from Adventures in the High Wind, ©1990

 

Smallchild #1

           When the smallchild opened the classroom door and collected the attendance slip, I felt such sadness.  The smallchild was short so he had to stretch to reach the hook that held the slip, and he made an audible sound in his grasp--some combination of clumsy feet against the door and a faint gasp of air. My class of perfect, fullchildren turned to witness the spectacle of the smallchild who had invaded their fullchild world.  I don't hate the fullchildren for their ignorance, but I do hate their ignorance.  I detest the humor of permanent misfortune, the retard-cripple kind of "hey, look at the freak" joke at the expense of God's smallchild victims of His capital "C," Cosmic level cruelties.
The smallchild took the attendance slip and stumble-closed the door behind him to the mumbled gaiety of the fullchildren's naively vicious notion of amusement.

I needed to cry out to the world, to the Gods, to the pitiless imperfection of Nature.  But what cry could ever reach the solitude of the smallchild as he made his zig-zag rounds down the empty school hall with its burlesque stage doors and alpine attendance slips?