One man tells his story

 

My hyacinth grape vine, having straggled through the summer,
is now blooming more than I've ever seen it. The friend from whom I got seeds
is afraid this year the seeds will be too late if they even show up.
Fingers crossed, please.

Maybe I move in a feminist world, but I am always hearing that women need to tell their stories. We need to hear from women—not Taylor Swift (bless her!) or Beyonce or even Hilary, but women like you and me. Ordinary stories. We’ve been silenced too long. Well, what I’m realizing with the book I’m reading is that undiscovered men have stories to tell too, stories that give us model for living life as it should be. Forget the politicians and football players whose stories make instant bestsellers. Let’s hear from our next-door neighbor who struggles with career or family issues or bill payments or all the little stuff of life that we all do. And sometimes some added burdens.

I’m reading The One-Armed Soldier, an autobiography by Wayne Bizer, an osteopathic ophthalmologist (try saying that three times fast). The book is far too long for an autobiography, and I agreed to read it only at the behest of a good friend. I admit I dragged my heels, but then I found myself engaged in the story and charmed by the author.

The child of Jewish European immigrants, Bizer grew up afflicted with ADHD (attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder), dyslexia, and a dysfunctional family background. Nobody paid attention to those afflictions when he was young, and he didn’t even recognize them until well into adulthood. He scraped through school, was a college drop-out, and showed every sign of being a failure for life. But he had ambition. Instead of failing, he earned a medical degree and certification in a specialty (ophthalmology), married an apparently wonderful woman, raised two sons, and made a great success of his career in medicine.

I’m not going to tell you this is a Horatio Alger success story about a man who pulled himself up by his bootstraps. Time after time, Bizer hit rock bottom. He was on the edge of seeing his dreams collapse, but he was always saved at the last minute—childhood accidents that nearly cost his life, a near miss from the Vietnam draft, rejection by two medical schools, only to find his niche at the third. Every time he was given another chance, Bizer vowed to make it work—and he did with a combination of determination and perseverance. And, until he married, without much encouragement from family. Finding forgiveness and reconciling with his once-alcoholic mother is yet another part of his story. So is the faith of his childhood—though dyslexia caused him to barely skate through his bar mitzvah. Grown, he brings whatever family together that he can for Shabbat every Friday night. Although ADHD and dyslexia are mentioned, they don’t play a huge part in this story. It’s as though Bizer used them as steppingstones on which to climb to his future.

Bizer tells his story in a conversational, friendly manner, without preaching but with lots of humor and nice touches of honesty about himself and the many times he goofed. As he says at one point, his life story was always about “when I grow up.” If most lives are lived in straight lines, he says his is a bowl of scrambled spaghetti. There’s not a lot of introspection here, just casual comments offhand, no wallowing. What there is, though, is the magic of storytelling, be it childhood adventures, scary episodes in school, or patient stories from his practice. Bizer is a man who seems to love life and what he has made of his own. His is an inspirational story of a life well lived. And having never met him, I like this man a lot.

Ever thought about telling your story?