William Wordsworth wrote, "the child is father of the man." Praise--or lack thereof, victories, the availability of unconditional love and the emotional pain a boy or girl experiences as a child affects the adult he or she becomes. Take the picture of my son, Mike, and his little boy. Taken some years ago at a wrestling tournament, Ryan has just lost. Mike is his wrestling coach and sometimes straddles the line between Dad and Coach Mike. In this photo, whom do you think is consoling Ryan? Dad or Coach? How is Mike's reaction to Ryan's loss affecting the man Ryan will one day become? The child is father of the man.
To be sure, we are a sum of our experiences. What we go through as a child affects our actions and reactions as an adult. We know this. In fact, we use it in our writings. This gem of knowlege factors into our character's development. How has our heroine's or hero's background affected her or him?
But pain and emotional trauma don't only occur during childhood. A lover's betrayal, a business partner's disception or an auto accident can also scar us. So can war.
In
THOSE VIOLET EYES, my hero Win Fairchild is a wounded war vet. He's not only carrying the emotional wounds of what he's seen and the buddies he's lost, but he's also minus part of a leg. In otherwords, he is not the physically perfect hero we so often write about. He wears a prosthesis and is sometimes unsteady on his feet. His gait is not smooth; he walks with a slight limp. Yet in my heroine's eyes, he is perfect.
In the scene I'm about to share, Win is at Evie's house. After a tearful phone conversation, he rushes to her side to offer comfort. Her brother has stolen all of her money. In Win's haste to get to her, he's forgotten to reattach his prosthesis and is concerned how she will react to his stump.
Win readjusted his
crutches and followed her inside. So far she hadn’t seemed repelled by his
stump, but she hadn’t seen it in the light either. His stomach clenched. If she
rejected him, he didn’t know how he’d handle it.
Her back was to
him as she poured the coffee. “Living room’s to your right. Go on in and have a
seat. I’ll bring the coffee.”
Win moved into the
living room. Clean, neat with older furniture. The kind of room a person could
relax in. He settled on the sofa.
Evie set the mugs
on the stand by his elbow and looked at his leg.
His stomach
clenched. What is she thinking?
She kneeled in
front of him. “I didn’t know how much of your leg you’d lost.” Warm hands ran
from his knee down. “You’ve got both knees, but your leg ends about three
inches below that. You’re kind of red here.” She trailed fingertips over his
stump and gazed up at him. “Hurt?”
“It’ll hurt if you
stop.” He couldn’t believe she was touching him there, as if that part of his
body were no different than his cheek or his elbow. Oh, how he needed her
touch.
“Does walking so
much in your prosthesis irritate your…your…” She tilted her head and regarded
him. “Tell me the right term, Win.”
He shrugged. “Stump.”
“Stump,” she
repeated.
Then damned if she
didn’t lean over and kiss it. He didn’t realize how fearful he’d been that she’d
reject him. In fact, he was sure she would.
“Evie.” The
anguish in his voice surprised him.
She jerked back. “Did
I hurt you?”
He wrapped his
hands around her arms. “Come here.” He lifted her to his lap and threaded his
fingers into her damp hair. “It doesn’t repulse you?” He tilted his head so his
forehead touched hers. “I was afraid…”
Evie pressed her
hands to his cheeks. “I’m attracted to your mind, your heart, your soul. Even
that surly mood you’ve got goin’ on sometimes. I’m sorry about your wounds, but
the loss of a limb does nothing to change the man you are.”
Win laid his head
against the back of the sofa and exhaled an audible breath. “I was so worried…”
He rushed here to comfort her and help her with whatever problems she had. Now,
here she was comforting him. If he had any questions before about whether or
not he adored her, her attitude just now lured him the rest of the way into
love. How had he lived without her all of his life? How could he face the
future without her and her sweet acceptance of his battle scars?
“A lot of women
couldn’t handle an amputee.”
“Is that why you’ve
been blowing hot and cold with me? Were you afraid I couldn’t handle less than
physical perfection?”
“Made sense to me.”
“How stupid is
that? Believe me, you’re the most perfect man I’ve met so far in my lifetime.”
She pressed kisses to his eyelids. He ran his hands up her back and pulled her
closer.
So, why did I chose to write about a wounded hero?
Yes, we deal with emotionally wounded heroes all the time. But could a less than physically perfect person--man or woman--be appealing to the opposite sex? In a world where we tend to worship perfection, I suppose I wanted to prove "perfection" was more than the physical. By society's standards, I am not worthy of a strong romantic love. I bear stretch marks from having three children, scars from six surgeries, an excess abundance of weight, not to mention cottage cheese thighs. And, yes folks, my pompoms have drooped. Yet I'm here to tell you Romance is alive and well at the Davis household. Less than perfection deserves and is capable of seducing romantic love.
In fact, an older heroine--a breast cancer survivor--has been niggling at my brain. She wants to show the world a fiesty woman with a double masectomy can capture the devotion of a man, too. What do you think? Shall I go for it?
