Tags
Angels, Childraising, Confidence, Disabilities, Edge of Appalachia, Faith, Fate, Growing up gay, Identity, Living in Hawaii, Middle Age, Parenting, Poetry, Publishing, Self-esteem, Trisomy 21, Words
A stunning young artist and author, Michele Pinczuk, who turned her struggles with autism and chronic inflammation that turned her body against her, recently died far too young.
Her words, though, live with and inspire me every day.
Two quotes in particular stand out.
“I see, hear, and feel the world differently than most other people. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
And, heartbreakingly, “Even though you died, your words can still flourish.”
My words were first published when I was 7, a poem in a school newsletter that was sent to parents. In the years ahead when it seemed like most of the small town on the Edge of Appalachia knew I was gay before I did, I hid in my written words. They were far more beautiful and confident than I felt as a skinny, blond kid with big ears and a big nose, than the words I spoke with a voice that evoked startled reactions in people who seemed to do a double take. I could almost read in their faces the thought chain: “Oh, he’s different. He might be gay.”
I’ll never forget helping out at a school play. I worked backstage, wanting to take part, but not wanting to be noticed. A kind teacher whom I never met was in charge. I worked late, wanting to be helpful, we talked, and then she asked my name. When I told her, she said “Oh, you’re the poet! Your poems are so beautiful.” From that point on I started to trust my voice more and more. I stopped feeling ugly. The teacher’s genuine words changed and encouraged me.
And being published as a poet, essayist, and tennis writer did wonders for my self-esteem, even helped me win scholarships and a few paid trips to literary festivals and major tennis tournaments. My poems were shown at a state art exhibit, in galleries. They gave me my identity.
Last week, our daughter, born with an extra chromosome, was rejected for the new academic year by a private middle school where she had aced the interview, even though her test scores in language arts, but not math, are comparable, in some instances even better than kids her age, even with her impressive extracurricular activities. When we asked why, we were only told the school is college preparatory. When we explained that it is very much our intention that our daughter attend college, we were told, in a voice laced with saccharine, how lucky she is to have parents who are so optimistic.
This week, we applied to two additional schools. We also found out our daughter’s poems, as well as mine, will be published in a major Hawaiian anthology in which almost all the poets are adults. Last December another of her poems was published in a major newspaper. The editors and publishers do not know about her extra chromosome. Our daughter’s words stood on their own.
Michele Pinczuk went through a fair amount of rejection before others discovered what she had known: that all the ways she was different were her essential beauty and a gift to the world.
Fortunately, unlike me, my daughter is growing up with a healthy (sometimes a little too healthy) quantity of self-esteem. She moves easily past the pain of rejection and has found acceptance in the many great communities that have embraced her in Hawaii. Her words are gifts and they flourish.