Barbara

January 24, 2019

When I was very young, I knew a girl named Barbara. I wasn’t always nice to her, and I’ve regretted that ever since.

We grew up in a suburb east of San Francisco, where we were classmates from kindergarten through third grade. Walnut Creek in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s was an all white, middle class town, and our elementary school reflected those demographics. The only exception, to my knowledge, was Barbara. She was white like the rest of us, but I gradually came to realize that her family was poor, and that she was the only poor kid at school. I don’t remember noticing the holes in her clothes in kindergarten, but by third grade I definitely remember her shabby appearance.

There was also something different about her personality. She didn’t seem very bright, and she had poor social skills and an odd laugh. Needless to say, kids teased her, and she gamely played along, trying to fit in. We pretended that she had “cooties,” and would have her chase us to tag someone with her cooties. I don’t recall anyone expressing overt hostility toward her, but we felt superior to her and she must have been well aware of our condescension.

But even at an early age I felt guilty about being a part of the group needling. So I made a point of being pleasant to her in my one-on-one interactions with her. Unfortunately I would revert to razzing her whenever I was part of a group.

At the end of third grade my family moved to nearby Lafayette, and I never saw Barbara again. But I never forgot her.

Recently I googled her, but found nothing. In the last year I reconnected with two of our classmates, and when I inquired after her, both of them remembered Barbara and agreed that we had been less than compassionate with her. But they didn’t know what became of her after elementary school. I wanted to find her so that I could say hello, and apologize for my past behavior. No such luck.

I’ve been thinking of Barbara lately because there’s a woman in one of my social circles who reminds me of her in some ways. This woman – I’ll call her Susan – annoys me at times because of her lack of social skills. Barbara didn’t irritate me; I bothered her. But Susan and Barbara seem to share the ability to attract negative attention. At first I grew increasingly resentful of Susan as she behaved in ways that antagonized me. Then a light bulb flashed on: Susan is unfortunate, as was Barbara, and so she deserves my empathy, not my enmity. In a way, Susan is Barbara, so if I can’t redeem myself to Barbara for my past lack of kindness toward her, then at least I can redeem myself now by being charitable toward Susan.

So until recently I had a yellow post-it note upon which I had written: Susan = Barbara. I would put this note on my calendar on any day where I thought I might encounter Susan. By summoning the memory of Barbara, it usually (but not always) softened my antipathy toward Susan. I don’t use the post-it note anymore because I think I’ve internalized its message. Still, I need to be vigilant whenever my judgmental self rears its ugly head in Susan’s presence.

Abraham Lincoln once said, “I don’t like that man. I must get to know him.” He also said, “With malice toward none, with charity toward all.” I’m not sure how much I want to get to know Susan. But I owe it to Barbara to try.