When I looked in the mirror several weeks ago and saw my mother’s reflection, it reminded me that observations are often inaccurate. In thinking about my brother, Curtis’s, awkward attempts to get Holy Communion from a priest who disparaged him so many years ago, I am reminded that not everyone looks beyond physical appearance to get to who a person is at their core.

Many people make snap judgements, often incorrect, based on looks alone. My brother, who had been born after Rubella affected my mother’s pregnancy, was disfigured, had a major heart condition, cleft palate and lip, ears sticking straight out like Alfred E. Newman’s, severely hearing impaired with hearing aids that did not work, disruptive seizures, legally blind with an awkward head tilt, with a clumsy, unsteady gait. To make matters worse, he also became schizophrenic in his late teens, often ducking from imaginary UFOs. His speech was unrecognizable by anyone except me and my parents, and he had a unique way of going up to new people and blowing them a kiss as a way of introduction. He rarely received any friendly looks in return, which, fortunately due to his vision issues, he was unable to see.

High school was a horribly traumatic time for him, where cruel teenagers would throw lit matches at him and tell him he was going to hell, which caused him great despair. He was deathly afraid of fire ever since our childhood home almost burnt to the ground when he was five years old, and he had to be carried out through the flames.

However, Curtis was a such sweetheart! He wouldn’t harm a flea and was known to offer to share his beloved Coke to strangers if he thought they might be thirsty. His life was extremely difficult except for the rare occasions when he would joyously ride up and down on the escalators at malls, thinking they were stairways to a spaceship that would take him away from his difficult, challenging life on earth.

My children all loved their Uncle Curtis and were always willing to be his sighted guide or bring him a drink and a snack. Marie, who came to live with us at the age of seven, came up with the American Sign Language Name of “Uncle Ears” for him because his huge ears stuck straight out “like an elephant” she signed. (At least she didn’t name him “Uncle Elephant Ears”!) As when I was younger and brought Curtis with me everywhere, my children became used to bringing their beloved uncle on excursions out to eat, to the mall, to get a milkshake or sundae at Newport Creamery, to ride the train at Rocky Point, or to the movies where front row seats would give him a glimmer of what was happening on the screen. His favorite movie was, of course, Star Wars.

Curtis taught my children about acceptance, tolerance and unconditional love which has contributed greatly to their adult attitudes about people with disabilities. Francis has been known to give cash to the homeless on the street, and he always tries to hire people with disabilities. Dinora, with an extensive make-up business, has done free make-up sessions for teens with disabilities going to the prom. Steven is not shy about helping a person who may be having difficulty communicating with a store clerk or will run over to help a person in a wheelchair maneuver up a curb, (after asking them if they need help, of course.) He has delighted in demonstrating his beloved reptiles to a camp of students who were blind, letting them feel the roughness of turtle’s shell or the cool dampness of a boa constrictor. Angel has sought out the campers with disabilities with whom to play board games. Marie has become a “baby whisperer” to inconsolable infants, gently able to schmooze them into naptime. She can be seen in family holiday pictures holding a sleeping infant niece or nephew.

Having a brother with a disability had not been a burden, but a blessing.

More about Curtis next week…