JavaScript is disabled in your web browser or browser is too old to support JavaScript. Today almost all web pages contain JavaScript, a scripting programming language that runs on visitor's web browser. It makes web pages functional for specific purposes and if disabled for some reason, the content or the functionality of the web page can be limited or unavailable.
Vieraskieliset / In-english

Blog: Care and com­pas­si­on

Vieraskieliset / In-english
12.8.2019 10.56

Juttua muokattu:

23.12. 02:44

It is a bril­li­ant March day. I sit down to rest my feet and wait for the cof­fee to drip. I just came in af­ter a skiing trip. The sun spark­led on the snow, and my skis made a nice crunc­hing noi­se on the snow. Spar­rows twit­te­red in the shrub­be­ry, and wa­ter was drip­ping cheer­ful­ly from the ea­ves. While skiing wit­hout any ca­res, my me­mo­ries tra­ve­led back to some old events and ex­pe­rien­ces.

I re­mem­be­red a Fri­day, the last school day be­fo­re the win­ter break, many ye­ars ago. I was stan­ding in lunch line next to the eighth-gra­ders. The line slow­ly inc­hed to­ward the ca­te­ring desk. The boys kept mo­ving rest­les­s­ly on their ran­gy legs, and the girls were whis­pe­ring sec­rets to each ot­her. There was an at­mosp­he­re of ex­pec­ta­ti­on for the break. Sud­den­ly I felt so­met­hing touch my foot.

– You have such a ter­rib­ly small foot. Size 35, is it? I al­re­a­dy have size 43 shoes.

Next to my foot I saw the wet leg of over­long je­ans and a worn win­ter trai­ner with its velc­ro strap han­ging open. When I loo­ked up, I saw cheer­ful blue ey­es bet­ween pimp­ly cheeks and rump­led bangs. The boy I had had to scold du­ring the pre­vi­ous les­son had found a ten­der tone to his gruff voi­ce.

The boys soon got their lunch. There were on­ly a few hours to go be­fo­re the one-week break! Sun­light made bright patc­hes on the floor.

I star­ted my break, too. I joi­ned my sis­ter’s fa­mi­ly for a va­ca­ti­on at a ca­bin. Sa­tur­day went by quick­ly. There was a track on the lake that we used for a small skiing race, and the kids lo­ved pla­ying in the snow. Eve­ry­bo­dy was hung­ry, and af­ter din­ner and sau­na we were all ti­red. We be­gan to pre­pa­re the beds. I was to sleep in a woo­den pull-out bed.

I tried to lift off the woo­den top, but my hands slip­ped, and the he­a­vy top fell right ac­ross my toes. The pain brought te­ars in­to my ey­es. My toes were soon so swol­len there was al­most not enough space for them all. We put the woo­den top back, and I made my bed sa­fe­ly on it. I lied down to sleep with cold packs ac­ross my toes and pil­lows un­der my feet. I saw many pairs of com­pas­si­o­na­te ey­es around me, and small hands pat­ted me for con­so­la­ti­on.

– Oh, that sure hurts! But you will soon feel bet­ter.

One of the child­ren cried and said she could not even look.

I gu­ess I slept some that night. When I ope­ned my ey­es in the mor­ning, the child­ren were around me as­king how I was fee­ling. I had a lot of lo­ving care and con­so­la­ti­on. And I my­self con­so­led one sad child.

I could not ski any­mo­re, so I just sat by the win­dow loo­king at the child­ren hap­pi­ly rom­ping in the snow. One of my nep­hews had a new pair of soft pad­ded win­ter boots. I was ab­le to put them on a few days la­ter, and be­fo­re the win­ter break was over, I ma­na­ged to walk out­doors with my toes ban­da­ged and pro­tec­ted by woo­len socks.

I felt truly gra­te­ful for those boots that I could bor­row. When I was back at school af­ter the break, I had to walk ups­tairs slow­ly and ca­re­ful­ly. I saw cu­ri­ous looks and he­ard some whis­pers. I told my stu­dents what had hap­pe­ned.

The boy who had com­men­ted on the size of my feet loo­ked se­ri­ous and con­cer­ned. The stu­dents were cle­ar­ly ob­ser­ving my abi­li­ty to walk. Some of them as­ked if the ac­ci­dent had hurt very bad­ly, and ot­hers won­de­red if I had al­re­a­dy grown new toe nails.

When spring came, I fi­nal­ly got rid of the pad­ded win­ter boots. Slow­ly but su­re­ly my toes he­a­led and grew new nails.

The boy who had com­pa­red our shoes left school. I have not seen him or he­ard about him sin­ce, but I hope he has not lost his com­pas­si­o­na­te at­ti­tu­de. It was ea­sy to sen­se that at­ti­tu­de, alt­hough he was in the mid­d­le of the pain and tur­moil of gro­wing up.

Small child­ren are sen­si­ti­ve to the pain of ot­her pe­op­le, es­pe­ci­al­ly their dear ones. They al­so show that by being lo­ving and ca­ring. It is ea­sy to think that teens do not care for ot­her pe­op­le, or even no­ti­ce them pro­per­ly. But that is not al­wa­ys so. We as adults may just fail to re­cog­ni­ze their way of sho­wing their love and ca­ring. A small ges­tu­re, a smile, a touch, an unex­pec­ted­ly gent­le qu­es­ti­on – all that may stand for com­pas­si­on, re­mor­se and even apo­lo­gy.

All pe­op­le long for love and care, and it is al­so im­por­tant to be ab­le to show love and care to so­me­o­ne el­se. It is he­art-war­ming when a stor­my, re­bel­li­ous teen ta­kes off his or her mask to re­ve­al the smile be­hind it. And squ­a­re­ly meets yo­ur eye.

Text: Ai­li Pa­sa­nen

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

You will find the ori­gi­nal fin­nish blog post here.


Joka heik­koa sor­taa, her­jaa hä­nen Luo­jaan­sa, joka Luo­jaa kun­ni­oit­taa, ar­mah­taa köy­hää. Sa­nanl. 14:31

Viikon kysymys