There was a small boy in a small town 17.3 miles from the center of commerce. His smile was so bright that disco balls were no longer sold in the area. It was cheaper and far more pleasant to invite Otis, the boy, for his disposition reflected that of his smile which lit up the room.
Otis was aware that his smile and disposition were fueled by more than the juice and bagel ritually consumed for breakfast, or the turkey sandwich with strawberry jelly for lunch, or even his Mother’s ground-breaking carrot soup. He did not know, however, where it came from. So, he simply resolved to share what he had since he saw it as not his to begin with.
For many years, this choice was delightful. Both Otis, and the company with whom he shared that which came from within himself, were blessed by the goodness that follows such decisions. All experienced the joy, the company were inspired, and Otis was, in turn, loved dearly.
As the boy aged, he had what all young people have: experiences. The colors ranged the spectrum of the rainbow, and as he passed through them they made impressions upon him. The result was like a filter, which began to affect his disposition and smile.
The community loved these progressions. “You have such depth!” “You are so diverse!” You are becoming beautiful!” Each affirmation bathed cheer down on Otis, but also raised a question, “Was I not those things before the experiences?” But that was easily shrugged aside with the happiness from avouchment.
Each additional experience and subsequent filter added a color to the boy’s smile. The resultant effect was as if the brightness within him shone through a stained glass window in Parma, Italy (which is very good, as the boy was partial to cheese and music). Now parties he attended had flashing colors with the disco ball effect, and he could entertain anyone in a way unique to them, for he had some filter on his disposition that they could see themselves in.
One day, Otis had one more experience that radically changed his shimmer. His Mother had been sick, and the doctors finally decided the cure required a heart-rendering surgery to repair her left atrium.
It all went well, and she truly would be cured! The process had an effect on Otis though, akin to mixing one too many colors with a group of paints. The brightness now shown through so many filters in his smile and disposition that it became clouded, muddy, confused. Wasn’t everything okay? After all, this Mother was better, wasn't she?
Otis noticed it first, naturally. Sometimes we don’t notice changes within ourselves before others point them out, but in this instance Otis did. He tried to scrub his stained glass anyway he could summon, thinking it was jus the result of an unpleasant smear from daily activity. His actions were to no avail.
Others noticed it soon after, but did not say anything. What could they say anyway? Otis always cheered them up! They never practiced cheering up others and especially not him.
The boy, soon to be young man, was at a loss. The light was shining, and shining consistently as it always did. Otis felt it’s comfort, but wanted to share it with others. He liked his window, it told his story, which was indeed a muddled one. The problem was it contained that which had solely defined him for so long.
Looking down, Otis picked up a rock….
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