It's always the quiet ones.....

When I was a lot younger, my girlfriend at that time came home one day and told me something that I will (and can not) ever forget. In her class, they had a final project where they needed to write something very meaningful and profound about a life experience. During the final week of the semester  they would have to share their story in front of their class on the day they turned in their paper. And while most the stories shared were about struggles with money, neglected relationships, regretful paths, and such, there was one unassuming and (as told by my girlfriend at the time) quiet girl whom surprised everyone. When it was that girl's turn to present and tell her story, no one, not even the teacher knew what was coming. She approached the front of the class clutching a worn teddy bear under her left arm, and with the support of the professor on the right. She said, and I quote (from the words of my girlfriend at the time):

"I grew up in what seemed to be a normal family. My parents were always supportive, involved in the community, and were very hard working. In particular, I adored my father. But on April 2, 1993 I walked into my house and heard some commotion in my brother's room. When I opened the door, I saw my father raping my brother......"

Of course, the story went on and there were other details, but that is the meat of the story. That story has always shocked, impressed and inspired me with how much courage she must've had to share this story, and how she had grown to accept what had happened.  Without knowing her, I feel that in some way, that event, like most traumatic and momentous events, changed her and, furthermore, become part of her. I guess I feel that way too about being an azoospermic......about being infertile.....and about everything my wife has had to go through because of my condition. It is very much a part of me, one that I will have to live with, continue to grow through, and (eventually) learn to share with those around me.  And someday, perhaps, I too can exercise the level of acceptance and courage with which that girl displayed in front of (what I can only assume was) a classroom filled with young, sometimes judgmental, and somewhat immature group of young students whom realized (some for the first time) that the look and power of valor, audaciousness, and heroism can manifest itself at any time and in any form. Even in the form of a quiet, unassuming girl, clutching a teddy bear.