One Small Step

I wrote this essay for some school assignment once and was pleasantly surprised at how it came out. FYI - it is pretty much written in stream-of-consciousness.

A school yard. Children. Little redhead in Osh Kosh B’gosh. Superman Backpacks. Crossing guard with the nice smile. A big STOP sign. Fast cars and loud horns. The little first-graders giggle and skip toward the road. A slow boy hurries gleefully toward the nice lady. Dad’s weekend. He’s waiting for me. Gotta hurry. Dad’s weekend.
Little Aaron runs and runs. His brother, Andy far ahead. Andy, perfect little boy. Blonde, tall, strong, smart – fast. Andy runs and runs – stops – at the curb. Aaron runs and runs and runs and runs. One small step. A horn. Andy yells, the little redhead girl cries. The nice crossing guard gasps – runs.
The businessman gets out of his fancy car. So sorry – he’s so sorry. I was late he says – very important meeting – so sorry. Little Aaron won’t wake up. Andy – is he asleep? Crossing guard – I don’t know. Red lights, blue lights – a stretcher. Dad holds Andy. Mom cries. Dad’s pretty wife holds little sister – Melissa. She is crying.
Little Aaron won’t wake up. Not for another four months. Four months of doctors and jello and hospital chairs, big words. Cerebral. Non-responsive. Stability. Comatose. Melissa cries a lot.
Mom blames Dad and his pretty wife. She is called Mom, too. She smiles a lot. Old Mom doesn’t smile – she cries and yells. Dad is sad. Melissa cries. Andy brings Aaron G.I. Joes. New Mom explains – he can’t play now. Andy – I won’t play with Melissa – she eats them. New Mom smiles.

Four months.
Comatose.
Non-responsive.
Little Aaron is awake.
Therapy – Brain damage.
Retarded.
Retarded. Such a strange word. We use it every day. Don’t be a retard! That’s retarded. Out of context. Wrong. Fear. Prejudice. FEAR.
Six years later – Me. Aaron is “mentally handicapped.” Politically correct. Whatever – he’s retarded. Like a child with facial hair. Naïve, innocent. He has the mind of a six-year-old. In 24 years he has only aged six years. He is twelve years past his life expectancy and he is getting worse. He has seizures a lot and gets sick real easy. He’s thirty years old and can’t live alone. Andy is twenty-nine, married to a Southern Belle, 3 beautiful kids, and a house payment. Melissa is twenty-five, married to her high-school sweetheart, two cute kids, and a house payment.
Aaron was engaged once – Jennie. He’ll always be single. He gets up at 5:00 every morning, works 8-10, development group until 3, TV, empty the dishwasher, TV. There is never any change.
People are afraid of him – teens mostly. They laugh at him – they’re scared. Aaron knows everyone in town. He is the smartest guy I know. He once told me that strangers were only friends he hadn’t met yet. He isn’t afraid to be himself in public – with everyone. He is fiercely loyal and will never say a negative word about anyone. Everyone loves Aaron and he has friends everywhere. Aaron freely gives compliments and tells me I’m always beautiful – he says I don’t need makeup because I’m already beautiful. I am so lucky to have Aaron.
People feel sorry for me that I have to deal with Aaron and my life is so hard – just put him in a home somewhere. NO! He is a blessing. I wish you had an Aaron. You’re the one missing out. Handicap isn’t contagious, but his love is.
We should all be like Aaron. He leaves people better than he found them. He feels no hate toward the businessman. He has freely forgiven him. Do we forgive as easily? No – we hold a grudge.
Different is GOOD. If we didn’t have people like Aaron, who would we learn from? There would be no one to remind us of simple kindnesses, pure love. Those who are different are to be treasured and loved – they are the reality, and we are fake.