“Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked. When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window.
The baby had been without ears. Time proved that the baby’s hearing was prefect. It was only his appearance that the marred.
When he rushed home form school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms. She sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy, “A boy, a big boy … called me a freak.”
He grew up, handsome but for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music.
The boy’s father had a session with the family physician, “Could you nothing be done?”
“I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be gotten.” The doctor declared. They searched for a person who could make such a great sacrifice for the young man.
Two years went by. One day, his father said to the son, “You’re going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But the identity of the donor is a secret.”
The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius. School and college became a series of triumphs. He married and enter the diplomatic service.
He would ask his father: “Who gave me the ears? Who gave me so much? I could never do enough for him or her.”
“I do not believe you could.” Said the father,” but the agreement was that you are not to know… not yet.”
The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth his hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal that the mother had no outer ears.
“Mother said she was glad she never got her hair cut,” his father whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they?”