Masks

by Esther Brown

This is a legend that has been passed down for many years, from generation to generation. Other legends and myths have faded away; but this one has remained. Some say that it survived through luck. But others say that there is a purpose to it, and someday the legend will be passed to its true owners - those who it was intended for.

The legend tells of a kingdom, long ago. Now, the inhabitants of this kingdom had a strange and grievous flaw: not a single one of them was perfect. Physicians from all over the world examined the inhabitants, but they finally came to a conclusion: this imperfection was a permanent flaw, and the people would have to learn to deal with it.

With this dismal conclusion, the inhabitants of the kingdom developed a system that attempted to combat the problem. Every person would make and wear a mask, different for everyone. Those who were ugly would create a gorgeous mask; those who were scared would create a proud, brave mask; those who were cruel would create smiling, gentle masks. Of course, their true character showed through to everyone else; but because they believed that they were perfect, they were content.

For the few individuals blessed with personalities and features that were better than most, a smaller mask was worn, to let their true beauty shine through. A certain princess was one of these. She was lovely, sweet-tempered, and wise. Her parents, the king and queen of the land, pampered and loved her, especially the king her father. But one sad day, while the little princess was only five years old, she received word that her father had been killed in battle. The laws of the land did not provide for a female ruler; so she and her mother left the luxury of the palace, to live in the country as rich nobles.

But after her father's death, the princess learned that the masks were deceitful, and the most glorious mask could hide the worst personality. All of her life, she had looked up to her mother's mask, kind and caring; now she saw that the mask had been created for her father, and was not the true woman. At first, the princess spent days crying - then reached a conclusion. If her mother had been completely different than she had thought, what if she was? What if the princess she had thought she was, really didn't exist?

That evening, she slowly walked up into the storage rooms of her palace. Finally she found the materials, and begin sculpting - creating a new mask. After hours of work, it was complete. She put it on and looked in a mirror. A hideous face, scarred and bitter, looked back at her. Tears came into the princess's eyes, but she blinked them back. And she never took the mask off after that day.

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Years passed by. Eventually the "princess" grew up and became a Lady, leaving her mother to join a court of high-fashion nobles. They all admired her wisdom and knowledge, but once they saw her mask they were frightened and stayed away from her. The Lady did not know why; she had worn the mask so long, that it was a part of her.

Meanwhile, a young poet came to join the court. He was middle-class, choosing to give up a life of menial tasks, and instead roam about, writing and singing poetry. Eventually he came to the palace, and stayed there; the nobles liked him. The poet sang of love, of sadness, of broken hearts. The nobles were enchanted; but the Lady saw that the songs were false, and did not listen.

But the poet did not believe the songs at heart. In the privacy of his room, he wrote long ballads of the feeling of emotion. He wrote of true love, and undying devotion. Yet, the songs were from the heart - he believed what he wrote, so it was right. But he never gave the poems, the true poems, to anyone. He was afraid of what they would say. His mask was one of innocence and care-free naïveté, because it was what pleased the nobles.

When he visited the court to perform, the poet noticed one woman in particular. He could never see her face, for whenever he came in, she fled. From her poise and body, she was beautiful - but he never got close enough to see. Finally, one day when she turned to leave, he got up and ran after her. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her around, preparing to ask her why she ran - and stopped short as her saw her mask. The poet's first impulse was to leave, to get away from whatever person would choose to wear a mask like that. But then he remembered something he had heard long ago: "The eyes are windows to the soul."

And the poet looked into the Lady's eyes, and he saw that she was good. He saw through the mask, because he had the courage to look at it. The poet saw that he was the one who had to peel away the mask, because he knew that it was hurting her, even more than it was hurting the others. Smiling softly, and touching her hand, he reached his other hand to her face, while almost involuntarily she brought her other hand to his.

And the masks fell.

The Gold Star

We often learn the most from our children. Some time ago a friend of mine punished his 3-year old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate the box to put under the tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "this is for you Daddy." He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction but his anger flared again when he found that the box was empty. He yelled at her, "Don't you know that when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something in it?" The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said "Oh Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you Daddy." The father was crushed, he put his arms around his little girl and begged her forgiveness. My friend told me that he kept that gold box by his bed for years. Whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child that had put it there. In a very real sense, each of us as parents has been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children. There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

Author unknown

If you've ever seen the painting "Reflections" of the Vietnam Wall in Washington, you've seen the man standing there with his hand on the wall, mourning his dead father or brother who was killed. What he doesn't see is the reflection from the other side showing that relative with HIS hand on the wall, touching the hand of his survivor. That painting inspired this story.

FROM THE OTHER SIDE
By Patrick Camunes

"There are so many things that are written about the Wall but never anything of being on the other side. I was inspired by the picture Reflections that I use as wallpaper on my PC and a recent story, Autumn Wall."

At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up that Black Granite Wall. Now, everyday and night, my Brothers and my Sisters wait to see the many people from places afar file in front of this Wall. Many stopping briefly and many for hours and some that come on a regular basis. It was hard at first, not that it's gotten any easier, but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that war that we were involved in have changed. I can only pray that the ones on the other side have learned something and more Walls as this one needn't be built.

Several members of my unit and many that I did not recognize have called me to the Wall by touching my name that is engraved upon it. The tears aren't necessary but are hard even for me to hold back. Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my Brothers. This was my destiny as it is yours, to be on that side of the Wall.

Touch the Wall, my Brothers, so that we can share in the memories that we had. I have learned to put the bad memories aside and remember only the pleasant times that we had together. Tell our other Brothers out there to come and visit me, not to say Good Bye but to say Hello and be together again, even for a short time and to ease that pain of loss that we all share.

Today, an irresistable and loving call comes from the Wall. As I approach I can see an elderly lady and as I get closer I recognize her.......It's Momma! As much as I have looked forward to this day, I have also regretted it because I didn't know what reaction I would have.

Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard it must of been for her to come to this place and my mind floods with the pleasant memories of 30 years past. There's a young man in a military uniform standing with his arm around her......My God!......It's...it has to be my son. Look at him trying to be the man without a tear in his eye. I yearn to tell him how proud I am,seeing him standing tall, straight and proud in his uniform.

Momma comes closer and touches the Wall and I feel the soft and gentle touch I had not felt in so many years. Dad has crossed to this side of the Wall and through our touch, I try to convey to her that Dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling pain. I see my wife's courage building as she sees Momma touch the Wall and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand. All the emotions, feelings and memories of three decades past flash between our touch and I tell her that it's alright. Carry on with your life and don't worry about me......I can see as I look into her eyes that she hears and understands me and a big burden has been lifted from her.

I watch as they lay flowers and other memories of my past. My lucky charm that was taken from me and sent to her by my CO, a tattered and worn teddy bear that I can barely remember having as I grew up as a child and several medals that I had earned and were presented to my wife. One of them is the Combat Infantry Badge that I am very proud of and I notice that my son is also wearing this medal. I had earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam and he had probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.

I can tell that they are preparing to leave and I try to take a mental picture of them together, because I don't know when I will see them again. I wouldn't blame them if they were not to return and can only thank them that I was not forgotten. My wife and Momma near the Wall for one final touch and so many years of indecision, fear and sorrow are let go. As they turn to leave I feel my tears that had not flowed for so many years, form as if dew drops on the other side of the Wall.

They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulder. My son suddenly stops and slowly returns. He stands straight and proud in front of me and snaps a salute. Something makes him move to the Wall and he puts his hand upon the Wall and touches my tears that had formed on the face of the Wall and I can tell that he senses my presence there and the pride and the love that I have for him. He falls to his knees and the tears flow from his eyes and I try my best to reassure him that it's alright and the tears do not make him any less of a man.

As he moves back wiping the tears from his eyes, he silently mouths, God Bless you, Dad...... God Bless, YOU, Son...... We WILL meet someday but in the meanwhile, go on your way...... There is no hurry.......There is no hurry at all.

As I see them walk off in the distance, I yell out to THEM and EVERYONE there today, as loud as I can,.........THANKS FOR REMEMBERING and as others on this side of the Wall join in, I notice that the US Flag that so proudly flies in front of us everyday, is flapping and standing proudly straight out in the wind today.................................
THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING.........