Empathy

I have been trying my best to avoid seeing any coverage of the earthquake in Haiti. A segment snuck up on me this morning during The Today Show. I couldn't find the remote in time to avoid seeing a two year old boy being pulled from the wreckage 5 days later. I immediately started crying. Immediately after that I changed the channel to Seasame Street.

I realize how calous this sounds. Ever since I can remember I avoid situations that will awaken feelings of compassion for people who are suffering. I tried to find the root of this emotional shortcoming while Bert and Ernie discussed the letter B. For this particular shortcoming I couldn't turn the blame to my usual suspects, Ted and Tina, so I pondered further. And then it came to me. It's Julianne's fault. Yes, my sweet, caring, kind, sensitive sister is to blame for my lack of empathy.

As a young child, Julianne was my American Idol. I wanted to be just like her. When I was 7, I visited her at college for the weekend. If I had known there was such a thing as an emancipated minor I would have hired a lawyer and applied for a full scholarship to Pomona. I wanted to be just ike her. I wanted to be everywhere she went. I wanted to do everything she did.

She usually couldn't refuse when I asked to sleep with her on weekends when she came home from college. I sat staring at her one night in bed when the lights were off. She was making these movements with her hands. I thought it was a cool, college sign-language yoga thing. I tried to copy her. Until I realized she was picking her nose. Maybe she wasn't perfect, but I still loved everything about her.

I have a fuzzy memory of walking down the street holding her hand. We were talking and laughing about something. We passed a woman sleeping on the sidewalk . She was older, her clothes and face were filthy. She had small can beside her with a few coins in it. Julianne leaned over and put some money in the can. As we kept walking, I continued with the silly conversation. Julianne was quiet. She tried to hide it, but I could tell she was crying. "What's wrong" I asked.

"Seeing that woman sleeping on the street. She doesn't have a home," she said.

"You know her?" I asked.

"No, but I just feel sorry for her. I wish that she didn't have to live on the street. When I see people like that, I just think about how hard their lives must be, and it makes me very, very sad."

I spent the next day looking for sad things. And there were a lot of them. Everywhere I went, there was someone who looked sad, or lonely, or hungry, or tired. I felt bad for all of them. It was a horrible day. And it was all Julianne's fault.

Julianne was the first person to teach me about empathy. The lesson couldn't have come from a better teacher. There isn't another person in the world who cares as much about other people's feelings as Julianne. I am sure its a burden at times. But I can't imagine where me, or anyone else lucky enough to be loved by Julianne, would be without her. So even though I am blaming Julianne for my lack of empathy, what I really feel is admiration for the strength she shows every time she opens her heart to people in pain.