Last week, I stopped into a Cassville convenience store for a drink and was met with the most common encounter I have with children when it comes to my congenital amputation.
For those who do not know me personally or have not seen me in person, I have a congenital (from birth) amputation a few inches below my left elbow. I have a perfectly functioning elbow, but my radius and ulna barely split apart before coming back together to form a nub, which on the exterior has four small digits (my fingers halted in their growth stage) and an inset hole where my thumb would have grown.
It’s actually pretty fascinating to see the X-ray from when I was a child, where left arm looks like a crab claw. And within the few inches from my elbow to the tip of my nub, I can flex five separate muscles that I assume are my growing fingers, though I’m not a doctor so don’t quote me. I just know they are there.
I often tell people who don’t know me and have to find me in a crowd, “I’m pretty easy to pick out: about 5-7, blonde hair and one hand.”
No one, however, notices my lack of left hand more than children. And, children from the ages of 4-12 generally have something to say about it.
Such was the case when I entered the store. I walked past a mother with a gaggle of five children, and after I passed, one of the younger boys announced — audibly through the whole store — “That per…that person only…HE ONLY HAS ONE HAND.”
I saw my nub catch his eye as I walked past, and I knew he would have a comment. As he started to sputter it out, I already began to chuckle. Very few kids have a filter, and he was one without.
As I laughed internally at his reaction of awe, I heard his family’s reaction and my heart sank a bit. “Hush now,” the mother said. “We don’t say those kinds of things about people.”
Big sister added something to the effect of, “Dad would’ve beat you if he heard you say that.”
Yikes. I sure hope no child is ever physically punished for expressing disbelief in something they may have never seen before.
The encounter got me thinking about it: what is an appropriate reaction from a child, or from an adult?
I never hold a child accountable for their reactions, and they run the gamut. Some only stare, some ask intelligent questions (one Cassville second-grader about 8 years ago asked if my hand was still in my mommy’s tummy), and some immediately grab my arm and inspect it inch by inch.
Kids will be kids, and I see it as my responsibility, and trying burden on certain days, to help foster understanding and education so next time, maybe it won’t be as much of a shock.
That is my philosophy, but I cannot speak for all amputees. I’m the kind of amputee that has fun with the cards I was dealt. Most of the time I’m honest, but I have convinced plenty of children (and adults for that matter) that my hand was lost to a shark attack, in a bear fight, or that I plain left it at the store one day.
As social cues go, kids are always quick to call me out on my fibs, and they get a laugh when I tell them they are too smart for their own good. Adults, on the other hand, usually accept whatever I say as fact, no matter how outlandish, afraid to call me a liar and offend me.
I always eventually tell the kids the truth that I was born with it — but the adults, well, some of them need a good thinker.
I also have confidence in my “disability” other amputees may not have. I type about 80 words a minute, was a ringer and crowd favorite on my sixth-grade basketball team (and I can still ball), and I pretty much do everything anyone with two hands can do.
In fact, that’s about the only time I’m offended — if you assume I cannot do something, or if you are intentionally using my different to make me seem less than. Those two instances I do not stand for.
When it comes to amputees, if you ever have any doubts of what to say or do, simply treat them how you wish to be treated.
That advice is also transferrable to other scenarios. if someone is different from you in race, gender, abilities, education, religion, sexual orientation, nationality or otherwise — treat them how you wish to be treated.
And, If they do not do the same, have compassion. You never know what a person is going through that day, that year of in their lifetime.
Kyle Troutman has served as the editor of the Cassville Democrat since 2014 and became Publisher in 2023. He was named William E. James/Missouri Outstanding Young Journalist for daily newspapers in 2017, and he won a Golden Dozen Award from ISWINE in 2022. He may be reached at 417-847-2610 or ktroutman@cassville-democrat. com.
