#00Buck Posted June 29, 2016 Share Posted June 29, 2016 The word callous has two meanings. In the first and most traditional meaning it is a word to describe tough skin usually built up by friction. I used to play guitar and it was painful at first but after a while the thick skin on my fingertips made it easier to play. These days I have thick skin on the palms of my hands from working out and lifting weights. Then there is the other meaning of the word: an insensitive or cruel disregard for others. I recently went to a comic con and made the rounds visiting with the various artists I know. I meet a lot of new people and that’s the fun of going to these shows. I met up with an artist I’ve known for several years and talked for a while. I didn’t notice until after the conversation was done that he had another artist at the table next to him. The man at the next table was physically handicapped, disfigured, and confined to a wheelchair. He had some very crude paintings he had done. I could recognize they were superhero paintings. Nobody was talking to him or checking out his artwork. I felt uncomfortable looking at him. I had no idea how to approach him or what to say to him so I walked away. Days go by and my artist friend posts up about his time at the convention and mentions his wheelchair bound tablemate next to him. He talked about how great his artistic spirit was and how he even bought a painting from him. My heart sank and I felt like a piece of shit. I shunned him and now I felt like a terrible person because I am a terrible person. It is brave to get a table at a show as a first time artist especially if you already have mobility problems to deal with and look kind of strange. I was a coward for not talking to him and I was callous. I was insensitive and showed total disregard for a brave human being who at the very least deserved the same attention I’d give to anyone else at the show. Since that time I’ve wanted to be a better person but I know I have not changed. I’m still callous. Like all the other bad things I’ve done in the past there isn’t any way to make up for this. I’m worried that the next time I have a chance to do the right thing I’ll miss it because I’ll disregard the situation completely. There is no public shame in what I did. Nobody knows I ignored him except me. I know I did it. I know I’ll probably do it again. I feel bad about it. As brave as he was to put himself out there I was cowardly in equal measure. In my mind there’s a difference between who I am and who I should be. I don’t know if who I am is a choice or a condition of all the things I’ve lived through. I just know sometimes I really don’t like being me. 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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