Are we sometimes as quick to judge people? Do we judge them by their covers too?
I sometimes either like or dislike people on a first meeting but recently I have been thinking that maybe people, like a book can take a while to get into and understand their story.
What I'm trying to say is the first impression something or someone has on us may not always the right one and should never be the final one.
We will sometimes need an explanation of what we at first didn't like, to understand it.
When I was about seven or eight years old I was given a gift by the father of my mum's friend. I never knew her friend as she died not long after I was born but my mum and her were very close. I remember seeing a photograph of her, she had been ill with cancer and in this photo she was sitting up in bed, she most probably looked unwell because I told my mum she scared me. Mum said she was a lovely person but I can remember thinking that (from a photo ) I didn't like her.
Parents didn't discuss illness or death with children when I was young and I think I was just scared. I feel really awful now as mum never really spoke about her again and I never asked. I looked for the photo in her possessions when she died but it wasn't there.
Back to the gift. It must have been my birthday, the gift was a red oblong box which at first sight I had decided was a new pencil box and as I opened the clasp to feast my eyes upon the shiny new pencils and perhaps a ruler and rubber I saw a string of pearls. I was not happy and still remember the feeling of disappointment but I hope that even although I was young and as you can tell I said stupid things, that I hid my feelings from the poor man.
When we arrived home I told my mum of having thought it was a pencil box and I didn't want pearls which were for old ladies. She explained to me they were cultured pearls which meant the were real and probably expensive. This information still didn't really do anything for me and the pearls lay in the box for years although I did always make sure they were in a safe place. My mum borrowed them from time to time always asking me first if she could. Then when I reached my twenties something clicked in my brain and I realised what a lovely gift I had been given.
Thinking about this and writing it down I have only just realised that maybe the pearls belonged to his daughter because I can't imagine a man going out and buying such a young girl real pearls. Perhaps my mum didn't want to tell me because I said her friend's photo scared me, I never asked her and it's too late now.
I judged my mum's friend from a photograph and now I think her father gave me her precious jewellery.
I judged the gift by it's cover (box) I thought I knew all about it before it was even opened. Then I didn't like what I saw, could see no use for it, but I held on to it, treated it as something precious and now forty six years later the string of pearls is one of my most treasured possessions. I wish I hadn't been so quick to judge and I hope that somehow, somewhere, the giver of my gift knows how very much my string of pearls mean to me
|Not quite so shiny, 46yrs later|
|My precious pearls.|