When I was still young about 12 years old, we lived with my cousins at our place especially over the holidays. During such times we had much fun and most of it was doing the silly things that many did not like. We were used to making jokes about anyone that we thought had a weird look on any part of their body. We could laugh our heart out without caring what the other person felt.
Some came to our place to report us but this did not change things either. Some got irritated so badly that they retaliated by chasing us or beating us which made it even more fun. I happened to be the head of this group of a silly non-remorseful gang and I was happy about until a day came that taught me a lesson, a lesson that I have to pay for all the unkind things I did to anyone.
There was this young man who used to bring us newspapers every day. The boy had a funny look on his skin. He had red flaky skin which to us looked laughable. We therefore made fun of him whenever he came by calling him peely face. We did this every day and the fact that the boy did not care to notice us, it still made us feel better. No one bothered to find out the boy’s name. We had a name of our own and we decided what one would be called regardless of who their names were. I did not realize how such jokes were expensive until one day I woke with my whole body feeling itchy. I thought it to be a normal thing after all and went out to have a bath.
The itching did not seem to stop. My body was turning pale. I was rushed to the hospital for a checkup. The doctor reported that I had come in contact with the poisonous red oak. As I lay down on the bed the memory of the newspaper boy came back. I looked at the mirror and there was no difference between me and the boy. I was now paying for my unkindness that I had portrayed towards people. By now there was no sight of the boy as he had stopped dropping the newspapers to our home.
We did not bother to find out his names hence it was hard to track him. I wished I could find him and apologize to him. Being in his shoes was hard and I dreaded the fact that everyone would be looking at me with horrid faces and others making fun of me.
Rosenthal, Gabriele. “Reconstruction of life stories: Principles of selection in generating stories for narrative biographical interviews.” The narrative study of lives 1.1 (1993): 59-91.