With Thanks to a Friend...

... for a trip down Memory Lane (more like Memory I-85) that made me smile and reminded me of a period of real growth in my own life. Reading her blog, I felt like a much better person than I really am most days. It's nice to have friends with good memories around at your better moments so they can remind you of them when you need it most. There are some things in my life that I'm not proud of, but on World AIDS Day I can tell you that our day with Cornelius is not one of them.

I don't remember how Cyn and I got the assignment from Mobile AIDS Support Services. In fact, reading her telling of that piece of our shared history brought back many details I had forgotten about that trip. But I will never forget how I felt walking into Cornelius's home that day, more nervous than I cared to admit. He was a African-American man in his 80's, suffering with AIDS and already blind. We were on spring break, volunteers, and had spent most of the week -- as she described -- elbow-deep in condoms and menial jobs. I never knew condoms could be boring until that trip!

Frankly, I think I was less nervous about AIDS then than I was about Cornelius's general living conditions -- he lived in poverty and illness, alone, and was not able to clean up after himself. Entering his home, I was struck by "an overwhelming sense of ickiness," as Alicia Silverstone said around that time. It's funny how all the logic and education in the world are nothing in the face of some of our most basic fears and aversions.

But we were there to help. We'd given up our spring breaks getting hammered on the beach with all the other college kids, we'd come all this way, we were talking the talk. Our pictures had been in the newspaper for Pete's sake, we'd better earn the attention. So we talked with Cornelius a bit and tried to give him some company and comfort. But mostly, we cleaned. We did week-old dirty dishes in a tiny kitchen infested with roaches. We wiped furniture and walls, and -- for my personal Everest -- I scrubbed the toilet.

Even now, with countless dirty diapers under my belt and experience cleaning up some pretty disgusting things over the course of my life [as a teenager I worked at McDonald's and cleaned things I don't even want to discuss], I still get squeamish cleaning toilets. Even my own. All you nurses and hospice workers out there, just go right ahead and laugh. I can take it.

So to be faced with cleaning up after this elderly man who had been so sick, it brought out my least rational reactions. Maybe I'm imagining backward, but I think I still remember the yellow light in the room, and the brown tile walls; a large crack in the porcelain tub. I wasn't sure I was up to the task. Once I had scolded myself for being a huge baby and got on with it, of course it took no time at all. When we were done I remember breathing deeply the fresh air from Cornelius's rickety front porch. I felt proud of myself for doing something challenging, and sad that I couldn't do more for him.

The rest of our crew gave me a "potty award" at the end of our trip because they knew how hard that had been for me personally - and I was actually really sad when that was stolen along with some other precious things in a fire safe box years later. I have 13 years of softball trophies in my Dad's attic that I could pretty much care less about. Funny what makes us proud, isn't it?

It wasn't until days later that it occurred to me to wonder how he felt, a proud man rendered helpless by this disease and listening as a couple of young white college kids from another state invaded his personal space. It wasn't just our HIV status that made us different; it was also economics, education, race, gender and age. He seemed grateful for the help; but I'm sure he also resented needing it, too. Looking back, I think I was lucky to have that opportunity to meet Cornelius, and to make -- even for a few hours -- a connection that would've been unlikely under most other circumstances.

And I'm grateful to Cindy -- an amazing person herself -- for reminding me of that connection today. AIDS is not about certain groups of people or a demographic profile. It is a human problem, and we all need to be part of the solution... even if it means stepping outside our comfort zones for a while.