I have never enjoyed being the center of attention and much prefer to hide in the shadows.  Years ago at a soccer practice we were all getting warmed up waiting for practice to start.  For some reason, all of a sudden, the whole team was surrounding me in a circle – I was in the center.  It was weird, it just kinda happened, and  I hated the feeling.  They were all looking to me like they were expecting me to say something profound.  Instead  I said, “why are you all looking at me?” and with that the circle disbanded.

Someone else would have loved every second of literally being the center of attention.  Another teammate would have begun telling jokes.  Someone else would have found a way to create interesting conversation.  I, on the other hand, just wanted out.

I talked about making struggle a private thing here.  I am extremely uncomfortable being the center of attention in any kind of group setting, and I especially loathe my hand being the center of attention, whether in a crowd up 100 or one-on-one.

All my life my entrepreneurial father has tried to groom me for leadership — both on the soccer field and in the business world.  I loved playing soccer and I am still energized about business, but I was much more comfortable mostly hiding in the shadows – being a consistent and beneficial presence, with maybe an occasional jump to leadership; a jump done on my time table within my comfort zone.

This morning as I wavered between sleep and wakefulness, when dreams and thoughts come more vivid, I recalled two instances in which I was thrust out of the shadows due to my hand.

As a high school kid I had my first real job at a Pizza Hut – a chain restaurant common in my neck of the woods.  I learned to make the pizza, put it on the conveyor belt to cook, remove the hot pan, cut and box up the pizza.  It wasn’t brain surgery, but I enjoyed my job.  I enjoyed the challenges I gave myself to increase speed and efficiency.  I love that money was going in my pocket and was proud to have a job.  Until the day my manager pulled me aside.

Here is an except from Surviving to Thriving*

During my senior year of high school, I got my first job –at Pizza Hut.  It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a job and it earned (some) money.  I enjoyed being gainfully employed, and it’s a shame it didn’t last much longer than two weeks.

My job was in the kitchen, making the pizza.  I would take the pre-made crust and build the pizza with sauce and the desired toppings.  I’d put the pizza in the oven, and remove it on the other end.  Removing the pizza was the tricky part.  It took a bit of strength and some balance.  The pizza tray was hot, obviously, so it was a two-handed procedure.  One hand would use a pliers-like tool to grasp the rim of the tray; the other hand would place a spatula under the tray to support the weight of it while I brought it to the counter to cut.  This was by far the most difficult aspect of the job for me, but also the most fun, because I always love a challenge.

Almost two weeks into the job, I was removing a pizza from the oven, when one of my coworkers (finally) noticed my hand.  She was impressed with my ability to handle the pizza despite my hand.  A small part of me appreciated her comment, but most of me just wanted to be anonymous.  I wasn’t looking for any kind of acknowledgement of this challenge, I simply wanted to do my job and embrace the challenge, without being made to feel ‘special’ or ‘different’ or in anyway ‘exceptional’ for doing the job.  But alas, that was about to end here.

Within an hour my boss (a very large man) called me into the walk-in cooler.  There, he gave me a most unnecessary and most unwelcome monologue of advice.  I suppose that coworker went to the boss and told him of my hand.  That is the only logical explanation for what was said.

He proceeded to lecture me on how it’s okay that my hand is the way it is.  He said something to the effect of, ‘I’m fat (he was very obese), and you have a different hand, I’m okay, you’re okay.’  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  I was mortified.  All I could think was, ‘what in the world?  What did I do or say to encourage this?’

I quit the very next day.   

While he intended to be helpful or encouraging, I suppose, I was downright offended.  And there was no way I wanted to work for a person who took such liberty to address something that was none of his business.  I was also offended by the comparison he made.  Which brings me to another aspect of well-intended pity.

During my senior year of high school, I got my first job –at Pizza Hut.  It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a job and it earned (some) money.  I enjoyed being gainfully employed, and it’s a shame it didn’t last much longer than two weeks.

My job was in the kitchen, making the pizza.  I would take the pre-made crust and build the pizza with sauce and the desired toppings.  I’d put the pizza in the oven, and remove it on the other end.  Removing the pizza was the tricky part.  It took a bit of strength and some balance.  The pizza tray was hot, obviously, so it was a two-handed procedure.  One hand would use a pliers-like tool to grasp the rim of the tray; the other hand would place a spatula under the tray to support the weight of it while I brought it to the counter to cut.  This was by far the most difficult aspect of the job for me, but also the most fun, because I always love a challenge.

Almost two weeks into the job, I was removing a pizza from the oven, when one of my coworkers (finally) noticed my hand.  She was impressed with my ability to handle the pizza despite my hand.  A small part of me appreciated her comment, but most of me just wanted to be anonymous.  I wasn’t looking for any kind of acknowledgement of this challenge, I simply wanted to do my job and embrace the challenge, without being made to feel ‘special’ or ‘different’ or in anyway ‘exceptional’ for doing the job.  But alas, that was about to end here.

Within an hour my boss (a very large man) called me into the walk-in cooler.  There, he gave me a most unnecessary and most unwelcome monologue of advice.  I suppose that coworker went to the boss and told him of my hand.  That is the only logical explanation for what was said.

He proceeded to lecture me on how it’s okay that my hand is the way it is.  He said something to the effect of, ‘I’m fat (he was very obese), and you have a different hand, I’m okay, you’re okay.’  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  I was mortified.  All I could think was, ‘what in the world?  What did I do or say to encourage this?’

I quit the very next day.   

While he intended to be helpful or encouraging, I suppose, I was downright offended.  And there was no way I wanted to work for a person who took such liberty to address something that was none of his business.  I was also offended by the comparison he made.  Which brings me to another aspect of well-intended pity.

I was doing my job, and by his own admission, doing it well.  Just leave me alone and let me work!

The second incident that came to mind as I wavered in that in-between state of sleep and wakefulness occurred about a decade later, in college.

I was in the weight room working out when one of the trainers approached me.  He saw me using the row machine and came over when he saw my form — it was uneven and not smooth since my right grasp was adapted.  He began to speak when he noticed my hand and said, “oh, that explains it.”

The fellow could not have been nicer or more sincere in his desire to help, but he trust me out of the shadows, much to my surprise, and I wasn’t ready for it.

He retreated briefly and returned with a few pieces of equipment for me to try.  Each one was designed to aid in ones grip on a bar.  I am fairly sure they designed for power lifters to create a level of safety in case they lost their grip.  He handed one to me to try for a while, the one he thought would be the best option.

I finished my workout that day, but did not return to the weight room all semester after that, nor did I return the grip.

I wasn’t planning on being a thief that day, but neither did I want to face him again.  He didn’t do anything wrong.  He wasn’t a jerk in any way, nor offensive in any way, either intentionally or unintentionally.  He just took me out of my introverted, safe bubble when I wasn’t ready and my (immature) response was to withdraw.

A few weeks later I happened to pass him on campus and gave a quick hello before lowering my head.  I could tell on his face he was a bit annoyed that I “took off” with his grip and disappeared from the gym, but he didn’t say anything.  I never did return the item he leant to me.

Even today I am still trying to figure out all the ways that Poland Syndrome has shaped my personality and habits – trying to pinpoint the incorrect thinking and counter it with truth and courage.  I have lived 33 years trying to pretend that these struggles don’t exist, but the reality is that they DO exist.  So how am I going to live like in way that embraced life and all that life can offer instead of shrinking back when I feel some discomfort?

An ongoing challenge, I’m sure.

How about you?

*You can read Surviving to Thriving: Finding Hope and Meaning Amidst Affliction for FREE by signing up for the mailing list to the right.  Each chapter will be sent to your inbox.  Or can purchase outright here, and support this page