Acceptance

Not long ago, as my daughter and I were picking up some random groceries for the ever-empty-teenagers-eat-everything pantry, my cell phone suddenly shrilled the loud, needy and attention demanding BEEP of blood sugar rising.  My youngest daughter, not immune to the sound, looked towards me annoyed but dutifully began pulling out her pump to add insulin. 

((And yes, she did this without first checking on a meter, something that perhaps could be considered outside of protocol - because at this stage of 'teenager', my battle isn't with perfection, it is with just taking action.)) 

As she swiftly adjusted her insulin dose, my eyes locked onto a little kid about four years of age, standing just a few feet away.  Holding my breath, I wondered how this little person staring would affect her mood and future resistence to feeling like she wasn't always fitting in.  Staring can do that, especially when it happens frequently, and to a young person that may or may not always feel 100% confident.  In this exact moment, there was no escaping the laser locked focus of someone clearly witnessing something they had never before witnessed.

Side-note: Zoo animals have nothing on us. I get you Mama Giraffe.

Enraptured by my daughter's cool electronic device, he softly whispered "Wowwwww" and stared as she pushed buttons, making her pump whistle the delivery of insulin and shrill another beep once complete.  His mom intently reading labels was either immune to what was happening or delicately trying not to also stare. 

The little boy, unable to no longer keep his excitement quiet, pointed and said, "What is that?"

"My insulin pump.  It gives me medicine."

The little boy solemnly nodded his head and said, "That's cool". 

Watching the interaction with amusement, I am certain that the words insulin pump although meaningless, intuitively felt significant.  Clearly he understood the universal medicine. 

He then asked, "Do you feel better?"

My daughter smiled and said, "I do feel better." 

Her reassurance in feeling better satisfied any further questions and a moment later, he shared "I have this", and holding out his hand, he unveiled a very sticky, wet piece of what we call ABC gum - already been chewed. 

Despite it's clearly unhygienic display, my daughter made no show of disdain and simply replied, "That's cool." 

A moment later and each waved a friendly good-bye, parting ways and probably forgetting the entire exchange of curiosity.

Later, sharing the story with my husband, he offered an interesting thought. 

In a world of 'differences', wouldn't it be nice if we all just accepted with a 'that's cool?' and then moved on?