My 6-year-old son, Grant, has lived with a Port Wine Stain birthmark on his face, which largely didn’t bother him until kindergarten. That year, he began to feel the weight of constant, thoughtless questions from strangers like, “What happened to your face?” or “What’s wrong with you?” His once-confident reply, “It’s just a birthmark,” had become weary, burdened by the endless explanations, stares, and unkind remarks, such as a medical assistant’s hurtful comment, “Oh, I thought you got punched in the face.”
However, a pivotal moment at school transformed his outlook. While in the bathroom, another boy, whom Grant didn’t know, asked about his face. After Grant gave his usual tired answer, the boy unexpectedly responded, “Well, your birthmark is really cool.” He then sensitively asked, “Do people ever hurt your feelings when they ask about it or make fun of it?” Grant nodded, and the boy advised, “Stick up for yourself, kid.” This encounter profoundly brightened Grant’s world; he came home beaming, calling the boy “so nice.”
His mother, overjoyed, cried for three days and was determined to find this kind, brave child. After a few weeks, they located him: Tucker. Surprisingly, Tucker wasn’t older as she’d imagined, but a first-grader himself—described by his parents and teacher as shy and gentle. Yet, he was moved to speak such kindness because he, too, understood the pain of hurtful comments. Significantly, Tucker didn’t even identify Grant by his birthmark; he simply told his parents he’d made a new friend with “white hair.”
Now, Grant and Tucker are friends, with playdates being planned. Grant, nervous around dogs, is asking to go to the park because Tucker has one, and Tucker is eager to swim with his new buddy. Grant’s mother is filled with immense gratitude and hope, realizing this is the empathetic and genuinely kind world she wishes for her child to grow up in, where friendship blossoms from understanding.