conversations I've had with children have been when I've overheard them ask their parents about my skin, and their parents try to hush them. After I explain the difference in pigmentation, they sometimes even tell me they think my party-colored skin is pretty. And from then on, they aren't afraid to greet me or tell me about something when we meet.
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