Friday, May 17, 1996
To face the truth is to learn how to love oneself and othersBy
Martin Swisher Harris
The other day I was eating a chicken sandwich, French fries and
a soda from Campus Corner. I was just casually conversing with this
dude about the Magic Johnson situation. The next thing you know, I
dropped my sandwich and spilled my soda all over my backpack, which
happened to be on the table. He passed me a couple of napkins and
helped me clean up the mess, but he was curious as to what
happened. He was like, "Man, were you swatting at a bug or
something?"
What he was asking was how could I spill a drink that I was not
even holding? I just looked in disbelief like I did not know what
just happened. I played it off like an unfortunate accident. I even
laughed at the little incident like it was funny to me.
But the truth is, I know exactly what happened. I know exactly
why I dropped my sandwich and spilled my drink all over my
backpack. I lost control of my nerves. My arms twitched, and I
dropped my sandwich. They twitched again, and I knocked over my
drink. I didn’t have the courage to tell the dude what really
happened.
When I was a kid, I guess I took one too many blows to the head.
Being the youngest of five boys was physically and mentally
challenging. I always had to play as hard as I could just to
compete. Over my young life I have done a lot of heroic things
athletically, and I wouldn’t take them back for anything. But there
is always a price one must pay.
When I was in about the fifth grade, I started losing control of
my nerves from time to time. It was like my body started refusing
to let me concentrate on anything. It got to the point where I
couldn’t put Legos together. My body would violently jerk, and
everything would be on the ground. This situation climaxed for the
first time one day when I was washing the dishes. My thumbs went
inside my hands, I drifted to the ground, and had a seizure. Why
did God do this to me? Why did He curse me with this sickness? I
was only in the fifth grade. My life would never be the same.
Now I am a fourth-year student in college. I haven’t had a
seizure since the ninth grade. I hardly even take medication. But I
still suffer from the uncontrollable twitches. For all of this
time, I have been a slave to this sickness. I have allowed it to
control my every thought. It has become an invisible brick wall
between myself and the world.
My uncontrollable twitches are a part of me just as much as my
name is Martin Swisher Harris and my skin is black. Trying to deny
this truth only means that I do not really love myself and my life.
And if I don’t love myself for who I am, how could I ever really
love anyone else?
For all this time, I have distanced myself from people because
I’m afraid of what they might think. Maybe God was blessing me with
this sickness, because now more than ever before, I can see. I
refuse to let my sickness be the Central Presence in my life. I’m
more than that. I’m much more than that. I’m a man. I’m my own
man.
Harris is a fourth-year political science student.