Todd and Me

I wanted to write an article focussing on compassion, kindness and friendship – and to do this subject justice, it would have to be about a man named Todd* (*not his real name).

It needed to be about Todd.

It’s taken me 25 years to realize that compassion can be a puzzling human emotion. Even when we have compassion in our minds and hearts, our actions and behaviour can betray us. Perhaps involuntarily, or because of ignorance or maybe due to our natural defence mechanisms kicking in – our actions can sometimes appear inappropriate and even insensitive.

I was a teenager working at a fast food restaurant when I first met Todd. There was a camaraderie amongst the group of teens working there – friendships were borne like no other from any job I’ve held since that time. We were all in the same boat – trying to make a few bucks while still managing to have some fun.

I had been working there for about two years when Todd was hired. He was a few years older than me and friendly enough upon introduction. I should also mention that as the result of a horrific childhood incident, Todd happened to have some severe facial disfigurement. I am ashamed to admit that upon our initial meeting, I may have gasped at his appearance. I was definitely uncertain where to look and what to say. Luckily, my good manners kicked in and I silently reminded myself not to behave rudely. So I probably smiled at him more than I would have otherwise and maybe my eyes were darting from his face to his eyes to the floor and back again at top speed. But I’m sure Todd was used to this reaction. In the same way he was probably used to sneaky second glances, pointing and whispering, bold and blatant staring, looks of disgust – even out-and-out jeering.

This was Todd’s normal.

Todd proved to be a good fit for the core group of teens that enjoyed working shifts with one another. On the evenings and weekends we found ourselves scheduled to work together, time passed quickly and enjoyably as we formed teams and quizzed each other on tv and movie trivia or played our own version of Truth and Dare in between serving up greasy fast food or just teased one another relentlessly yet good-naturedly.

As we got to know Todd better and he began to trust us, he shared his story with us: what had happened to him, all the many surgeries he had to undergo, how he felt about it all. Just as anyone gets to know anyone, we all came to know Todd. We came to realize that seeing Todd’s face was seeing Todd. He was one of us – which meant we did not have to handle him with kid gloves. We could tease him and push his buttons and argue and debate. That said – none of us ever gave Todd a hard time due to his appearance.

Which is why it always came as a shock when a customer would mistreat him.

We would be reminded that despite his normality in our eyes – the rest of the world didn’t necessarily see him this way. These momentary disruptions were jarring and upsetting – to us – his friends and coworkers. I could only imagine how they registered to him.

Todd sensed when his presence disturbed people and when this happened, he would quietly slip into the back room to prepare food or count cash or help do the dishes. It was his own personal brand of self-preservation. He was a non-confrontational guy who wouldn’t go out of his way to make anyone feel uncomfortable – so instead he would lay low.

On Friday and Saturday nights, rowdy and raucous teenagers would flood our lobby. Many of them would yell insults at Todd, guffawing at their perceived cleverness – as if Todd never had these abusive gems hurled at him before.

We were a protective and loyal bunch. And if Todd didn’t become angry (he never did) over the injustice of people judging him for something beyond his control – then we did. Not wanting our protective instincts to single him out further than the insults against him already had, we typically waited for Todd to retreat before we took action. On more than one occasion, staff as well as management asked customers to leave the premises or refused to take their orders based on their offensive and demeaning comments to Todd.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: do not mess with teenagers who are making your food.

One quiet, weekday evening, Todd was in back when a man who had been eating dinner with his wife and child in the lobby approached the on-duty cashier at the counter and said: “I think it’s disgusting for you to have a man who looks like that in full view of me and my family when we are trying to eat our dinner.”

How do you respond to another human being who not only thinks this, but has no qualms approaching another person and uttering it out loud? The cashier remained calm and responded with: “I think it’s disgusting that you feel this way. And I’d appreciate it if you and your family would eat elsewhere from now on.”

Several of us were impassioned movie lovers, Todd included. There was a movie theatre located just across the parking lot from our restaurant so oftentimes at the end of an early shift, we’d make our way over there to watch whatever happened to be playing.

It was 1993 when a Mel Gibson movie called The Man Without a Face opened. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s for good reason as the movie was definitely no masterpiece. In the film, Mel Gibson plays a hermit whose face has been disfigured in an accident. A young student (played by Nick Stahl) befriends him, uncovers his tragic past and everyone lives happily ever after.

Todd approached me and a couple of others and asked us if we would see this movie with him. He had a vested interest in the plot line and wanted us and our unwavering support by his side in the darkened theatre.

Despite the movie being mediocre at best, you could hear audible sniffles and see audience members wiping away tears as they watched Mel Gibson in half-assed makeup reveal his tragic back story. It seemed that most everyone in the dim theatre empathized with Gibson’s character – but for Todd, his empathy was a far cry above and beyond what we were capable of feeling. While audience members were going to be able to leave the theatre and walk away from Gibson’s plight, Todd couldn’t say the same.

The movie finished and as we slowly filed out of the theatre, several individuals glanced over and recoiled at the sight of Todd. My teenaged self was irate by these people who had empathized with the on-screen injustices faced by a movie character and mere minutes afterward were visibly cringing at the sight of Todd in their midst.

It’s taken me 25 years to realize that this wasn’t an example of hypocritical disdain at play.

Movies have a way of manipulating us – they are designed this way. In a sense, we are prepared for the tragic back story, and the character’s unusual appearance. And when something similar is thrust upon us in real life, our split-second reactions may temporarily overwhelm and confuse our sense of compassion.

I can offer no similar rationalization for what occurred on another occasion. Todd and I were at a shopping mall together and when he ducked into a store, an older woman urgently approached me and hissed: “You’re too pretty to be with that boy.” It was an accusation – against me, against Todd – it doesn’t really matter who it focussed on. According to this woman, a person who looked like me had no business being in the company of someone who looked like Todd.

I wish I could say that I laughed in this woman’s face or that I zinged her with a witty comeback that left her speechless. Instead, I stood there – confused and outraged – blinking back tears. To this day, I still don’t know if those tears were for Todd or me.

Eventually, our tight-knit group dispersed as one by one we discovered new avenues in life to pursue. We found different jobs, went away to school, got married, had kids. I still keep in touch with several from the group – I consider them my closest friends.

But not Todd.

We lost touch even though I still think of him every so often. And I hope that wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, that he’s continued to surround himself with a solid group of individuals who offer him the love and acceptance he deserves.

Watching a movie like Wonder or Mask tugs on the heartstrings and reminds us why compassion toward others is necessary. In order to sow the seeds of compassion, you must start from a foundation of basic respect and kindness. But true compassion isn’t automatic; it may not even come naturally. It may be something we actually have to work at and strive for. It requires sensitivity and thoughtfulness and self-reflection. It can take time and practice.

If we choose to embrace it, what is extraordinary can be beautiful. Difference can and will always become familiar to us – if we allow it to. Just knowing this and believing in it are the true beginnings of compassion.

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