Errol spends part of his Saturday mornings at the Farmers’ Market helping his mother. He loves the attention he and his blonde hair get. He loves to hear and see all the customers who stop by.
There is a vendor at the market who always takes time to visit Errol. “Hey Boy!” He greets Errol. Sometimes Errol smiles back, sometimes he just looks at his hand. Errol’s friend doesn’t seem to notice the difference. “How you doing today, boy!” Errol looks at his hand again as if he were about to discover something very profound. He may be. Although it is a pretty one-sided conversation, Errol’s buddy never seems to notice that Errol is not exactly typical. Or maybe he does.
When Errol was diagnosed with his profound developmental delay, I started seeing folks with birth defect everywhere. I wanted to go up and talk to them. I usually resisted the urge. Once, a friend went up to a woman in the grocery store and congratulated her on her pregnancy.
“When are you due?” My friend asked.
I didn’t want to get it wrong on aisle 5 across from the thousands of gallons of juice.
“You’re daughter is so cute. What’s her diagnosis?”
Hissssss!
Sometimes when I’m out about town, minding my own business, I see a family with a kid who has a developmental delay and I want to run right up to the child and talk to them (because most people don’t talk to these kids) and I want to put my arms around their parents and say, “I understand. I’m one of you. Tell me everything. I’ll listen.”
I don’t usually say anything.
Every week now the old man at the Farmers’ Market comes over to Errol and talks to him. And one time after they finished talking about the old days and looking at Errol’s hand, the old man turns to Cary and says, “It’s great that you take that boy out in public.”
And what the hell do you say to that?
“Thanks, but you should see the other one. We don’t let him out.”
I mean the guy has served in at least one world war (he actually did- told Errol all about it) and comes from a very, very different time. A time when retarded people were shut in (or worse). He probably didn’t see people like Errol in his day (certainly not in WWII). He’s talking to my son.
And even though I’m annoyed by his “compliment”, and why the hell shouldn’t Errol be here!?! The man means well, and he has broken a silence that few people break. He’s acknowledged Errol and who he is. And it is good that Errol is here.
So I just smile and listen to Errol and his buddy talk.
“Well, we was pinned down by the Germans in this little town in France.”
“Uh-oh!”
“That artillery fire was deadly!”
“Uh-oh!”
“We sat in the mud for a week with nothin’ to eat but beans and rice.”
“Uh-oh!”
And I look for some more atypical folks in the crowd. And I’ll be ready to listen.
2 comments:
**snaps** (think spoken word) to you for articulating intangible feelings so eloquently!
Perhaps his expression was not directed at you, but sympathizing with you. Like you said, for years of his life people like your son were shut-ins. I get the impression that he is genuinely glad to see someone in your son's position getting exposure for his own benefit, instead of being someone else's stigma like they were in the past. Emotions convey poorly across the internet, maybe you saw something in the man that does not come across in your post, I don't know.
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