Before you read this, let me just assure you that I did not make any of it up. When you finish, I think you'll understand why I made that disclaimer. I am not going to share any names either because...well, just because.
So apparently I am a hero. Why? Because I saved a little girl from certain death. Or at least that's what her parents think. A couple of days ago I got a phone call from someone dear to me, and she was incredibly upset. "Hermana....my daughter...two days ago....(sniff, sniff)….she....(sharp intake of breath)…" and I prepared myself for the worst thinking she was about to tell me that her daughter had died in a freak accident. "My little girl...she stopped pooping." I was so relieved (no pun intended...ok, maybe a little) that I barely choked back the laughter that all this drama was over a constipated 10 year old girl. I visited them later with a laxative, and I am happy to report that all is now right with the world. This morning I visited them again, and the normally shy little girl came flying out to greet me, threw her little arms around me, and thanked me profusely for the magic pill. Her mom and I chatted for a bit, and she tearfully told me how terrified she was that her daughter was dying and how grateful they all were that I went out to see them that day and gave them a pill. She called me their hero, and again I refrained from laughing. The fact is, the girl was fine 45 minutes after my first visit, and laxatives don't work that fast. I really had nothing to do with it, but sometimes you just can't make people understand and it's just better to let things go.
A few minutes later the same woman was telling me about her little sister who has vitiligo, the skin disease that causes loss of skin color in blotches. It's pretty noticeable in dark skinned people. She told me how they'd taken her to a place hours from here to see a specialist who gave her very specific instructions and several vials of expensive medicine. I'm sure the "medicine" is as bogus as the instructions were: lay in the sun for exactly 1 hour every day between 7 and 8 in the morning. Then in the evening, take your own blood from your arm and reinject it into your bum. As delicately as possible, I explained to my friend that there is no cure for vitiligo, and that the "specialist" was scamming them. And then she looked me dead in the eye and said, "But what about Michael Jackson?"
"Uh....what? What about Michael Jackson?"
"Well, he was born black but changed to be white. Can't we use that same medicine in the reverse to turn the white blotches back to dark skin?"
And try as I might to hold it in, I had to laugh. Here I was in the middle of nowhere having a conversation with indigenous people about Michael Jackson. I asked if they even knew who he was, and they admitted that they didn't. Someone had just used him as an example of a person who changed his skin color. It was tons of fun explaining that one, by the way.
The moral of this story is how important it is that we are there for each other. Interactions that may seem pretty insignificant to you may mean the world to someone else. So smile...make that phone call...give that hug...share that laxative. You just might become someone's hero.
