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By Robert Holden, Ph.D


There is nothing wrong with you


The following story describes one of the most poignant and tender moments of my life. I met Peter at a summer camp for the Royal National Institute of Blind People in Hampshire, England. Peter was in my class. I was teaching a day on self-esteem to 50 teenagers. They were like any large group of teenagers in school—creative, unruly, funny, boisterous, challenging, and very energetic. They were normal . . . and blind.


Peter was one of the few quiet ones. He sat at the back of the class. He was half-Chinese, half- English, about 15 years old, tall, and slender. There were many jokes flying around, most of them at my expense. Peter laughed heartily, but he never spoke. At the end of the class, he stayed behind. “Mr. Holden,” he said.


“Call me Robert,” I said. “Can we talk?” he asked. “Certainly.”


Peter looked troubled. He was pensive and painfully shy. We talked small talk for a while as we walked around a large green


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sports field out behind the main college building. “I feel I can trust you Robert, even though we’ve only just met,” he said.


“That’s a real compliment,” I said.


“I need to ask you a question that I have been putting off my whole life,” Peter said.


I was in no way prepared for Peter’s question when it finally came. “I need to know,” he said, “is there anything wrong with me?”


“What do you mean?” I asked.


“I was born blind, and I have never seen myself. I need to know from someone I trust if I am beautiful or not,” Peter said.


With all my heart, I told Peter that he was handsome, perfect, and beautiful.


“You really mean it?” he asked. “Yes—totally.”


Peter flung his arms around me. “There’s nothing wrong with me?” “No!”


Aug/Sept 2011


For six years I trained in a profes- sion that focuses on finding things wrong with people. We take in “ugly ducklings” and merrily pluck away for disorders, dysfunctions, neuroses, psychoses, syndromes,


“Not even a little bit wrong?” “Not one bit.”


“What about my breath? I had pizza for lunch,” he laughed.


“I love garlic,” I countered. We both laughed and cried. Rarely have I felt so moved. Peter’s relief was such a joy to watch.


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