Too Much Empathy?

I think genuine empathy may be something that is hardwired within us from birth. I'm sure it can be taught to some degree, but I confess to being a bit eccentric when it comes to "feeling sorry for" all things broken, unwanted, misunderstood, rejected, or treated unjustly. And it started young.

I had two beloved "collections" as a child. One was my Foreign Doll Collection. Always a sure hit for classroom Show and Tell. I had dolls from the Netherlands, Argentina, China, Lebanon, France...you get the idea. I'd study the country of my new acquisitions in the antique now known as an encyclopedia. Each name had to be authentic to their culture, so I had to educate myself.

My other collection, more secretive, was my Broken Doll Collection. Each one had a story. More often than not, they were spotted on the floor of the toy department...smudged, forgotten through no fault of their own. I was a fairly non-materialistic child, and rarely asked for toys. So when I spotted a victim-toy and asked for it, my mother would know I "felt sorry for it" and her follow-up question was usually, "Why? What's wrong with it?"

Of course, when I'd watch Rudolph and the story of the Island of Misfit Toys, I was always a bit worried that they may not get rescued. It was unthinkable. At least I'd rescued the bear with a loose arm, the doll with the odd hair, the stuffed dog with uneven eyes.

Honestly, until I was an adult, I'd had no idea this was an unusual manifestation of empathy. It must have been an ongoing cause of concern to family elders. After meeting my soon-to-be-husband, my astute grandmother told me she liked him very much. She then added, "I've always thought about the broken toys that you loved so much and was a bit afraid to find out who you'd marry. I'm very relieved."

I wish she hadn't worried about it. It makes me feel sorry for her.